#waiting to get my hypomania back

[bipolarmango]

When your depression makes you question if you're really mentally ill or just a fraud and you spend the next days feeling guilty for potentially faking the mental illness you've got diagnosis for

[natugood]

I feel like these pics really capture my essence rn

[redraine57]

Yesterday was probably one of the most mentally unstable days Ive had in awhile. I arrived at the gym but before I could get out my car this huge wave of emotions sent me into an hour long hysterical crying fit. I still wanted to go to the gym despite my instability but felt too embarrassed and ashamed to be seen in public in my vulnerable state. I waited out the storm as long as I could but found myself considering just going home and resting given how exhausted I felt from my breakdown. Then I remembered all the times as a teenager when I was most suicidal still getting in my workouts, still finishing school assignments, and still getting in meals when I had no drive to even exist. Told myself Im STILL that bitch and took my puffy-eyed delusional anxious ass into the gym and finished my leg day refreshed, relieved, and having discovered that I can move good weight on the sled again pain free. I’ve been dealing with hypomania for awhile and sometimes I often forget that even though my mind is burnt out, my body is on a different playing field. Idk how much weight I pushed on the sled. Idk how many sets I did. All I know is I kept going back and forth between lunges and pushing that sled until there was no more room for mental anguish. Another day of dealing with my bipolar self-harm free, the weights done save my life again 🦾🖤

[willows-woes]

I think Tori Spring was in a manic, or at least mixed, state at the end of Solitaire.

Also, just a heads up that this post is long and detailed. I'm not making up a headcanon based off nothing, y'know? Also, spoilers. If you don't want to be spoiled, please don't read this post until after you finish Solitaire. Note this post is VERY, VERY detailed with a shit ton of psychiatric mumbo-jumbo, to put it informally. A lot of clinical terms and definitions are used here because I'm a fucking nerd when it comes to this stuff. Due to this, I really don't expect this post to get popular, haha.

Did I, seriously, research Bipolar Disorder just to make a point? Yes. I did.

According to the official NHS website,

The manic phase of bipolar disorder may include:

• Not feeling like sleeping

(It is implied she hasn't slept.)

• Feeling full of great new ideas and having important plans

(She's talking about Solitaire as if it's some big, important thing she has to do. She's been obsessed with it. As I said in my previous point, it's implied she refused to sleep because of the obsession.)

• Feeling very happy, elated, or overjoyed

• Talking very quickly

• Being delusional, having hallucinations and disturbed or illogical thinking

(This is up to interpretation. She could be using a metaphor, but she mentions being scared of the "giants and demons" multiple times throughout the book.)

Now, you may be asking: Willow, why manic instead of hypomanic?

Good question. Hypomania cannot involve hallucinations or delusions. Psychosis does not occur in hypomania, only mania, which is more severe.

Another question you may ask could be, Okay, but why did you bring up mixed states if mania seems to fit well?

Also a good question.

You see, a mixed state is when someone experiences both hypomanic/manic and depressive symptoms at once. Which may, also, be what Tori is going through.

While Tori, at the end of the book, shows more (in my opinion) symptoms of mania than depression, the latter isn't nonexistent.

Back to the NHS descriptions.

During a period of depression, your symptoms may include:

• Feelings of emptiness or worthlessness

• Suicidal ideation

(There's more examples in this part of the book, but in my opinion, this is the clearest expression of suicidal intent she gives, as well as the earliest.)

• Feelings of guilt and despair

(Note how she says failed. She thinks very lowly of herself in this sentence, clearly. Even though it wasn't her fault, and, objectively, she did all she could.)

Of course, there's more symptoms of mania and depression than what I just listed, but those were the ones that I had proof of Tori experiencing. If you want to look up bipolar disorder for yourself to learn about it more in-depth, by all means, do.

Back to the point of this post. Tori Spring shows symptoms of mania at this point of the story. However, depression can also involve psychotic symptoms and difficulty sleeping. THIS is where it gets complicated.

In my opinion, however, it's not entirely impossible that she was experiencing a mixed episode, OR that maybe, at the very end of the book, she experienced a sudden drop into depression. Both are possible, and since I'm not in Tori's head, all I can do is guess.

A misconception you may have is, Wait. Willow, doesn't Bipolar require mania and depression for diagnosis? If Tori was only experiencing a mixed episode, she can't have bipolar, right?

You're actually wrong.

Let me take out an ICD-11 description.

Although a single Manic or Mixed Episode is sufficient for a diagnosis of Bipolar Type I Disorder, the typical course of the disorder is characterized by recurrent Depressive and Manic or Mixed Episodes. Although some episodes may be Hypomanic, there must be a history of at least one Manic or Mixed Episode.

So, therefore, Tori Spring can classify as Bipolar with a "history of at least one Manic or Mixed Episode." Which, she has.

I think that's it. If you made it THIS FAR without falling asleep or getting confused as shit, I applaud you.

[kores-pomegranate]

I’ve been thinking for a while that I’d like to write down what it feels like when I’m at my worst. I think the human brain, for all of its wonder, does a shit job of hanging onto things, especially things that are painful. I’ve found that I can never quite recall what my body feels like or what thoughts race through my head when I feel very low.

