#tw bipolar ii

[bipolarmango]

I cannot stress this enough: it's important not to push someone with a trauma to process it faster than they can. I am looking at you, mental health workers.

I once was at a mental health institution due to a major depressive episode that presented as a part of my bipolar-2. I am a grownup, over 30, so I mentioned to my doctor that I am not on the best of terms with my family and gave them a brief overview of my childhood. I also said that most of my childhood feels like it belongs to someone else, like I've read it from a book (I'm totally emotionally disconnected from it), and I have massive gaps in memory.

For unknown reasons, instead of focusing on the current events, such as the physical health issues I had been diagnosed with, the pandemic, my ex leaving, you name it, the doctors and psychologist decided to focus on digging as deep as possible on my childhood literally everyday hours after hours. On top of that, my psychologist and I didn't really get a long well.

During the first week of these sessions, I had some of my typical dissociations, these vague feelings like you're living what I call a movie moment -- a moment stolen from a movie. Not quite real, not quite unreal, but in between. Moments when you suddenly are not sure if your hand is really your hand. They got worse as the week progressed.

After a week, on Friday, I found myself sitting on my hospital bed, and suddenly a feeling like I was a little scared toddler took over me. I had to hide. I crawled under the bed, just like little kids do when they're afraid. If someone would've tried to talk to me, I'm sure I would've sounded like a toddler, I would've behaved like a toddler. My whole mind went back to the same mode it was when I was that small.

When the toddler episode ended, the next stage started. By Friday night, I was in so deep in dissociation that I literally saw these light grey, mostly transparent curtains that separated me from the real world, and behind me, there was another set of deeper grey curtains that separated me from another world. I knew it was another world, and I could just open the curtains and step in and disappear if I wanted. I literally wasn't part of the real world, I was following it behind a curtain, ready to completely disappear if things got even a little bid worse.

Luckily, my whole team was off for the weekend, so the concerned nurses alerted a more senior doctor who sat me down and asked me question about what's going on. He called off the questioning about my childhood as he concluded the stress was just too much for my brain to process at this speed. I was placed under constant supervision. My symptoms kept developing. I started having auditory hallucinations that my own medical team dismissed for some reason. I also had minor visual hallucinations that also got dismissed by my own team for some reason. I started getting random symptoms that I didn't know if they should be accounted for mania or something else (ie. I felt a massive urge to take a wheelchair and run with it through the hallway, push it through the massive window and fly with it from the fifth floor to the ground, not to die but to fly and to, just, well, just to do it. I also wanted to "run away" and literally jump off the walls, scream at the top of my lungs, climb to the roof of the hospital just because. Mind you, I am usually very quiet and withdraw person, and my hypomania doesn't include this kind of behaviour).

It took a month for all these symptoms get back to normal (I do often have dissociation but not on the level when I had at the time, auditory and visual hallucinations I haven't had for years). My own medical team made me understand that they believe I was faking it for attention.

I got a new medical team soon after.

I believe that the stress of trying to force me to process the trauma to fast caused me a massive dissociation, hallucinations, and possibly my first ever mania that should have changed my diagnosis from bipolar-2 to bipolar-1 had I have a team that took me seriously.

[narc1ssis1ic]

Can someone please suggest ways to cope with being in a mixed bipolar episode?

[ace-of-d1am0nds]

funniest shit that has happened to me recently is i’m entering another manic episode. that’s not the funny part. the funny part is while during my last episode i spent 4 nights a week at the club, last night i was at my friends place playing warhammer 40k until midnight. to each their own and by each and their i mean me when im manic

[willgrahamkinnie]

No one:

Me, lighting my 5th bowl a bowl at 3am: maybe THIS time I’ll suddenly be cured of my mental illnesses—

[that-bipolar-mood]

A peak of my mania experience through the memes...

First off, The thing that ruins your life:

And lack of impulse control creates:

So that escalates into:

Until finally:

And then comes the depression:

The end

[yodaddysobipolar]

Any day I can get high and listen to music is basically a win in the overall ledger of the shitshow that is my life. It has diminishing returns though.

I feel like I’m totally fucking up my life in nearly every way. It’s a swirl of relationships and symptoms. Marriage. Career. Burn out. Drug addiction. Impulsive behavior. Reckless spending. Neglectful and Emotionally unavailable father. Mental health. Etc etc

I am seriously struggling to just make it to work. To get up. To be a parent to a special needs child. To be worthy. To feel worthy. Is anyone worthy? Maybe that’s an impossible feeling. Or, to simply continue living as best you can in your unworthiness. Is that what others are doing?

