Diary of a Mood Disorder
I go to therapy. I resent that I have to wait with the people in the waiting room at Weber Human Services in Utah--the pool of human refuse where I was dropped. The other patrons of this venue include: drug addicts, alcoholics, suicide risks, etc. I am none of these. Why I was sent there is because I need help, and I'm required to seek it regularly to continue to have Medicaid (a government program which provides services for those who can't afford to pay for them.) But, I feel unqualified to be there with the more remarkable human waste, because I'm not them. I'm just a mood disorder.
In therapy, when I start to share my thoughts and feelings, it's obvious there's an issue, which psychology can define best as Bipolar II.
Bipolar II is a mood disorder. It's slightly less intense than Bipolar I, but it's just as damaging and, sadly, more often leads to suicide. Either label becomes part of your identity if you are diagnosed. You aren't someone who has been diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, you are Bipolar disorder. No one will say, "He has Bipolar disorder." Instead, they'll say, "He's Bipolar." That, of course, carries a blatant stigma and leads to the eventual, "Huh. I never would have guessed. He doesn't seem Bipolar." It's immediately overlooked that Bipolar and Bipolar II are actual conditions.
Let's be clear that everyone goes through mood changes. Everyone's moods shift from one end to another. Don't confuse these shifts in mood to those of us with mood disorders. Bipolar people go through these sames shifts, but at a greater disparity between the dynamics of emotion, all while the line of mood is going either slowly up or slowly going down beyond their control.
A great fallacy I've had to endure is people assuming they've been through what I've been through, and by extension they are saying they've experienced everything every mood disorder has experienced. That's simply not true. The reason they are disorders is because of the intense impact they have on their "victim's" reality. Never tell someone with a mood disorder that you know what they're going through--especially don't use the term exactly. You can't know exactly what we're going through unless you see your mood changes affecting your life in a severe way, mostly detrimental.
For those who think they know exactly what mood disorders are going through, it's obvious that we are simply not trying as hard to adjust as they are. It's obvious, to them, that we just need to be stronger, that we're just being lazy. The worst is that they feel we're simply being overly dramatic, so they act like we are to our faces. Whatever it is they tell us, the baseline of their reasoning is that we are drawing attention to ourselves, and they don't like that we get it. They don't approve of the help we receive that they don't, because they think they deserve it just as much as we do but they're too humble, or they strive harder to be self-sufficient than we do.
It's bad for people who suffer from chronic depression, because it doesn't look like a problem until it looks like laziness. It's slightly more difficult for people who are diagnosed Bipolar, because they seem to be highly capable and ambitious. But, that's just during one phase of the spectrum. Suddenly, for seemingly no reason (often for no actual reason), their ambition shifts into nothingness. This casts quite a pall over the Bipolar life for those on the outside.
Probably because Bipolar has a reputation for being erratic and unstable. This is a well-deserved reputation. Anyone who knows anyone who obviously has Bipolar disorder can tell you of the strange, sometimes alarming, behavior of their Bipolar associate. I am one of those erratic and unstable people. However, you would never know it. I take great care, and go through great pains, to make sure what's in my head and body don't negatively affect my surroundings, because I am quite a bit more self-aware than your average mood disorder. My therapist sees this. My former therapist saw this, as well. As does the nurse practioner. This means I can report what it feels like, for me, very clearly.
It's not a pleasant experience, kind of like how it wouldn't be pleasant to witness your own limbs being methodically torn from your body. And, what's unsettling in this analogy is that, as one with the symptoms of this mood disorder, you are the one tearing your limbs from your own body. Mania is one extreme of the Bipolar spectrum, and depression is the other, and during both cycles, it feels like either euphoria or despair, but it looks like self-destruction.
Mania feels like a tiny vile of lava has cracked in the back of your head, and it begins to flow through you like festering threads of sugary fire in an endless line of fingers, spreading at the speed of mindless intention. The catch is that you don't notice until you start to act like you have this sweet lava seeping into your muscles. Sometimes it feels good, sometimes it feels terrible. When it feels good, it feels like invincibility. It feels like ambition. It feels like a lifetime of success is just at your fingertips, if only you move them in the most useful fashion. When it feels bad, it feels irritating, like how torture victims are irritated that torture is happening and they can't physically stop it. But, when it feels good, some people experiencing this will begin to plan, and sometimes even take steps to execute that plan.