I’m not at my lowest at the moment, but it was recent enough that I can remember pretty well. Last week, my doctor and I came to the agreement that I probably have cyclothymia. Even as a mental health professional, I didn’t know much about it outside of people calling it “Bipolar Lite ™️.” My doctor asked me if I’d ever had consistent relief from my anxiety. The answer to that is “fuck no.” If I feel consistently neutral, that’s about as good as it gets. I never feel consistently *good.* There are moments, here and there. Flashes, sometimes even a week or two at a time where I feel pretty good.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had COVID or chronic bronchitis, but if you have you probably know what it feels like not to be able to take a truly deep breath without sputtering or getting light-headed. That’s how those “pretty good” stretches feel for me. I can’t breathe all the way, I can’t settle. Always, always, a l w a y s there is background static flavored with fear. Justified fear, even. A body tensed waiting for the gun to go off to begin the sprint; all potential energy waiting for my next meltdown or crisis. And the fear is justified because one of the only certainties I can rely on when it comes to my brain is that it will freak the fuck out at some point. It doesn’t matter if everything is fine, it doesn’t matter if I’ve been doing well or taking my medications and going to therapy. I can always count on a meltdown that burns through that potential energy so fast that it brings my functioning to a screeching halt.

Anyway, back to my doctor. I told him, with less flowery language, that I’ve felt that way my whole life with little relief. To my surprise, he looked…relieved? Excited? He told me that he’d been wondering about cyclothymia for me ever since I told him I wasn't sure if one (of my four) anxiety meds was working.

Because, the thing is, it should have been working.

If what I have been experiencing was traditional anxiety, the cocktail of medications I was on should have knocked it out. And I definitely should not have had breakthrough panic attacks, self harm relapses, or roller coasters of SI.

My doc took my pulse which was sitting at around 150. He looked alarmed and took it three more times. He confirmed that I'd taken all of my meds. And then, he looked determined. He told me he thought I'd benefit from a mood stabilizer that was specifically developed for cyclothymia, to help treat hypomania.

Oh, hypomania. The "less severe" form of manic episodes. It's true, in some regards, I suppose. I don't experience week-long hells where I feel euphoric and invincible and out of control. I don't spend thousands of dollars I don't have on things I don't need. I don't make reckless or dangerous decisions with sex or drugs or food and I don't get psychosis. I'm thankful I don't have to endure those things.

But I don't get the supposed "good stuff" that is supposed to accompany hypomania. I don't get a sudden burst of energy and productivity that compels me to delightedly clean my house or do meal prep. I don't have days where I wake up in a sudden and miraculous good mood that lasts for a few days.

No, I don't get any of that. I get days and moments where my body feels like it is ripped from my control with absolutely no warning. I get, in a matter of seconds, a heart rate that jumps from 65 to 180. A rush of adrenaline that makes my body shake. The sudden and crushing belief that *nothing is okay and I will never be okay." The near incontrollable urge to just r u n a w a y. The urge to self harm. Sometimes actual self harm because feeling anything else would be better than this. Sometimes the urge to just…be gone. Because if this is my life I don't want it anymore.

That is what hypomania is like for me. Feeling as though someone broke into my car and is driving it wherever they want, even though I'm in the backseat losing my shit and fighting to regain control. It's not a fight I ever win. Instead, it's as though the thief gets bored and ditches me and my car in whatever state they put us in.

"See you soon," it always says.

Fear has been the soundtrack of my life for as long as I can remember. Today marks one week of taking mood stabilizers and 0 days since my last hypomanic episode.

I'm happy to still be here. It's nice to feel hopeful, even if I'm really fucking suspicious about it.

And to that car thief I say, "fuck you."

[craig-f-tucker]

ples,,,,, please,, i beg.

please gibe us the other robin analysis

thank u

Can do!!! :D

Hello, and welcome to another episode of "What's Wrong With Robin?" Today's contestant is ADHD!

Many people's first thought when it comes to ADHD is someone who can't focus, can't get anything done, distractful, forgetful, and all in all nothing like Robin! But this is not the only way ADHD presents! 

In the hyperactive impulsive presentation of adhd, the symptoms are a bit more fitting. Hyperactivity is the inability to sit still, restlessness. Robin constantly needs to be moving and fighting and jumping around and throwing things! Implusivity can present as speaking at unwelcome or inopportune times, being unable to wait their turn in anything, and generally taking impulsive actions such as the way Robin sometimes physically attacks his team mates just for not listening to him. He also struggles with difficulties managing anger and as a whole difficulty managing his emotions, which is also a common symptom of ADHD! He also has difficulty with social interaction and experiences hyperfixation, usually focused on winning competitions, achieving respect, and more boring topics like language, rental property, etc!

(continued under the cut!!)

And back to the Wikipedia explanation, there's a longer list on it so here's just the symptoms that blatantly apply to Robin (note that the diagnostic qualification listed was 6 for children, 5 for adults, meaning that it kinda depends how old he actually is)

1. Frequently runs around in inappropriate situations. In adults and teenagers, this may be present only as restlessness. - Robin is frequently training, running around, and fighting nothing. He has a lot of excess energy and is always waiting for a crime alert so he can use it!

2. Often talks too much - Robin's friends are often annoyed with his rants about his interests and the "life lessons" he gives them. As a whole, they frequently tell him to shut up.

3. Often answers a question before it is finished, or finishes people's sentences - self explanatory, he does this quite a bit because he's fairly impatient.

4. Frequently interrupts or intrudes, including into others' conversations or activities, or by using people's things without asking. - he is constantly breaking into conversations he's not welcome in to talk about what he's excited about, which is typically viewed as intrusions by his friends.

5. Often struggles to wait their turn, including waiting in lines - he loves being the center of attention and things getting back to him, he very much will cheat, skip others, etc. for his turn to come first.