[autumnbell32]

1/15/24 at 1225: I'm Scared, and I Want to Remember This Feeling

There are ugly sides to this chronic, severe mental illness- things that happen in dark, isolated rooms amongst body odor and empty food cartons- that I'm not going to avoid sharing because that doesn't help anyone. This disease puts its sufferers in a damp, lonely, sticky place. Friends, this is the most unhealthy I have ever been, regardless of the fact that my therapist says I'm still making progress. I'm on three medications- one an antipsychotic (never wanted to deal with the neurological and metabolic side effects of those again) and I'm still about 60 pounds heavier than my normal weight. I binge to numb the emotional pain and feelings of loss (I've only had rare instances of depression actually decreasing my appetite and causing weight loss). I'm 38, diabetes, high blood pressure and heart disease run in my family, and my health just isn't going to hold up against this illness anymore (I'm really worried the damage is already done). I have a past history of being somewhat fit and active, but now I feel as if I have betrayed my body more than it is willing to accept. I'm scared and I want to remember this feeling.

I see a gynecologist who treats PMDD tomorrow morning and am begging the universe for some relief because I really can't keep weathering these cycles on my own anymore- my sails are full of holes. Remove one stone, protect my health for a little longer, so that I can continue to be strong enough to come out the other side of this. I am determined that my life will be better by the fall. I've already put some plans in place and am just hoping that it isn't too late for me.

Yesterday I left my apartment for a while. I needed cat food and litter, and was starting to feel stir crazy behind these walls (the drywall type and the type that depression builds). It took a bit of time to get the snow and ice off of my car- the temperature was about -20 F with windchill, so I was worried about frostbite since my circulation sucks. It sucks even more after all of the weight gain. I finished my errands but got stuck in the snow at an intersection, though two gentlemen were kind enough to push my car out. Then, when I arrived back home, the smartlock on my apartment door had jammed from the cold. I was locked out of my apartment, cat food and litter and coffee and charger cord in my arms, and had to call maintenance. The poor guy said these type of locks only belong in warmer environments and he had been up since the predawn hours fixing jammed smartlocks in the bitter cold. Even though I waited in my running car, legs hanging down and resting on heels, my feet went numb- specifically the heels. I didn't regain feeling in them for over 30 minutes. In a dumb panic, I kept rubbing them, pressing them into the floor, and rested them on a heating pad. Today they are sore, probably from me constantly pushing on them, but that scares me. The skin looks fine, feeling has completely returned, and I can discern light touch. I hear my body's messages, telling me that my health is fading behind this illness.

[cannibalsamruby]

I’m trying to get my mind off my depressive episode, or am I manic now? Wtf is happening to my mood?

[thiselectricnightmare]

Once again,

VERY LITTLE ABOUT THIS MANIA FEELS HYPO.

[deadc0kewhore]

any1 wanna chat? been hitting the slopes and wanna make some new friends :) 18+ only please; no minors!

i’m 22/enby with Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar, CPTSD, an ED, GAD and DID. I like talking to others about drugs, music, really anything that isn’t sexual.

let’s be friends!! :)

[bipolarmango]

Sui ideation is strange. It's like "what a beautiful day today is, such a great day for leaving this world".

[skyhon]

I thought for so long that I couldn’t finish my highschool diploma, let alone start a college education. But now I’m a straight-A student who’s made the vice president’s (fall quarter) and president’s (winter quarter) honor list. I can confidently say that the reason this is possible is because of two things: my diagnosis of ADHD (and the tools that brings) and my support group.

I dropped out of highschool at the age of 17 with no hope to ever finish because of mental health issues and my undiagnosed ADHD and bipolar. I was sure that I would be stuck in dead-end retail forever. I even tried to get back into highschool two separate times, but I couldn’t juggle school and my full-time job without triggering a hypomanic episode and then immediately dipping down into depression.

I am now part of my school’s top 5% GPA President’s honors list. And I am constantly feeling as if I shouldn’t belong on it. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m actually smart, and that the reason why I failed before wasn’t because I was dumb and stupid, but because I wasn’t given the proper tools and support. My education and importance wasn’t cared for by my parents in a way that actually mattered for someone with ADHD. I wasn’t even aware I had it, because my mom just didn’t talk about it. (She’s tried to gaslight me by saying she did. I actually learnt from here, on Tumblr, that I might have it, and then I got a psychiatrist who diagnosed me officially. I shouldn’t have realized my neurodivergence from memes on Tumblr. I should have been told by my mom, who, as I said, KNEW the whole time, but did nothing about it, even when I struggled through highschool and had to drop out).

