Out of “The Box”

That “crazy” label we try to mask mental illnesses with

My main goal as a writer is the consistency of honesty and transparency showcased throughout every word I type. So alas, the following is another bit of me- unveiled.

I’m writing this as I finally calmed down from a long-winded meltdown in one of the most sporadic depressive moods I’ve ever plunged head-first into. I check Twitter, because honestly what is better for my mentality right now than a ton of random online personalities spurting who knows what in 140 characters or less?

Trending? “#WorldMentalHealthDay”

I laughed uncontrollably. How damn ironic. October 10, 2016 — Holly’s huge meltdown has an entire date to now remember it by from here on out.

I’m 21 years old, blessed with bipolar affective disorder permanently engraved on my medical record. My most favorite addition to that particular document, might I add. (Yes, I like it even better than the terminated pregnancy I ensured be included to it, too, (and no I’m not being sarcastic.)) For those unfamiliar, it’s a fancy term for manic depressive illness, even fancier form of the simply put “intensely depressed sometimes, intensely manic sometimes,” and I always like to add (from my own experience, anyway) “intensely neither or both- a lot of the time.”

Characteristics and severity of this illness I’ve heard vary per inhabitant. Hell, when I was younger I think everyone just thought I was your typical little manipulative and moody brat, with a few more breakdowns than usual. Today, my illness takes the form of an entire spectrum of symptoms and signs, all of which don’t fit the “common-mans definition” of bipolar disorder. My mom can still call me a moody little brat though, she earned the right to call me that.

My most favorite phrase I hear more often than I’d like to, “Oh my GOD this weather is SO bipolar.” I live in Ohio.

…I hope you’ve made the connection I’ve heard this phrase more often than I hear “I’m finally going to take the Browns to the Super Bowl!” as someone heads to the bathroom.

Bipolar disorder is so much more than a quick and instantaneous shift of mental states, and so much more from being thirty degrees at 10 a.m. and seventy-five by noon. The complexity of trying to put this disorder in a strict set of guidelines gets larger since everyone that lives with bipolar disorder often experiences it quite differently than the next. And those living with bipolar disorder, as well as an even greater list of mental illnesses, are not and should not be dismissed as “crazy.”

For me, I feel I’m a mixed state of mania and depression most of the time. My actual manic and depressive episodes that occur separately usually don’t outrun seven days. It almost happens like clockwork, which is sometimes kind of cool.

When I’m manic: I don’t sleep, I’m over-confident (eh, cocky too,) easily distracted, I talk too much, experience a ton of racing thoughts often accompanied by a million unfinished projects and vivid epiphanies, and the broadly worded- “engages in excessive pleasurable activities, often with painful consequences.” I like to describe the latter as, yep you guessed it and yes I’m going there, lots of SEX. Or at least over-stimulated and wishing for lots of sex. (I wasn’t joking when I said my goal in writing is to remain honest and transparent about personal experiences, regardless of who might stumble upon it… hi dad and future employers.)

Another thing I noticed is that I make irrational decisions based on poor judgment on the spot. Instances like walking out of my job, and consuming meat on the same day after pivoting between veganism and vegetarianism for two years, also while in college and racking up a shit ton of debt have occurred.

When I’m depressed: I’m well, depressed. I experience lack of interest in all of my favorite things (I think writing from the inner depth of your depression is a myth,) I gain weight-significantly, I have no energy, am incredibly fatigued, I feel useless or excessively guilty, even more so incredibly indecisive, and sometimes experience suicidal thoughts.

When I’m a dash of both: I’m literally a dash of both. Usually I eat a lot and stay up late. Or it might just be the college kid in me, hard to tell. I feel I’m in a mixed state more than anything, and this might honestly not always be attributed to my mental illness and instead are poor lifestyle habits. Again, hard to tell.

When I’m neither: I wake up on time, I make breakfast, I go to school, I finish homework early, and go to sleep before midnight… this has happened one day going into week seven of this semester.

The most dangerous part of these episodes can be the ability remain high-functioning when experiencing them, or the will to continue to function at a normal rate even when you should take time for self-care; but persistently neglect in doing so because of your previous abilities to function “normally” during an episode.

Luckily I’m privileged enough to have access to the help I need to manage my mental illness. I’m slightly negligent of seeking the talk therapy I should regularly engage in, but my prescription of Valproic Acid kind of does the trick. Many people aren’t as lucky as me, and some don’t even know that what they’re experiencing is a mental illness and are too afraid to seek help because of the stigma surrounded by it.

Since over 450 million people in the world suffer from a mental illness: that “crazy” term you might be throwing around, or the prejudice you might be encouraging using specific language in regards to certain illnesses, might be negatively impacting your child, parent, friend, colleague, classmate, significant other, or random stranger.

So, in honor of #WorldMentalHealthDay that the social media sphere so enthusiastically pursued, I hope you take the following away:

Mental health is just as important as physical health. Mental healthcare should be easily accessible. Mental illness is common. Mental illnesses need not be stigmatized- there’s already enough going on with them.

Lastly, we are not confined to a box for the rest of our being following a diagnosis, and we are certainly not alone.