As a whole, this type of ADHD involves restlessness, hyperactivity, and difficulty waiting, all of which are very common with Robin! So, do I think Robin has ADHD? it's possible! With a lot of these it's sort of a situation where it can be explained by many different possibilities, a lot of these symptoms could be explained by either NPD or a mix of hypomania and his superiority complex.

And of course, in today's bonus round of "What's Wrong With Robin", I present, Narcissistic Personality Disorder!!

I realized shortly into writing/fact checking that I dont need to write an essay about this. This is a list of symptoms and it is literally just a description of Robin's character/ role on the show, I'm not joking. He also canonically has a superiority complex. /srs /aff

Worth noting that despite this being him beat for beat, I honestly think he's a bit more self aware, and while you could say this is from therapy (cus he is in therapy) it could also be that the combination of Cyclothymia and a superiority complex are just similar presenting to narcism, which is what my personal first thought was, which is why I jumped to Bipolar instead of NPD. It's good to explore different possibilities though!

(For example, here's a list of disorders he definitely does NOT have! Borderline Personality Disorder, Paranoid Personality Disorder, Schizoid Personality Disorder, Schizotypal Personality Disorder (starfire very much exhibits many symptoms of that one), Histrionic Personality Disorder, Avoident Personality Disorder, and Dependant Personality Disorder!)

[alyosiuscreightonward]

Dear Diary. Talk about people who actually suck.

Recently my late husband’s dog passed away at 14 years old.

So…His kidneys shut down and he was sneezing and urinating blood all over the house. Plus he was 14 years old. It happened in a matter of days. I first thought he had lost another tooth and I went on about our lives. Then he just started to decline. He wandered around the house, just staring out and pee blood. Which leads him to start sneezing blood. I waited a day and told Childzillah we had to make that informed decision…

That’s what happened. I texted my dad on Father’s Day and wished him a happy Father’s Day but I was in a bad situation but I didn’t get into it with him.

Of course my sister had gotten those aforementioned texts just to shut the fuck up about it and leave me to grieve his passing. BUT NO!!!

My baby, my life, my heart, Harrowgate Broadchurch Cunningham Rogers has lost his pack. First was, The Emperor of Quail Village, Augustus Caesar Cunningham Rogers; he passed away due to neurological damage, he was 6 years old. Then there was, His Holiness, The Brother Levi Reddy Gudipally, he was 21. Now, CoCo Monaco Veronica Louise Ciccone Penn Ritchie Corleone The Third. However in between all this bullshit, my husband had passed away.

It was a trigger for me and I was dealing with it as best as I could. It reminded me of the days of yore when I had 8 friends die before I was 30 because of complications from AIDS/HIV. Okay. Not a fucking great time in my life. Granted my idiot sister wouldn’t fucking understand that pain since she’s 7 minutes younger than me and she’s constantly saying fucking shit like, “I’m the baby, gotta love me!!” Bitch. Please. Go ahead and have your Walmart Temper Tantrum elsewhere. No Sale here. I’m not feeding into it. “He’s picking on me!!” Fucking twat. Change your own fucking diaper.

As of this writing, I had every intention of calling my dad and telling him what happened BUT NO!!!

My sister fucking ratted me out. She put me on Front Street. She put that landfill on my dad’s property. Thanks a lot for that you stupid fucking idiot. “I’m SO going to TELL!!!”

I’ve been working on myself for years and now I’m dealing with shit better than before and the Lexipro is helping me not to feed into other people’s bull-fucking-shit. I’m of the mindset that if you tell me something, I believe in the sanctity of the confession and what you tell me, I’ll deny everything. “My name is Oliver North and I have no record collection of that memory.” I loathe telling folks that I’m dealing with my own bipolar depression, manic episodes of hypomania and suicidal ideations. I’m making progress. It’s a moment by moment thing.

Regardless of my rant, my sister will never understand how much she hurt me, again.

She’ll then claim I’m being so secretive about my life. Motherfucker, if I am able to tell you, then I would tell you and not put it in The National Enquirer or on TMZ. Nacho Bizness. Nunya Bizness. Not your story to tell. I have therapists who I confide in and not my family. They have a tendency to throw it up back in my face because they can and they will.

The love for my family is real and not just conditional. However I know that they don’t like me as a person because I’ve done shit and I’m not going to judge them but I’m going to say very clearly, that my dachshund and I WILL talk shit about them, but I’m not going to tell the world what I think because I’m irrelevant.

CoCo is going to rest in power but I will talk shit about him and not you.

Now you see why I stay over here and mind my business and I make every effort to keep myself out of your life and business. If you want me to tell you all about yourself, there’s going to be tears and they won’t be my tears. Trust and believe. I’m sure that you are not ready for my verbal and emotional abuse. I’m very good at it. My tongue is so sharp that it can and will clip the hedges. I’m going to annihilate you into a puddle of tears. Though this requires some effort on my part and I didn’t schedule that today but now, I’m going to tell her, that she can speculate about it since I’m not going to say shit to her.

Yeah I know that my dad worries about me but if it’s my shit then let me deal with my shit and don’t interject yourself in my business.

[that-bipolar-mood]

Hi there,

I don't know who else to talk to about this, and your blog seems like the only one I can talk to about this (you don't even have to answer this).

About half a year ago I started getting into spirituality. At first it was wonderful, and really inspired and encouraged a lot of positive personal growth for me. I started meditating and hearing voices. However, there have been a few times that became disturbing, and a couple were downright terrifying.

I only just recently opened up to my counselor about those moments. She was naturally concerned, and reached out to my my medication specialist to let her know. The meds specialist then gave me a prescription for Abilify, and kind of rushed through the appointment without really listening to me. Hallucinations or not, to me those moments were very real, and to have them so quickly dismissed has hurt me deeply.

