It’s been roughly a month since I came out of the worst manic episode I have ever experienced. A month since I woke up to a version of my life that I had created without even realizing what was happening.
I have been aware that I have bipolar disorder for a long time, but I have vivid memories of my symptoms back to elementary school. My father was bipolar, and I remember feeling like I was just like him. When I was younger I only remember feeling the mania. Periods of high energy, productivity and a superhero like complex. Throughout middle school was when I started to experience the depressive aspects. But even with the sadness, I still struggled with impulse control, decision making, hyper sexuality and self destructive behaviors.
As an adult, I don’t experience the same mania I felt as a child. My episodes don’t manifest as me painting two coats of paint on my bedroom walls overnight without sleeping, or hyper focusing on something until I am completely burnt out. They have become dangerous. My lack of awareness of what’s going on has evolved into periods of time that I have limited memory of. In these long periods that last anywhere from a few months to several years, I lose the ability to make decisions based on my own judgement. I create a false reality in my head, and am unable to tell that my thoughts aren’t my own. When I come out of it (I tend to refer to it as “waking up”), my head immediately returns to where it was before the episode. Only, I am left with the after effects of everything I did and said while I was in that manic state. Sometimes it takes time for the memories of things that happened to come back to me, and when they do it feels less like a real memory, and more like I am watching myself from a third person view. It’s frightening, and the memories and effects of my actions can be devastating.
This last episode lasted about 3 months. In that short time frame, I broke my ex boyfriends trust, kicked him out, started dating a man 30 years older than me that I met online and completely changed my life. I started living extravagantly. I thought I was in a Cinderella story and had been finally saved from a life of worrying if I could afford to get an extra box of cereal that week. I thought I was happy. But the third month in I started to feel a shift. Things weren’t making as much sense anymore. I started to feel detached from the relationships I had created, and started picking up on things I was telling people and tolerating that didn’t match my actual moral code. So I called someone I trusted to meet with me. I “woke up” that night. After talking to my family and friends, the perceptions of what I was doing vary from them thinking I was just delusional, to knowing very well I was manic, but fearful to step in and potentially lose me all together.
It’s been difficult trying to wrap my head around how I could have justified my actions at that time to anyone, let alone myself. The after effects have left me jobless, financially unstable and incredibly guilty for all the pain and confusion I caused to the people I love most. I have only begun to pick up the pieces of the mess I created without having any idea I was doing it. I have damaged a lot of things, some which can be repaired, and some that cannot. I have spent a while living in a state of shame and grief for what I have lost, for the things I cannot change. I have been hopeless, afraid to live life in a cycle of constant chaos. Afraid to hurt anyone else. Afraid to lose myself, or lose my life like my father did to suicide. Afraid that everything won’t end up ok.
But that’s the reality we don’t see. We don’t hear the phrase “It might not be ok” very often. Our lives are surrounded by masks and shields to cover up the pain that we all suffer. Our earliest memories are filled with reading and watching happy endings in books and films. But sometimes, life isn’t fair. Sometimes there isn’t a happy ending. Sometimes when we break things, they stay broken. It’s a cruel thing to be born with a condition that causes me to have to constantly do damage control to situations that I wasn’t even present mentally for. I have often said that “It feels like I am being punished”.
But, I am tired of feeling hopeless. I am tired of feeling like I will always live a life with no awareness of if what I feel is real or not, no consistency and inevitably, no happiness. So I am taking as much control back as I can.
October is for healing. At least it will be for me. I have apologized and fought for forgiveness to the people I hurt. I am creating a game plan to get back to work and fix my finances. I have made my family and friends aware of the warning signs of a manic episode and how to help me if they see it start again. And in three days I will start a new medication for bipolar disorder to help manage my symptoms. I may not have control all the time, but I do right now, and I am still responsible for the choices I make.
It might not be ok can sound like a pessimistic phrase, but for me it gives me hope. It reminds me that there are things that happen that don’t work out, that aren’t fixable, that cant change. Accepting that frees me from the chains of wishing for a different life and a different outcome. It might not always be ok, but I will be, and that’s all any of us can really hope for.
itmightnotbeok 