OPEN LETTERS
An Open Letter to Bipolar Disorder
You are a tiger in the grass waiting to give me new life, and then take me to the edge of death.
Dear Bipolar Disorder,
Firstly, you don’t scare me. Even though for most of my life I thought you were my personality. I thought I was about the highs of dancing on tables, drinking till sunrise, sex any time. One of the fun people.
When this mania hits I’m the most fascinating person in the room. My best self. Desperate to impress. So funny. So kooky. Very flirty. Up for anything. Full of life.
Then the other side of you emerges before I’ve had a chance to completely obliterate myself with pleasure. I thought I was about the lows of knowing that every year in January and July I would need two weeks out of my life to deal with deep depression, when it would be impossible to get out of bed, and when I felt completely disassociated from everything.
Mood Diary
Monday 6/1
In the afternoon, saw Ruth – told her I was feeling a bit low. Only realized it as I told her. The day before, I had experienced a hint of suicidal thought – but not my own. As if someone else had suggested it – not that there was anyone there to.
I went on to dinner with the girls but felt dissociative.
Tuesday 7/1
Very low mood. Feeling hopeless from bushfires and the government’s lack of action. I know I should turn it off but I’m strangely compelled by the sorrow.
Going to see Elton John tonight. I hope I can cope.
I know this pattern of yours, Bipolar. This precursor to major depression:
Initially elevated emotions just slightly. Feeling deeper love, anger, appreciation, and connection. Not at all manic just more intense.
Then a strange floating feeling, dull and fuzzy, finding normal things difficult and upsetting, for example dealing with bureaucracy. Waiting for people. Coupled with some anxiety in bursts. A slight tingling on the skin.
Wednesday 8/1
Woke up feeling terrible. Dazed, walking through water. Not a low mood but feeling nothing and incapable of anything except lying in bed, hoping I’ll have the strength to get up.
Elton, I got through the night but felt like I wasn’t there. I saw the joy on my friends’ faces and heard the cheers from the crowd. I knew there was love and admiration all through the stadium, but I couldn’t access any of it.
I spoke to my psychiatrist, your enemy. He was so calm and kind. He doubled my dose of anti-depressant. But, he said, if that doesn’t work I will need hospitalization. I couldn’t work out how I felt about that. Couldn’t feel anything anyway. It sounded bad, but also like a relief.
Ideation:
I can’t live with this for the rest of my life
I’m not gonna achieve anything in my lifetime
Living is only suffering
Thursday 9/1
Woke up feeling like I’ve been mown down by a Mac truck. Low mood, zero energy, slight anxiety. Worst ever.
Canceled my upcoming trip. Doing this took all the energy I had left for the day. But worth it as I then felt better.
Friday 10/1
First morning 375mg Effexor.
Woke again like a zombie. Slept till 11 am. Mood lifting by 12noon but still very tired and enervated.
No appetite until 12noon most days. Don’t want to see anyone – not from social anxiety but because I’ll have to explain myself – stigma. So tired.
Saturday 11/1
Woke up feeling not terrible. Not normal either but it’s lifting.
Afternoon a dip in mood and evening too – irritable.
Then watched an old movie with Jo and enjoyed it! Some moments of being back in life.
Sunday 12/1
Woke up not too bad, less foggy, and, capable of deep thought for the first time without anxiety. Still not able to access emotion on a normal level, just intellectually process it.
Monday 13/1
Better again today, with only a few dips in mood.
Feeling better as the day wears on, with feelings of happiness. The drugs are kicking in, reducing your power my friend.
Wednesday 14/1
Back to normal!!! Normal, normal, normal old mood. I am crying with relief!
Bipolar, it was not fun spending time with you. You put me in a cage every now and then. You take away everything that is me. You leave me a shell.
You force me to strip my life back to the basics. I can’t see you, you are insidious. I can barely eat, speak, or move. But as my mental health returns, I watch each of these elements returned to me as precious gifts that I am so grateful for, that I once took for granted.
I hate you. But I have to love you as you are a part of me. If you keep yourself small and stay on that medication leash, maybe we will both survive.
Please enjoy some more of my stories, both fiction and fact…