I see how my behaviour could be concerning for others. I agree that I do experience hypomania. I'm not living an impulsive or reckless lifestyle, but I do go through cycles of being high-strung, irritable, and depressed, only to bounce back to being pleasant and happy-go-lucky again. Yet it hurts to know that my attempts to better my life and connect with a higher source was noted as a red flag, like they were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I feel like all of my credibility and respectability has been taken from me overnight. It feels like whenever I become excited about something that it's going to be questioned as a suspicious and monitored as a symptom, instead of allowing me to enjoy my life like an adult. I already feel like my partner looks down on me. He uses my earlier mental illness diagnosis as a means to infantalise and patronise me, even if he doesn't think he is.

We both have relatives with bipolar disorder, and I don't see myself being like them. I've seen what mania looks like, and where it leads to. It scares and dismays me to be put into the same category as them. I could handle the ADHD and depression diagnoses, but BP is more than I'm willing to admit. Quite frankly, I'm ashamed of it. Just like I'm embarrassed for sharing my spiritual experiences and research with those around me, and how silly I must have looked.

I've decided it would be best if I avoid anything involved in spirituality, to play it safe. However, now there's a great absence in my life, with nothing worthwhile to put my time and energy into. There's a deep emptiness and loneliness in my heart with nothing to replace it. My inner compass now has no direction, I don't know what to do with myself anymore, both daily and throughout my life. I feel unremarkable, unsupported, and out of reach of G-d's love.

Thank you for reading through my vent. I hope you're having a good week.

- Jackalope

Well hello, and thank you firstly for reaching out.

To be honest, I believe the majority in the bipolar community or perhaps even the entire mental health community, understands or relates on some level. Also, I won't lie and pretend there is a simple answer here, or that anyone can give you one in the first place.

Now that I've said that, here's my personal subjective view. Spirituality saved me from my existential struggles, but I learnt the hard way that there is a line that I can never cross unless I want to get hospitalised. I tried desperately to balance my spiritual beliefs with reason and this diagnosis I received... it went horribly...for some time. Naturally, l gave up.

Guess what happened. Didn't work out. Depression kicked in faster than ever, and I'm talking about the paralysing, scary, losing-self one. Anyway, this happened next:

1. I just stopped surrounding myself with judgemental people who kept putting me down because of spirituality (frankly, I had no energy left).

2. I embraced the fact that I can be both mentally ill and practice spirituality, but starting slow...(no staying up reading on religions or painting visions instead of eating).

3. I switched psychiatrists and was lucky to find a liberal open-minded one, who helped me sort out which beliefs were harmful and which weren't.

4. Again, lucky for me, I found the right medication that kept me stable and offered me a chance to control triggers better.

So, in my experience, yoga and meditation (sometimes hours long) are not harmful but crucial. Yet, anything that occupies me enough to disrupt or just rapidly change my life can be potentially harmful. Welcome to 'the spectre life' of bipolar.

I'm not sure which diagnosis you consider to be correct for you, I can speak as someone with bipolar disorder, and my life is really all about balance. Meaning it goes both ways. I cannot do without spirituality, but I have to be careful not to "bite off more than I can chew."

I hope this helps and if you feel like chatting or anything really, please message me.

I believe truly that you have the capacity to sort this through and that you will be alright.

<3

[biromanticbookbabe]

NaNoWriMo 2022: Day 18

My concentration has been crap today- I’m on my period, I’m still getting over a cold and my bipolar is being a little bit of a bitch (so mild hypomania I think). 

I started doing some of my school work (finally!) and I got a little bit of writing done today. I’m posting early so I can go to bed early tonight. Sleep is supposed to help in most cases. UGH. 

Also told one of my irl friends that I’m a lesbian and I don’t know how she took it so there’s that too. Who’s nervous??? (me because I think I should have waited to tell her :/) 

November 18 word count: 2,365 words

NaNoWriMo 2022 Total To Date: 58,773 words 

Excerpt: 

We turned back to Miss Sarah Holburn who was trying her best not to cry; she had been our governess since we were six and eight years old; that was seven years now. She tried to stand up to Mama’s stubbornness and she lost out. But she already knew that she wouldn’t be paying for the price of a neglected education; Rosie and I would. We’d be ignorant, rude, unrefined, prideful, vain and all the worst qualities imaginable. We would, in short, become our worst selves. It hurt Miss Holburn that Mama was choosing this path for us. She thought it would be better if we were pretty little fools or in my case, just a plain fool.

“I have watched you both grow up and I’m proud of you girls. I know you both have your faults, but you’re both very spirited girls. Don’t ever give that up; certainly not for anyone else. Women need to be strong to survive in this world. You need to have some fight in you. And you can be both feminine and strong willed. Strength is a trait that even the most ladylike can properly possess.” She looked to Rosie as she said this. But then she looked to me with the same smile- “There isn’t one right way to be a woman either. You can be a masculine woman and that can become you more than trying to force yourself to be something you’re not. It may not be typical but it’s not wrong, just different. And different can be a powerful, beautiful thing.”

Rosie stood up straighter to hear these words; I felt compelled to too. Rosie was not usually a crier but she started up again. She ran forward and threw her arms around Miss Holburn. My vision grew blurry looking at them; oh, I suppose that Rosie’s tears and Miss Holburn’s words inspired this in me. No other woman ever told me that I was fine like this. They usually didn’t know what to do with me and that was on the nicer end of the reactions I’ve received.