It's okay to take time away from school. It’s okay to drop out when you need to. You are not a lost cause if you ever find yourself having to take time away from education because of your mental health. It does NOT define you. But please be aware — those who drop out likely have no support network. They don’t have people to help and provide encouragement. They don’t have loved ones who care enough to support you as you seek out something like a professional diagnosis, or a program that would help you create a useful structure that will boost you up and not drag you down. They don’t have the love and hope that they desperately need. And this is not their fault. That is not something they, an adolescent, should have to struggle through and feel helpless about. They should be engaged with and cared for and they should KNOW that they are cared for not just by the means of words from others, but by ACTION.

I slipped through the cracks, just as my father did before me. I lived without the support I needed and I failed. But that wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t the reason that the people around me failed to provide for my most basic of needs.

And I might have to keep reminding myself of this. I likely will have to. But I won’t do so alone. I have support now, in my found family. I have it in my teachers, who actually care. I have it in my meds, my psychiatrist, my psychologist, my therapist. I have it in my healthy coping strategies, my learnt self encouragement, my specific way of working with my ADHD and bipolar, not against it. All of this is possible because I have people around me who give a shit. Who remind me of my worth as a human being, inherently and without a needed ‘reason’ to be important in their, and my, life.

So if you’re struggling... if you can, please take some sort of first step to building that new network. I had to abandon my old one because it wasn’t working. Even though it was my own parents, I had to let them go as my source for support, because they just weren’t giving me any. I found people who care. I found people who support me. I found my home, my family.

And yeah, it might be a bit unorthodox. But I don’t care. Who gives a shit. The people before weren’t helping me, and that wasn’t my fault. Do I feel wronged? Of course I do. They were supposed to be my parents, and they were supposed to be ready and willing to help their kid succeed not only academically but also health-wise, mentally or physically. But I have to acknowledge this, and then keep walking. I can walk backwards for awhile, both middle fingers up to the world, but some day I’m going to feel okay enough to turn back around and keep walking forwards. And that day will be so fucking good for me.

The first step is to realize and process this reality. That you are not bad or wrong for having needs as a kid. Your support network neglected you and your needs. And you can be angry about it. You don’t even have to “move on” in the way most people think “moving on” means — which is usually framed as “forgiveness” for the neglectors’ behavior. Fuck that.

But someday, you’re not going to give them as much thought. They’re not going to be as important to you as they once were. And you’re going to have others there to care about you and love you. And you’re going to feel powerful, because you are. You’re going to feel capable, because you are.

You can do it. I believe in you.

Just as I’m learning to believe in myself.

[imlost-fuckthis]

mother

i am the fire, i already burn by my own i already do so much damage alone

but you,

you are the gasoline

you make the fire so much worse you give it so much power even when it’s just a small flame, you are the gasoline mom.

[that-bipolar-mood]

Besides the obvious factors, it baffles me that one of the strong reasons why I choose to keep my illness a secret is that reaction from people who just diminish the seriousness.

It's the type of people that say my diagnosis is not a big deal or in any way relatable, rather than acknowledging that it is a serious condition.

What makes me so angry is the years I have battled with myself, to accept I am indeed sick. Because I'm sure many relate with the blindness bipolar can put on those afflicted. And when the revelation comes, it is vicious to disregard our explanation and confession.

This is an illness foremost that resides within extremes, not hours, but weeks or months of symptoms. It is noticeable and disruptive to the point of involuntary hospitalisation. But its unpredictability can drive the most unsuspecting over the edge.

And not to mention the reliance on medications with plenty of side effects, the reluctance to take them, and constant justifying...

What I'm trying to say is that when someone opens up, how about never assuming anything?

[yumiis]

haiii i was wondering if u could do yumi with bipolar reader. im bipolar and saw u r too 🐞🐞

of course. here you go ml <3

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 six months ; blake

　 ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

genre; hurt/comfort

type; imagine

tw + a/n // crying, reader has bipolar 2, medication mentions. this is all solely based on what i have gone through since my diagnosis of bipolar 2. i hope this can help comfort some of you.

read below.

Six long, tiresome months of taking those three stupid, little white pills every night at 9pm sharp. Not to calm your nerves. They were for your bipolar disorder, y'know, your lovely personality disorder. The thing you've lived with for years, but only just recently got a name for.

The day you were diagnosed was the day the puzzle pieces finally snapped into place. You finally knew the reason you'd get these bursts of happiness for a day or so, and then quickly spiral back into your depression hole for another two weeks. Bipolar II causes manic depression, manic episodes, or depressive episodes. You've experienced all three of them. None of them were fun.

