Just Another Manic Monday

As I write this, I am in the middle of a manic episode. Yeah. It’s been building all week and crested sometime Thursday. Part of the reason why I haven’t been writing as much as before. To be clear, mania is an old friend of mine and I welcome it in. I am safe. I’ve felt this way before in my life so I know how to handle it.

Mania was the feeling I loved the most years ago. As a bipolar person, or whatever diagnosis I have been specifically assigned, the flipping between mania and depression can be brutal and disruptive. Before I understood what I was and how it impacted me, a manic episode meant criminality in the form of shoplifting, risky behaviors like speeding, or excessive shopping. Anything that felt like a rush. I would seek it out thinking it was as normal as running to the store to get milk.

That’s the thing about mental illness that is so hard to combat: when a brain be crazy, it thinks it be sane. Every decision I ever made while manic, from drawing crosses on my walls to stave off ghosts to the “collaborative” poetry I used to make collages of, felt like a great idea. No, the greatest idea.

When I was manic, I was confident, cocksure, and open to the possibilities of the universe. Speak to me, thy loving Eternity, and know my heart. I felt happy. And that was why I loved being manic the most. I felt happy. See, when you’re constantly shifting between mania and depression, it’s hard to know what “normal” or “middle” feels like. There are just two extremes. Today is either the best fucking day or the one where I do myself in. And so the opposite of suicidal depression, even if it’s just as dangerous and sick, feels like happiness. It isn’t.

And that’s why I am hating the way I feel right now. I have done a lot of work over the past few years to get my mental health in a good place. Regular therapy for years. Proper medication. Open and honest communication with the people in my life so they can keep me honest and watch for warning signs. All the hard work paid off and for the past two years, I haven’t had an issue. I’ve been able to live my life for myself, what I want it to be, and find worth and value in that. In other words, I now know what happiness, real happiness, feels like.

Mania sucks. It’s like drinking too much coffee only instead of getting the energy boost all you get is the shaky anxiety that comes with it. The thoughts in my head are racing, like trying to grab the tail of a swallow as it swoops by. I can literally feel them bouncing off the insides of my skull. Sleep is hard to come by. And work is nearly impossible as my mind jumps from one thing to another. Hell, it took two days to write this blog. It’s disruptive and changes my patterns.

So what happened? If I’d been doing good, how did I fuck up? Well, I didn’t. I haven’t changed anything, except I started a new medication for an unrelated neurological issue. Ropinirole. It worked great for the issues I’d been having. Part of how it works is by impacting dopamine levels. The pleasure neurotransmitter. And listen, I ain’t no scientist. I only pretend to be one for TV. But whatever this pill did to fix my brain, it set off a chain reaction that has lead to where I am now.

In the past, I would have had a hard time dealing with this. I might not have even recognized it for what it is. I could have been out on the freeway speeding along throwing bottles for kicks. Not anymore. I have a support network now. And I highly recommend anyone struggling with mental illness to make creating one their priority. It doesn’t have to be big. Mine is small. But knowing there are people who are both keeping an eye out for nutty behavior and also able to help me when I feel unhinged, is so vital to living with it.

Mental illness doesn’t go away. It can’t be cured or “fixed”. It can be managed, alleviated, and understood. There was a time in my life where I didn’t think I could live like this, halfway between mental patient and medicated zombie. I didn’t think I could ever know happiness beyond mania. And honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know it. Mania is that powerful. But now that I’ve been able to quiet and manage my illness, I don’t want mania. All I want to feel like me again, in control, and making decisions that help me.

I can’t stop the medicine right away. I have to ween. Luckily, it hasn’t been that long so I should be done by Monday. Until then, I’ll have to hunker down, mind my thoughts, and wait for sanity to rejoin me. If you know anyone who suffers from mental illness, no matter how severe, please look to them with empathy. Crazy does not recognize crazy. They do not know what they do.

Catch you on the flipside.

If you or someone you know is in crisis, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255