Someone once told Mama that she ought not bring me to parties with her because I’d give other girls bad ideas but she slapped that woman across the face and screamed at her. Papa and I had to pull her off the other woman. It didn’t help that she had too much to drink that night. She kept tearfully apologizing to me in the carriage ride home. She kept bumping into Papa’s arm as the road was uneven. He looked out the window and seemed quietly amused by the stars passing us by. Rosie was sleeping curled up to my side, snoring a little lightly.

She danced herself dizzy because she was one of the prettiest girls there easily. We hadn’t debuted yet but the soldiers did not care. Rosie danced with everyone who asked. And a girl who thought I was a boy asked me to go around the floor with her. I didn’t deny her request, hoping that maybe she wouldn’t realize I was also a girl. I was afraid of how she’d react if she knew. We went around a few numbers; it was so much fun, I forgot to stop. She kept going with me. 

“You’re the best looking boy here.” She said and kissed my cheek when no one was looking. “Thanks for all those turns. I was trying to avoid someone else. Don’t worry, honey, I don’t like him at all.” She pressed her calling card into my hand.

“Maybe if you come to the next dance, you’ll save a turn for me?” She smiled and I felt a flutter of butterflies wings in my chest. Before I could promise the lovely lady anything, my sister came out of nowhere and seemed intent on coming up to me.

“Matilda! There you are.” Rosie bowled into me without realizing what she had done.

I looked to the beautiful girl who danced with me, in frantic agony; so much hope flew up through me. She only sweetly smiled and winked. She knew? And she still danced with me, flirted with and kissed me? I was stunned momentarily and didn’t hear Rosie talking at me; instead I watched that girl walking away into the crowd. She knew I was another girl; she purposely approached me and asked me to dance. Perhaps, I didn’t have to be a spinster after all. I didn’t yet know how I’d use what I learned; there are other women who like women. I’m not the only girl in the world like this.

[finagled]

absent but busy

life never seems to slow down to let me catch my breath, so ive been busy trying to keep things going!

this has been a hellish year but also a spectacular one in so many ways. my dad’s death has shattered me tbh, im just not the same person i was before he left and life will never ever be the same with him gone. as somebody who already struggles with identity issues, i had a real hard time knowing how in the world i was supposed to keep going without his input and support. he always saw right through me and could point out things about me i wasnt even aware of yet, but he was always spot on, too. bouncing my ideas off of him is how i learned to human. im coming to realize i loved to succeed and experience so i could tell him and listen to how he loved to hear about it. with him gone, ive felt a sense of emptiness with everything.

im trying to hold on to what he’s taught me. he gave me so many lessons on how to be a person, a good person. he played devils advocate so id learn how to fight for what i knew to be true, and to reevaluate my stance if i couldn’t. he taught me how to treat other people, how every stranger deserves kindness. he taught me that you can be wrong, and that sometimes being wrong is a beautiful thing, because then you learn what’s right. he taught me nothing is worth sacrificing your morals.

the answer to where to find this person now is that now, i have to be this person. the only way for those things about him to live on is if i perpetuate them in my own life. im trying so hard to do this. its not going easy. im told over and over again that im smart, that i work hard, that im good with people, and yet my success has not materialized no matter what i’ve done to secure it. i think, if i just had mental health care and meds, if i could just see a doctor, then id be so great. but i can’t think like that. whether that’s true or not and that’s the only thing in the way between me and living like i feel like im meant to, it doesn’t matter. trying to get government assistance, at least in this state, feels impossible. i dont have the energy to keep hoping they’re going to help. im frustrated to come to the conclusion that i am going to have to metaphorically “pick myself up by the bootstraps” and find a way to push forward in the meantime.

i know im intelligent and have skills that can genuinely and directly help people, because ive done it before. its taken a really long time to have confidence in myself about anything. but i need to start, and then do something with it, because im wasting time waiting for help to arrive.

this is a big ol ramble but it feels good to have the energy to write stuff up. vari and i have been working real hard this past year trying to get the house and our lives set up in a way that will set us both up for success. we’re slowly getting a handle on chores and bills, and our mental health is improving. im slowly pulling all the tangled yarn apart in my brain and getting things sorted.

they took me off adderall and onto strattera, which i actually dont mind. ive heard the medication can precipitate manic episodes in bipolar individuals though, so i wonder if i like it because of that. im depressed so often and its been so long since hypomania, that i really done mind when i wake up with the excess energy and vigor. it doesnt feel extreme like hypomania, more like just having gusto for the day. ill have to keep an eye on it more since its only been about three weeks, but im grateful i havent lost much progress from getting off adderall. the side effects aren’t nearly as powerful either, which is nice.

so im trying. i have too many people i should be getting back to with messages so if youre one of them, im sorry. theres a million things going on and only so much energy each day, but ive drawn up some routines that i hope will encourage me to do more stuff throughout the day other than just chores and sims ;)

thanks to anyone for reading :3

[twtd11]

I’m going a bit nuts right now. I have bipolar, and generally it’s very well controlled by medication. 90% of the time, I’m completely fine. Probably 9% of the time, I get depressed. I know what to with that. The last time I was depressed was back in September right after I got Covid. I did some reading and found out the two can be linked, I waited a few days post-Covid, and everything was fine again. I know how to take care of myself when I don’t feel like getting out of bed or doing anything. I know not to worry about not being able to write anything for a bit. I know what I’m dealing with.