For example: it's been a recurring theme in my manic cycles where I begin to be angry about violence and unrest. My plan, though, is to burst the dam. So, I start to stage, in my head, an effective series of actions which will lead to all-out war, which feels beautiful and satisfying to me at that time. All of this takes place in my head, in great detail, over the course of anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks. My mind goes on planning, like I'm truly going to do it. I never will do it, because I will never compromise my efforts of self-control. My conscience deep on the surface of my thoughts doesn't know that it's a bad idea, or that it's unrealistic, and, therefore, I have to pelt my consciousness with reminders that it's a thought not based on reality. Throughout the tenure of the manic episode--or, more specifically an low-key form of mania called "hypomania"--I feel no effect from these pelting reminders. It's only after a series of meditative practices and a purposeful pricking at my own conscience that I begin to come back down to reality, but that doesn't start until the mania begins to fade. Once the heat has cooled, I start to see exactly how damaging those thoughts have been and it starts to become frightening. I think of what would happen should I lose my self-control, for one reason or another, and begin to actually act on my impulses during this cycle. Thus, I take great care to maintain my self-control.
In therapy, when I start to share my thoughts and feelings, it's obvious there's an issue, which psychology can define best as Bipolar II.
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| Bipolar Disorder [1] by chi-of-ink |
Let's be clear that everyone goes through mood changes. Everyone's moods shift from one end to another. Don't confuse these shifts in mood to those of us with mood disorders. Bipolar people go through these sames shifts, but at a greater disparity between the dynamics of emotion, all while the line of mood is going either slowly up or slowly going down beyond their control.
A great fallacy I've had to endure is people assuming they've been through what I've been through, and by extension they are saying they've experienced everything every mood disorder has experienced. That's simply not true. The reason they are disorders is because of the intense impact they have on their "victim's" reality. Never tell someone with a mood disorder that you know what they're going through--especially don't use the term exactly. You can't know exactly what we're going through unless you see your mood changes affecting your life in a severe way, mostly detrimental.
For those who think they know exactly what mood disorders are going through, it's obvious that we are simply not trying as hard to adjust as they are. It's obvious, to them, that we just need to be stronger, that we're just being lazy. The worst is that they feel we're simply being overly dramatic, so they act like we are to our faces. Whatever it is they tell us, the baseline of their reasoning is that we are drawing attention to ourselves, and they don't like that we get it. They don't approve of the help we receive that they don't, because they think they deserve it just as much as we do but they're too humble, or they strive harder to be self-sufficient than we do.
It's bad for people who suffer from chronic depression, because it doesn't look like a problem until it looks like laziness. It's slightly more difficult for people who are diagnosed Bipolar, because they seem to be highly capable and ambitious. But, that's just during one phase of the spectrum. Suddenly, for seemingly no reason (often for no actual reason), their ambition shifts into nothingness. This casts quite a pall over the Bipolar life for those on the outside.
Probably because Bipolar has a reputation for being erratic and unstable. This is a well-deserved reputation. Anyone who knows anyone who obviously has Bipolar disorder can tell you of the strange, sometimes alarming, behavior of their Bipolar associate. I am one of those erratic and unstable people. However, you would never know it. I take great care, and go through great pains, to make sure what's in my head and body don't negatively affect my surroundings, because I am quite a bit more self-aware than your average mood disorder. My therapist sees this. My former therapist saw this, as well. As does the nurse practioner. This means I can report what it feels like, for me, very clearly.
It's not a pleasant experience, kind of like how it wouldn't be pleasant to witness your own limbs being methodically torn from your body. And, what's unsettling in this analogy is that, as one with the symptoms of this mood disorder, you are the one tearing your limbs from your own body. Mania is one extreme of the Bipolar spectrum, and depression is the other, and during both cycles, it feels like either euphoria or despair, but it looks like self-destruction.
