Tag Archives: bipolar

Explaining Manic Depression To My Loved Ones

EXPLAINING MANIC DEPRESSION TO MY LOVED ONES:

 

Manic Depression is very difficult to live with –both to suffer from it, or to be affected by it. It also comes with a stigma, which those with Manic Depression feel forced to wear like a shame they have to conceal. Had we been afflicted by a socially acceptable illness such as diabetes, we would simply say: I have diabetes. And everyone would become sympathetic, and ask what type we have and how we are coping and if there is anything they could do to help us? But we don’t have a PHYSICAL illness. We have a MENTAL illness, so we cannot just say: I have Manic Depression. Because then people are scared of us, not sympathetic towards us.

 

So, what does Manic Depression feel like?

 

Some of the time, it feels like nothing. My emotions are relatively neutral, and I can adjust to and function in the same environment as any ‘normal’ human being could.

 

But then at other times, it isn’t so neutral. It is a little happier. I want to say a bit more when in conversation, stay out a while longer when socialising and interact more openly when in crowds.

 

Until suddenly I am a LOT happier. I don’t want to keep quiet; I garrulously speak a mile a minute and want to mingle with every single person whose path I cross, engage everyone in frivolous small talk or deeply intimate heart-to-hearts…

 

I want to go EVERYWHERE

And do ALL OF THE THINGS

all of the time!

 

Everything I do is spontaneous, and very impetuous. I make impulsive decisions, I act without inhibition…

 

And make extravagant plans for events in the future.

 

I look great. I feel great. I do great. I probably am great!!

 

I am a well of strength to all of those around me, and spread a seemingly infinite source of love and encouragement to everyone that I encounter.

 

I have the most fantastic ideas, and enough stamina to start any project that I put my mind to…

 

Which works out fantastically, because I cannot sleep at night so I have PLENTY of time to finish any and everything, right…?

 

Until….

 

Until I slowly stop wanting to do anything. At all. Anywhere. For any reason.

 

I communicate much less, and replace long nights out with endless days in, confined alone in my bed.

 

My well of love and support has run dry…

 

And it feels like I have fallen into the bottom of it.

 

Everything is dark and cramped and constricting,

 

And I am mostly alone with my own thoughts

 

But I WANT to be this way.

 

Both mind and body are destroyed from my mental fall, and don’t want to get up, nor change out of these pajamas. They’ve accepted me as their own. And all I need right now is to be accepted.

 

Maybe I eat a whole cake at once
Maybe I eat nothing at all
Maybe I shower
I probably won’t

 

All I know is, I may have had the stamina to run a marathon last week,

And I may have made well-meaning plans –

 

BUT I CAN’T FOLLOW THROUGH WITH ANY OF THAT TODAY.

 

And I might not be able to tomorrow, either.

 

In fact, I might not be able to for quite a while…

 

But eventually, I will be neutral again.

And then manic, too.

And depressed once more.

 

All that I ask… And all that we need…

 

Is that you try to understand. And if you cannot understand,

At the very least

 

LOVE US THROUGH IT ALL, ANYWAY ❤

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Skittles Taste Like Suicide

“My death will be the result of suicide.” Neither the weather nor my emotional state were particularly gloomy when this thought calmly made itself known to me last summer. It should have shocked me to my core, and yet it felt more like acknowledging the unavoidable than encountering the absurd. I was not enduring a bout of depression and my life circumstances weren’t troublesome, so this thought should not have had any grounds… And yet it did, and it does.

It’s an odd feeling, knowing that you have an inconsistent and untrustworthy emotional state. During some stages you find yourself a blissful, euphoric individual that is grateful for every scent, every sight, every situation, and at others you’re nothing but an empty void of an entity, wondering how the changing of seasons can be so colourful yet you yourself are nothing more than ebony stains and inky errors?

To those who haven’t dealt with emotional dysregulation, the very idea of suicide is seen as a selfish act; as if thinking a person should exist simply so that you do not suffer their loss isn’t selfish in itself. They cannot comprehend the severity of sadness, and think that “time will heal” and “you will get over this” are adequate pieces of advice. And perhaps yes, time will heal that particular wound and yes, that obstacle will be overcome but in the case of truly emotional time bombs it runs deeper than a surface problem –it’s a lifelong affliction that comfortably settles in the recesses of your mind with one definite promise: I WILL EMERGE AGAIN!

A scenario may be surmounted, but as life advances so too do emotions. At what point does a person ailed by recurring bouts of depression decide that the happiness they will acquaint themselves with once more is no longer sufficient to excuse the misery they are stifled by periodically? If you absolutely know that, even with medication to attempt adjusting your dysfunctional chemical imbalance, there will be another time when melancholy is the attire that you are donned in then how can you be blamed for deciding you no longer wish for the burden of providing the mannequin for the garb?

And so the thought of my demise did not frighten me that day, but rather felt like a truth I calmly accepted. Although I am certain at this very moment that I am enjoying the roller coaster of a life that I lead and have absolutely no intention of surrendering my existence at my own hands, I cannot guarantee the self that will succumb to a chemical decline will see fit to continue this charade in the future. If you do not experience the extremities of the highs and the lows of life, the inability to truly empathise will cause this concept to be viewed as an inexcusable act to you –and yet those who know, who truly KNOW, that sometimes time and tide are not enough to compensate for the ever-swinging emotional pendulum will not be plagued by the misguided fantasy of “if only”, for they will know that even if only the deceased had persisted, so too would the depression. Eventually, and inevitably, it always comes back.

May your atoms disperse and vibrate on a more positive frequency, my darling Skittles.