I think right now, I’m in the 1% where I’m neither fine nor depressed. It’s called hypomania (I’ve never actually gotten manic or had delusions or anything like that, thankfully). I’m having a hard time falling asleep. I’m having a hard time staying asleep. I keep waking up earlier and earlier and not being tired. I feel super restless, like I need to go somewhere and do something, but I don’t know what. Nothing’s holding my attention. I’m supposed to be doing a final read through of my second book before publishing, and I can’t read more than a chapter without my brain saying, “Nope! Not enough stimulation.”

I feel like I’m vibrating just a little.

I don’t know what to do about any of it.

Like I said, I feel like I’m going crazy.

[dopaminergicaddictions]

How does the doctor even know it's psychosis and not schizophrenia?? I mean just cause of the commands?

Is it just cause my commands were, take your glasses off, put them on, push them up your nose. Put them on your knee. Hug your mother. Make eye contact with you mother. Sit on the porch. Smoke a cigarette and blow out the smoke very slowly. Take a sip of your juice very slowly. Tip your head back and slowly sip it. Look at dog videos on Instagram. Look up your soulmate. Look up schizophrenia.

Is it because the voice legit has told me not to kill myself and to wait until February?

How do they even know?

The worst it gets is, if I say should I kill myself the voice might says, "successful right now."

But generally it says, "don't kill yourself. I don't want you to kill yourself."

It's never told me to hurt other people and it's never told me directly to kill myself.

One night October 10th it told me to kill myself and as I started to do it, it told me to stop but I don't remember. October 10th it said that someone you know stole all my videos. It had me download them all. It told me Kristen was watching me from my MacBook cause she hacked it. I might have have said I'm going to kill myself over asshole face and that my videos were all gone. Idk if Kristen told me to kill myself or if I said I was going to if Kristen didn't use her amazing hacking skills to erase asshole face from the internet. But "Kristen" stopped me when I almost did it. I remember that clearly.

How is she sure?

I mean, okay so I'm not delusional if I'm right about you which I think I am. I'm like 100% sure. But like let's say you don't show up and I was delusional. Okay well then I would never believe you'd show up for me after that. I would have to get over you and accept I was delusional. I would move past it and then I have no other delusion....at all.

I don't think you're my delusion. But just for writing this all out. Okay so you show up. I'm not delusional. You don't show up and I am no longer delusional.

Then my only symptom is hallucinations that don't end.... but I don't have two voices conversing..... the voice doesn't comment on my actions. Those are the requirements for hallucinations being the only symptom for paranoid schizophrenia... it doesn't say, "you're typing right now" unless I think it and it repeats it. It doesn't say, " you wiggled your toe" unless I think it and it repeats it.

It's like 70% nice. And 30% mean. It hasn't gotten meaner. It's absolutely not anymore persuasive. It has gotten less and less persuasive. It has gotten quieter....

Okay so if we rule out schizophrenia.

Schizotypal. I'm not suspicious of anyone at all!!!

Ptsd- nothing happened to me. My birth name didn't traumatized me. My family didn't abuse me. I'm not traumatized from anything but this hallucination and microsleeping.

Borderline- that's so farfetched. I can't even begin to make an argument that i have it. I don't love and hate people. I love hard and even when they hurt me I still love them.

Depression- I'm too motivated. I have not lost any passion in the things I love. Those are the cornerstones of depression. I don't stop playing my games. I don't stop working on my youtube.

Bipolar mania- okay I talk rapidly, I have inattention, and I am easily irritated. Well 2 of those things are ADHD...... and i have that bad. The hyperactivity kind. I'm careful about spending money. I don't have crazy ideas.

Hypomania- is basically the same as mania. With depression. I don't have it.

It leaves psychosis and as the days go by: it makes me believe it's not thc... but I know it's thc induced. .

I feel hopeless.

[zenmongoose]

I miss you. I have nonstop thoughts about you and it makes me feel like a crazy person. The clomipramine worked for maybe one week and I’m wondering if I was just ovulating that week. And getting the hypomania from a new AD.

I’ve had fibro pain and fatigue the past two days. And feel even lonelier because of it. I was trying to eat better, too. But it wasn’t enough. Could also be a post period hormone dump.

Don’t have anyone to just sit with me when I feel bad. Plenty of people will go out and enjoy hypomanic Ali. No one wants tired Ali.

I wish I had the balls to just ask you if I should still be waiting for you to move out. For all I know you are engaged to someone else by now. But you asked about going to a play with me.

I know I don’t deserve anything from you. And I’m honestly so terrified of destroying your life any more than I have. It’s easier to just react to everything when you don’t trust your thoughts, than to decisively ACT on something. I don’t know who has the wheel at any given moment. Is it drugs talking? Hormones? Trauma? Depression? Selfishness? Childishness? Is it really me?

I’ve been trying to guage by how often I feel a way. And I mostly always feel loss, grief, and missing you. Last couple weeks have been a delusion that we are totally getting back together. Once in a while I will feel anger and “I’ve been miserable and waiting my whole life I deserve better”s.

When I get stuck in an overthinking loop I try to journal it or scrapbook it or get it out somehow that isn’t trauma dumping it on you or anyone else. I don’t tell my therapist anymore because I want you back and can’t stand being told why not any more.

I don’t tell my friends or family for the same reasons.

I do feel like I have gotten so much better, that my bad days are less frequent, but today I just feel the loss more deeply. Probably because I have been stuck in delusion for so long. What comes up…

I hope we both find happiness and freedom from loneliness. I wish there were an obvious path or someone to hold my hand along the way.

I tried to leave breadcrumbs to all these letters to you I’ve sprinkled like powdered sugar over the internet. I don’t think you were looking or ever will see them. But it’s proof that you were loved so profoundly that it endured.

