What It’s Like to Be Hypomanic

Like an olde tyme machine with different sized gears, all flying fast, barely staying in place, and the smokestack constantly whistling.

Like an electrical fire inside my skin.

Like a hyperactive toddler who really wants to play minigolf instead of doing the things that need to be done, who doesn’t care that it’s 97 degrees and humid as hairy armpits. Minigolf, minigolf!

I wish I could actually describe to you what being hypomanic is like. But it’s a state of consciousness, so unless you’ve experienced it, the best I can do is approximate it.

Alone, I switch gears fast and flap my hands. With safe people, I talk and talk and talk. Out and about I suck it in, keep a lid on it, smile too much, am extroverted and quickly disengage because I don’t want to appear CRAZY IN PUBLIC. I’m exhausted and exhausting to be around.

I am in treatment. I am doing all the things I’m supposed to be doing. All of them. Still, I am hypomanic as balls right now, as very hypomanic balls.

I am also on Xanax, which is supposed to help, but which feels like putting an angry racoon in a sleeping bag.

The saving grace about rapid cycling: maybe tomorrow it will be different.

Comments

Embrace the Cheese

Why is it so hard to be kind to ourselves—gentle, caring, compassionate—when inside and recovering from an episode? Because we are not who we grew up wanting to be, thinking we’d become. In that sense, we are failures. Because we are reminded every morning with that first pill that something is wrong with us, will always be wrong with us. Because we were taught to be strong women and men. We were taught that if we worked hard enough, were smart enough, we could do anything . Solve the problem! Pull yourself up by your bootstraps! “Pure Horatio Alger,” says Hunter Thompson, which should be our first clue if not our forty-seventh. It’s hard to be kind, gentle, compassionate, when our brains are incessantly tearing us down, trying to get us to give up, give all the way up. It’s hard not to believe your own brain. But we have to believe we deserve kindness and compassion from ourselves. It takes work. I’m certainly still working on it. It takes mindfulness and self-remembering...

Self-Care for Bipolar Depression

Similar to the list for Self-Carefor Hypomanic Episodes , this is the one I use for depression. Some entries are exactly the same, but they work differently here. Self-Care Strategies for Bipolar Depression Tell someone what’s going on. Verbalizing it makes it real and lets you know you’re not alone. Stick to the routine . The routine will get you out of bed. The routine will get you fed and showered. Let the routine take care of you. Try caffeine. If you aren’t addicted to caffeine and it still has the effect of giving you a little jolt, sometimes it can help. Be sure you aren’t in a mixed episode first though. Avoid stressors. Fuck em. Distract, distract, distract. My go-to is streaming. I save a few favorite shows for the shittiest of times. Some people find more comfort in rewatching. Maybe your go-to is music, drawing, reading, video games. Whatever you can hand your brain over to for safe keeping, do that. Limit social media. Funny memes? Sure. Doom scrolli...

Sleep

All of my life, nighttime has been my favorite time. I’m most at peace, most relaxed and myself at night, when the world has gone to bed. When there is no more work, no chores or errands, and the phone can safely be ignored. Loved ones sleep soundly, needing nothing from me, and I am free to write, to read, to watch old movies, to unwind completely, stay up late in the quiet dark, and simply be. But the number one signal/trigger of a bipolar episode is disturbed sleep. My respite has consequences. So now my sleep hygiene (such a Dr. Kellogg kind of term) is perfect. A good eight hours every night (drug induced if need be). No caffeine after three, if at all. No alcohol. No wild nights out. The choice is follow the routine or lose even more days to the disorder. Be good or else.

blobfish-a-go-go

Search This Blog