Mania feels like a tiny vile of lava has cracked in the back of your head, and it begins to flow through you like festering threads of sugary fire in an endless line of fingers, spreading at the speed of mindless intention. The catch is that you don't notice until you start to act like you have this sweet lava seeping into your muscles. Sometimes it feels good, sometimes it feels terrible. When it feels good, it feels like invincibility. It feels like ambition. It feels like a lifetime of success is just at your fingertips, if only you move them in the most useful fashion. When it feels bad, it feels irritating, like how torture victims are irritated that torture is happening and they can't physically stop it. But, when it feels good, some people experiencing this will begin to plan, and sometimes even take steps to execute that plan.
For example: it's been a recurring theme in my manic cycles where I begin to be angry about violence and unrest. My plan, though, is to burst the dam. So, I start to stage, in my head, an effective series of actions which will lead to all-out war, which feels beautiful and satisfying to me at that time. All of this takes place in my head, in great detail, over the course of anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks. My mind goes on planning, like I'm truly going to do it. I never will do it, because I will never compromise my efforts of self-control. My conscience deep on the surface of my thoughts doesn't know that it's a bad idea, or that it's unrealistic, and, therefore, I have to pelt my consciousness with reminders that it's a thought not based on reality. Throughout the tenure of the manic episode--or, more specifically an low-key form of mania called "hypomania"--I feel no effect from these pelting reminders. It's only after a series of meditative practices and a purposeful pricking at my own conscience that I begin to come back down to reality, but that doesn't start until the mania begins to fade. Once the heat has cooled, I start to see exactly how damaging those thoughts have been and it starts to become frightening. I think of what would happen should I lose my self-control, for one reason or another, and begin to actually act on my impulses during this cycle. Thus, I take great care to maintain my self-control.
Those who know me best would say I don't always do a great job at controlling myself. I'll tell you, though, what they don't know: anything I'm saying or doing is the lowest degree of action I can muster at that given time, and I always make sure it's nothing that will have a permanently negative effect on them or me. They would shudder to think of what I'm not saying or doing. This is why self-control is so important.
This brings me to why it's so difficult to keep up with life, specifically when it comes to employment. It might seem like a job would keep me busy and take my mind off of these things. If it does seem like that, it's because you haven't experienced a mood disorder, personally. With a mood disorder, you think you are in control of your mind and body, until you see your life as it unfolds around you. You see the broken relationships, the unfinished or failed projects, the poor living conditions. You want to believe that they were all on purpose, because you are in control of yourself, until you can't remember what drove you to do or stop doing what led to those outcomes. The greatest failing of someone with a mood disorder, especially one where the moods cycle in extremes, is that the reasons behind your actions cycle with your moods. Unless you're on the lowest end of the cycle. At that point, you can't remember why you've done anything. You often can't even remember what you've done.
Depression is not an emotion, it's a state of being. You may feel sad during a depression, yes, but you might also feel more positive emotions. The difference is that neither positive nor negative emotions mean anything to a person who is depressed. They don't react to either, because they're not capable of reacting. A depressed person has to go so far as to itemize their actions, because that's all the energy they have to work with.
My experience is that during a depressive phase, I don't feel "blue" or gloomy. I simply don't feel. The sensation is close to a dulling of all of your senses, as well as your emotions. I've only been told when I feel "blue" during a depressive phase. Otherwise, my life and feelings are colorless. Everything blends together into clear mud, suspended over my reality like an encompassing, hanging sheet. What's more is my thoughts blend together, like blending all of the water-colors before they get painted onto the canvas. This makes everything dull and basic. And, with everything dull and basic, there comes a great lack of purpose--there's nowhere to go on map where all of its desinations have blurred into one common area, because you're already everywhere. After I've seen this as my percieved reality, I suddenly realize that the only true purpose of life is to die. At least, that's what it seems.
This cyclic experience has bled into everything in my life. It's not as easy for me to see purpose as it is for most people. I see eventual death in the eyes of everyone I see. Watching people exert so much energy into fallable and temporary endeavors is near the source of my greatest anxiety, which is: reaching the point where you've spent your time on Earth running in an endless cirlce, feeling like you've gone a great distance, but you've gotten nowhere.