And if my wishes came true, it would’ve been you.

[casuallyspookycollector-things]

As I laid in bed Jeremy was saying take your effen medicine over and over. I got out of bed feeling like crap but once I got moving I felt okay and he complained that I was getting the effen medicine. I cycle through physical exhaustion and then the state I’m in now. Not good enough. Zombie state, waiting on day meds to kick in. I’m on schedule, taking as directed.

Now I’m feeling horrible and they said go back to physical exhaustion.

I haven't had it working since Saturday. At the moment I grasp that there is no other place for the medicine to be but in my body.

"Psychosis can be very serious, regardless of what is causing the symptoms. The best outcomes result from immediate treatment, and when not treated psychosis can lead to illness, injuries, legal and financial difficulties, and even death."

When left untreated, the symptoms of Bipolar Disorder will often increase in severity and may lead to suicide; there is a high suicide rate for people with the disorder. When treated, it's possible to control the symptoms of Bipolar Disorder and enjoy a more stable and fulfilling life.

Untreated ADHD in adults can lead to mental health disorders like anxiety and depression. This is because ADHD symptoms can lead to focus, concentration, and impulsivity problems. When these problems are not managed effectively, they can lead to feelings of frustration, irritability, and low self-esteem.

Bipolar I with Psychotic features has psychosis as a symptom in the worst cases of either mania or depression. On a scale of 5 below zero for depression and 5 above zero for the mania side it goes like this: -1 bad -2 unhappy/sad -3 mild depression -4 depression -5 severe depression with psychosis +1 good +2 happy +3 elevated mood (my baseline my whole life) +4 hypomania +5 mania w/psychosis

Now Jeremy is yelling whatever you effective say b*tch

[arrowflier]

Hi I don't have tumblr, so not sure how this works. Came across your blog though, and spent three days just reading everything you've written and reblogged. Such a fun three days! I have so many ideas for prompts, but the one I'm most curious about is what happens when Ian has a rough patch of mania maybe a couple years into their marriage and what kind of plans do Mickey and Ian have for either an upswing or a downswing of his bipolar? Thanks so much excited to see what you come up with!

Hi there! It's such a compliment that you went through my rambles, glad you're enjoying.💖 Standard disclaimer: everything I know about bipolar disorder comes from the internet. It's an important part of Ian that I want to be respectful of, so as always please let me know if I miss the mark.

Caring for your partner, Rule 1: Be There

When Mickey woke up, Ian wasn’t in bed.

That wasn’t terribly unusual in and of itself. What was unusual was that it was only 3AM, on a Saturday, and Mickey could already hear his husband moving outside their room. The footsteps outside the door were soft, restrained, like Ian didn’t want to wake him. But the following clatter in the kitchen was alarmingly loud as Ian opened the drawer under the oven to pull out a pan, and Mickey groaned.

He wanted to roll over, pull a pillow over his head, and block out whatever this was so he could go back to sleep. They’d been working long days, and sometimes longer nights as the dispensaries were all pulling overtime with increasing demand. They’d only made it to bed like two hours ago, for fuck’s sake, and Mickey was tired.

But Ian should have been tired too, and it was never a good sign when he wasn’t. So Mickey sat up with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and swung his legs out of bed.

He winced when his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. They had been here for almost a year already, and they still hadn’t gotten ‘round to buying a fucking rug for the bedroom.

Mickey shivered as he hopped awkwardly toward the closed bedroom door, grabbing his robe from a hook there and tugging it on over his thin shirt and the boxers he was pretty sure started out on Ian’s side of the dresser. Wrapping it closed, he slipped out the door and into the brightly lit hallway, squinting blearily as he followed the sound of pots and pans to the kitchen.

Ian had half their crockery out on the counter already. His red hair gleamed under the sharp light of the long fluorescent bulbs overhead as he stirred batter in a large bowl they had borrowed from Debbie last week and never given back, wooden spoon clanking against the sides erratically.

Erratically. That was a good word for it, Mickey thought. The mindless clink clink clink of wood on metal in no discernible pattern, just like the route Ian took around their table, to the counter, to the fridge, and back to the oven again. Mindless, pacing, random.

Mickey leaned against the wall, and watched.

They had talked about this, since the last time. At least, since the last time Mickey had been worried. When Ian was down, when he didn’t want to get up. When Mickey dragged him out on his first run and they talked afterward in the kitchen, when Mickey made clear that his worry was just one more face of what they had together.

He’d come down the next morning to Ian at the kitchen table, the whole place eerily quiet for a place they still shared with too many fucking people. There had been coffee in the pot, toast on the table, and Ian, picking at his cuticles and not meeting Mickey’s eyes.

“We need to talk,” he’d said, and Mickey’s heart had dropped into his stomach.

“Can I wake the fuck up first?” he’d asked, but Ian had just kicked a chair out for him and waited, not meeting his eyes, until Mickey sat down.

They’d sat silently for a long moment, Mickey unwilling to ask what it was about. Finally, Ian had sighed, and reached out for Mickey’s hand across the table.

“It’s about the bipolar,” he’d said, and Mickey had been so relieved he could feel it in his fucking toes, bare and cold against the tile floor.

“Oh. Okay.”

Ian had been startled by his easy acceptance of the topic, he could tell.

“That’s it?” He’d sounded almost confused.

Mickey had shrugged.

“I mean, yeah?” He’d rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes with the hand no holding Ian’s. “You had me worried, man, with the we need to talk thing. But this is just normal shit.”

Ian had just stared at him, then released his hand to lean back against his chair.