Sure, when you were manic, you seemed fun. You were easily excitable, ready to do impulsive things, ready to conquer the world, it seemed. It was your brain searching for any strand of happiness. Searching for anything, searching for any kind of adrenaline. You were not happy, you were not ready to take over the world. You were struggling.

Your boyfriend could notice when you were having a manic episode.

"You okay?"

"Nope!" You'd say, in the happiest voice you could muster.

You got up, shaking your hands, stomping around his bedroom and pacing in circles.

Hey, it's okay. Calm down," He spoke in a more stern voice, trying to get your attention. You stared at him, "Calm down? Calm down?! No! I can't!"

Shortly after that, you'd break down in his arms. You didn't know what was wrong with you. You couldn't keep doing this.

That was the night that he suggested maybe looking into seeing a psychiatrist who could prescribe you some medicine to help with your issues. Once you were in a better state of mind, you warmed up to the idea.

That was six months ago. This is now. These medicines have made you numb. Anyone who spoke to you felt like they were speaking to a stack of bricks. Barely any vocal responses, only nods of the head and occasional "mhm"s.

These days, you mostly stayed in bed, aside the days you had to go to work. The days you had to go to work, your boyfriend drove you. The car rides were quiet aside from the music. Some days you'd be nonverbal before work. You couldn't form words. Couldn't find the strength to talk. Couldn't open your mouth. Sometimes the reason was all three. Blake understood that.

One day though, he tried to start a conversation in the car. "Babe?"

"Mmm?"

"Well uh, first, are you verbal?"

You sighed, "Kinda."

"Okay. Is the medicine even helping you? You seem kinda like a.. a fuckin' husk."

"Don't know. All I know is that I can handle a job now."

Blake sighed. "You really don't even need this job.. I make enough for us both, really, if you need anything you can just ask," You stopped him. You hated the thought of him supplying for you. "No, Blake. I'm not making you buy everything for me. That makes me feel all pitiful and useless."

You pulled up to your shitty retail job.

"I get off at 5," You grabbed your bag, "Love you." He nodded, sighing. "Love you too."

You put on your fake smile for every customer that walked through the front doors, checking them all out with a smile. The words "Have a good day!" were ingrained in your head by five in the afternoon.

You had to stay a few minutes late because of a small rush you had, but it wasn't anything too bad. You clocked out, saying bye to your manager, then walking out the front doors. You spotted your boyfriend's Honda, walking over to it and sitting in the passenger side.

"Hey," He spoke softly, "How was your day?"

You shrugged, "Another day."

He sat up a little, this was progress. You normally just groan in response, he was actually getting an answer.

"... Are you hungry? We could go get dinner or somethin'." He suggested. You tilted your head, thinking. You didn't pack a lunch today, but you really weren't hungry, and you didn't get paid til next week. "No, I'm okay. I brought a kinda big lunch." He smiled, you never bring lunch. "Oh! Okay. That's good then."

That's another thing. One of the medicines demolishes your appetite. You're never hungry, even if your body tells you that you are. You haven't eaten a proper meal in days.

You two make it back home. You go to Blake's room, setting your bag down, and lying in his bed. Blake goes up to Tanner, "Dude, they packed lunch today. That's huge for them, they never eat anymore." Tanner laughed, "What the hell are you on about? They didn't pack shit. They were down here all morning before they had to leave," He paused, taking a bite of his burger. "Never packed shit."

His face dropped. So you hadn't eaten, and you lied. "Oh. Uh, never mind. Ignore my dumbass." Blake went up to his room, seeing you on his bed, scrolling through your phone. "Hey.. What'd you pack for lunch? I'm curious." He asked you, picking your brain.

You panicked for a second. "Oh, uh.. I fixed two sandwiches before I got you to bring me." Blake nodded, "Uh huh," He sat down in his desk chair, "That's kinda funny you say that, 'cause we're out of sandwich meat, and Tanner also said you didn't pack anything this morning."

It was days like those where you felt like your boyfriend would leave you, but he never did. He stuck by your side, always. Even if you told white lies, even if you didn't eat, even if you're on medication, even if you cried in his arms, and even if you god damn hated yourself.

You were lying in his arms, crying into his chest. "Hey, breathe.. Breathe.." He softly spoke, cradling your head in his hands. He stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I'm always gonna help you out, and I'm always fucking here for you. Always."

[autumnbell32]

The Psych Nurse Practitioner last week: I wouldn’t have chosen that med for you, especially with your history of ED. That medication is not weight neutral.

Me: 😡

A Psychiatrist, three years and 70 lbs ago: This medication is weight neutral.

Me: 👍🏻