There is integrity in going in circles, though. The results of all you've done will eventually catch up to you because you're always heading straight for them, meaning they don't have to go far. This is where it gets tricky with a mood disorder, though; as I've said before, the reasons for your actions cycle with your moods. So, it's more like running in one circle then unknowingly moving to a different circle. Suddenly, you see the consequences of what you've done in that circle, and if they are negative consequences, it becomes bitingly painful, because you can't explain why you did or didn't do what led to that outcome. The pain can get so dark, you feel the blood of your conscience running down your emotions, but you can't see blood in the dark, so you begin to fear exactly how much of it you're spilling onto yourself and you don't know if it will ever stop.
Unchecked, this experience becomes unbearable for the one with the mood disorder. Let me reiterate what I've said about depression, but appropriate it to different moods: you might feel different emotions during one cycle, but that isn't the same as the mood of that cycle. Granted, everyone has mood cycles, and in various forms. As a very simple example: you might be in the mood for tacos, or you might be in the mood to watch a sad movie; or, maybe you're not in the mood to go for a walk, even though that's one of your favorite things to do. Those aren't the same moods as those within the context of a mood disorder. For Bipolarity, on the one end you'll feel every emotion with intensity and severity, while on the other end you'll barely feel the ebb and flow of your emotions, at all. At the blissful moment of regularity, you might be able to observe your actions from the past. This can be where it becomes dramatically overwhelming, because you see your actions were as inconsistent as your moods, and at times they can be troubling to witness.
As for myself, I tend to have an attitude of elimination when it comes to threats--threats to myself and those I care about. So, if I've seen that the actions I've taken in the past have had a negative impact on myself or those who I care about, my initial solution is to eliminate the one common threat: myself. What prevents me from even the attempt of suicide, though, is my awareness of the consequences of that action, and the self-control I've practiced so earnestly.
My therapist knows more about me than what I've shared, and she understands what help I need, and we both know where I can get it. It's just a matter of getting it, which is a far greater challenge than it should be. Make no mistake that there is a solution to mood disorders: management. Mood disorders are like diabetes, in that they don't just go away, and they don't correct themselves. The best thing a diabetic can do is manage their condition. It's the same with mood disorders. They not only can be managed, but they should be managed. It would be excellent to know I had the means by which I could manage my own condition, even if it meant I couldn't come by those means by myself. Because, if I haven't clearly indicated yet, I often can't provide my own means due to the level of effort I've taken and will always take to self-manage. With that, I know I speak for thousands of people in the same circumstances.
But, hey, I'm just a mood disorder, right? Surely I'm not as serious as drug addiction, alcoholism, suicidal tendencies, etc. I'm absolutely not as serious as autism, Down syndrome, or psychopathy. Right? I shouldn't need this much help, because all that's holding me back is changes in mood. Everyone has changes in mood, so I should be able to handle it like everyone handles it. I'm just not being strong enough, and I'm being lazy. Right?
No. Wrong. So, so wrong. Not everyone has changes in their moods the same way I--and other mood disorders--do, and my mood changes are not as manageable and simple as those of more common people.
I feel like writing more on the subject than I already have, but I'm suddenly no longer in the mood.
This brings me to why it's so difficult to keep up with life, specifically when it comes to employment. It might seem like a job would keep me busy and take my mind off of these things. If it does seem like that, it's because you haven't experienced a mood disorder, personally. With a mood disorder, you think you are in control of your mind and body, until you see your life as it unfolds around you. You see the broken relationships, the unfinished or failed projects, the poor living conditions. You want to believe that they were all on purpose, because you are in control of yourself, until you can't remember what drove you to do or stop doing what led to those outcomes. The greatest failing of someone with a mood disorder, especially one where the moods cycle in extremes, is that the reasons behind your actions cycle with your moods. Unless you're on the lowest end of the cycle. At that point, you can't remember why you've done anything. You often can't even remember what you've done.
Depression is not an emotion, it's a state of being. You may feel sad during a depression, yes, but you might also feel more positive emotions. The difference is that neither positive nor negative emotions mean anything to a person who is depressed. They don't react to either, because they're not capable of reacting. A depressed person has to go so far as to itemize their actions, because that's all the energy they have to work with.