“Normal?” He’d asked disbelievingly. “There’s nothing normal about planning for my imminent mental break, Mickey.

Mickey had snorted at the irony of it. “You kidding me?” he’d said. “It’s the most normal fucking thing about us.”

As he watched Ian in the kitchen now, making pancakes at 3AM on a Saturday morning, Mickey thought that was probably still true.

“Hey, Martha Stewart,” he said softly from his position against the wall, still leaning there as Ian spun around with surprise painted over his face. His eyes were off, the light not quite there, but they still warmed when he saw Mickey.

“Hey,” Ian said back, voice high and too chipper. “I’m making pancakes, you want some? I’ve got banana, your favorite, and chocolate chips, and strawberries…”

He went on to list more ingredients, but Mickey wasn’t really listening. He could see it all anyway, spread out over the kitchen like so many half-made decisions, half-baked ideas that kept giving way to something else.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, and he snapped out of it.

“Yeah,” he answered with a smile. “Yeah, I’d love some pancakes. Why don’t you let me stir for a awhile?”

—

They had their pancakes standing up next to the counter, nowhere left to rest their plates on the crowded surfaces of the kitchen. Ian talked about the merits of each ingredient as they ate, and Mickey listened, and nodded along as best he could.

This was okay. It was pancakes in their boxers at 3AM with no sleep in a kitchen that looked like it was hit by a tornado, but Ian was eating, and Ian was smiling, and Ian was there.

And when Ian stopped and tried to set his plate down, distress on his face as he was confronted with the mess he had made, Mickey took the dish from him with easy hands.

“You want to sit down awhile?” he tried, nudging Ian gently out of the disaster-zone. “Bet you’re tired after eating all that.”

He knew Ian wasn’t, but he kept a hand on his back anyway until they were out in the living room, next to the sofa. Mickey let go to sit down himself with a groan, tired muscles aching at being used for too long without rest. He kept his eyes off Ian, just standing there, looking at him in that too-present, too-absent way of his, and leaned back against the cushions, eyes falling closed.

After a moment, the sofa dipped as Ian settled in beside him.

“Mickey?” Ian asked. The cushions bounced as he tapped his heel repeatedly on the floor.

“Yeah?” Mickey responded, squinting his eyes back open.

“Can I touch you?”

Mickey repressed the urge to sit up, to take Ian into his arms. Ian sounded too hesitant, a shift from moments before as he playfully shoved bites of overcooked batter into Mickey’s mouth.

But Ian didn’t like to be held like this.

“Of course you can, you moron,” Mickey said instead, and watched as Ian’s leg stopped moving. The other man drew closer, reaching a hand out to card through Mickey’s hair and drag down the side of his face, a touch too shaky and a touch too firm.

Ian had once said that touching Mickey grounded him, and Mickey hadn’t known if Ian thought that was a good thing or not. In the midst of hypomania, Ian didn’t always take kindly to being grounded.

But tonight—well, this morning—it seemed to be a good thing. Mickey was grateful for that.

Grateful, because it meant that Ian looked like himself as he moved to lay against him, and not like some over-saturated facsimile painted with too much water on the canvas, always shifting, always running. Grateful, because it meant that Ian pulled Mickey’s arms around him and settled into his side like they always did, even if his body never quite stilled at the contact.

Grateful, because it meant they wouldn’t fight tonight. That Mickey wouldn’t have to worry as much about what Ian might say, might do, if he stepped out of line. If he went off the script they had planned on a good day for dealing with bad ones to come.

He wouldn’t have to call Lip for backup. He wouldn’t have to tail Ian as he left the apartment to make sure he stayed safe. He wouldn’t have hide the knives, or their wallets, or anything else.

Not that he would have complained if he did. It was what it was. Ian was who he was. And Mickey would always see him through it. Love him through it.

They lay there, mostly quiet, except for the mindless tune Ian hummed against his neck, and the tap tap tap of his fingers on Mickey’s collarbone.

Eventually, the song cut off.

“Do I need to call the doctor?” Ian asked quietly into the echoing room, and Mickey nodded, rubbing a gentle hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think so.”

He'd get everything together in the morning. Ian's journals, their schedule, their meal plan. The little notebook where he kept track of Ian's prescriptions, how they worked, how long they lasted.

Something had obviously slipped, either in their methods or in Ian himself. But Mickey was well past dwelling on what they could have done differently, and focused on what to do next.

Things happened. Things changed. They would adapt.

At Mickey's confirmation, Ian just nodded against him, fidgeting until their legs were too entwined to separate.

“Sleep first, if you can,” Mickey told him, settling in for a long rest of the night. “We’ll do it together when you wake up.”

Together. They’d do it together. Again and again and again, as much as they needed to. Because Ian was his husband, and this was their normal.

And their normal was still pretty damn good.

[kulemii]

5/7/2022.

my job has a poster up of a woman who they are congratulating for being 'difference maker' and she's got the stiffest smile and thousand yard stare. everyone refers to her as the 'depression lady'. every day for almost a month now, i've felt like her. every day i see her picture, i get teary eyed. of course i quickly blink them away before anyone notices; though i know they won't because they too have thousand yard stares.

i take my breaks in my car because when i'm on the clock, that's the only place that i can breathe. when i go home, i feel so light but in desperate need of positive stimulation. i stare at screens for hours and then suddenly it's bedtime again.

and before i know it, i'm back at the place that steals my breath.

i don't know how much longer i can hold out. i can't tell if it's because i'm in the depression state and all i need to wait on the hypomania to kick back in or if i really am this miserable.

i hate this. i hate this. i hate this.