My experience is that during a depressive phase, I don't feel "blue" or gloomy. I simply don't feel. The sensation is close to a dulling of all of your senses, as well as your emotions. I've only been told when I feel "blue" during a depressive phase. Otherwise, my life and feelings are colorless. Everything blends together into clear mud, suspended over my reality like an encompassing, hanging sheet. What's more is my thoughts blend together, like blending all of the water-colors before they get painted onto the canvas. This makes everything dull and basic. And, with everything dull and basic, there comes a great lack of purpose--there's nowhere to go on map where all of its desinations have blurred into one common area, because you're already everywhere. After I've seen this as my percieved reality, I suddenly realize that the only true purpose of life is to die. At least, that's what it seems.
This cyclic experience has bled into everything in my life. It's not as easy for me to see purpose as it is for most people. I see eventual death in the eyes of everyone I see. Watching people exert so much energy into fallable and temporary endeavors is near the source of my greatest anxiety, which is: reaching the point where you've spent your time on Earth running in an endless cirlce, feeling like you've gone a great distance, but you've gotten nowhere.
There is integrity in going in circles, though. The results of all you've done will eventually catch up to you because you're always heading straight for them, meaning they don't have to go far. This is where it gets tricky with a mood disorder, though; as I've said before, the reasons for your actions cycle with your moods. So, it's more like running in one circle then unknowingly moving to a different circle. Suddenly, you see the consequences of what you've done in that circle, and if they are negative consequences, it becomes bitingly painful, because you can't explain why you did or didn't do what led to that outcome. The pain can get so dark, you feel the blood of your conscience running down your emotions, but you can't see blood in the dark, so you begin to fear exactly how much of it you're spilling onto yourself and you don't know if it will ever stop.
Unchecked, this experience becomes unbearable for the one with the mood disorder. Let me reiterate what I've said about depression, but appropriate it to different moods: you might feel different emotions during one cycle, but that isn't the same as the mood of that cycle. Granted, everyone has mood cycles, and in various forms. As a very simple example: you might be in the mood for tacos, or you might be in the mood to watch a sad movie; or, maybe you're not in the mood to go for a walk, even though that's one of your favorite things to do. Those aren't the same moods as those within the context of a mood disorder. For Bipolarity, on the one end you'll feel every emotion with intensity and severity, while on the other end you'll barely feel the ebb and flow of your emotions, at all. At the blissful moment of regularity, you might be able to observe your actions from the past. This can be where it becomes dramatically overwhelming, because you see your actions were as inconsistent as your moods, and at times they can be troubling to witness.
As for myself, I tend to have an attitude of elimination when it comes to threats--threats to myself and those I care about. So, if I've seen that the actions I've taken in the past have had a negative impact on myself or those who I care about, my initial solution is to eliminate the one common threat: myself. What prevents me from even the attempt of suicide, though, is my awareness of the consequences of that action, and the self-control I've practiced so earnestly.
My therapist knows more about me than what I've shared, and she understands what help I need, and we both know where I can get it. It's just a matter of getting it, which is a far greater challenge than it should be. Make no mistake that there is a solution to mood disorders: management. Mood disorders are like diabetes, in that they don't just go away, and they don't correct themselves. The best thing a diabetic can do is manage their condition. It's the same with mood disorders. They not only can be managed, but they should be managed. It would be excellent to know I had the means by which I could manage my own condition, even if it meant I couldn't come by those means by myself. Because, if I haven't clearly indicated yet, I often can't provide my own means due to the level of effort I've taken and will always take to self-manage. With that, I know I speak for thousands of people in the same circumstances.
But, hey, I'm just a mood disorder, right? Surely I'm not as serious as drug addiction, alcoholism, suicidal tendencies, etc. I'm absolutely not as serious as autism, Down syndrome, or psychopathy. Right? I shouldn't need this much help, because all that's holding me back is changes in mood. Everyone has changes in mood, so I should be able to handle it like everyone handles it. I'm just not being strong enough, and I'm being lazy. Right?
No. Wrong. So, so wrong. Not everyone has changes in their moods the same way I--and other mood disorders--do, and my mood changes are not as manageable and simple as those of more common people.
I feel like writing more on the subject than I already have, but I'm suddenly no longer in the mood.
anita@mail.postmanllc.net
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