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12 things I’ve learned since being diagnosed with bipolar

03.28.07 | 24 Comments

I’ve mentioned here in passing that I was diagnosed with bipolar II about six months ago. On average, it takes about seven or eight years to diagnose someone with bipolar correctly. For me, I didn’t get diagnosed for over a dozen years after my initial diagnosis of depression.

But since I found out I have bipolar, I’ve learned a lot.

1. I can forget things forever. We bipolars rely on the ole bipolar adrenaline rush—otherwise known as hypomania—to learn things. This can be very effective. Attaching strong emotions to things as I learn them lets me remember what I learned by calling back that emotion—remember the feeling to remember the subject. But on the other end of that swing—when everything is numb—I have a hard time pulling it up again. A few cycles later, it can be gone entirely. God knows how much I’ve forgotten this way.

2. I can get great work done during hypomania. Optimism is the rule. Energy is boundless. Nothing can go wrong. No project is too big. And if I don’t go into full mania—and type II bipolars don’t—odds are I will pull it off. If I can finish before the crash.

3. I make stupid ass choices during hypomania. I max out new credit cards. I start huge projects no one could finish. And I push friends and family into joining me on my fool’s errands. If you’re not for me, you’re against me. Get on board, because I’m on my way, dammit. Huge risks with little hope of payoff.

4. I make even worse decisions during a “mixed state.” That’s when you’re depressed and manic at the same time. I’ve done things like quitting a job without having another one lined up. When I’m down and out, working myself into a mixed state looks real nice. And then the stupid begins.

5. Bipolar has a worse stigma than depression. No surprises there. When my diagnosis was depression, folks would give me looks of recognition when I’d tell them. Now, there are tinges of pity and fear in their eyes. It’s like I’m dangerous now. Or helpless.

6. A good diagnosis can explain so much. Now I know why I couldn’t finish that website when everyone was counting on me, even though it was within my ability. Why I couldn’t make any headway on that book, even though I had it all mapped out. Why I couldn’t get any work done at all once I had my small business all planned out, even with good contacts and prospects. And most of all, why it’s been a pattern.

7. I can keep an eye out for a future mania. Now I know the signs. Big plans. The vision thing. That look in my wife’s eye. Fingering the credit card. Time to back off and ease up.

8. Just because a project is exciting doesn’t mean I need to take it on. And I especially mean “projects.” They’re big, they’re shiny, they’re new. They make big changes and make a big splash. And they’re just asking for me to get hypomanic about it.

9. It’s hard to trust my instincts again. What if I’m getting manic? Or what if this will lead to my getting manic? It’s hard to believe I can get things done without being hypomanic, even though I still manage to make it happen.

10. The fundies didn’t help any. I’m not really interested in the nature vs. nurture debate. Chicken and the egg. I don’t know if the church camp highs—and crashes—caused my bipolar, but they sure contributed. There’s no way seeking a constant spiritual high helps anyone. For one, it’s just not possible to be on a spiritual high all the time. Nor is it helpful or healthy. Plus, it’s just a fucked up definition of normal.

11. Hypomania doesn’t get to define “normal.” A big part of why it takes so long for bipolar to be diagnosed is that we bipolars think our hypomania is what happy looks like. So we don’t report our hypomanic symptoms because, well, hypomania is the way we’re supposed to be, see? Happy is blurrier and more grounded than hypomania. And safer too.

12. Good meds go a long way. Getting the right meds—and sticking with them—does all sorts of good. I’m so much more “evened out” now. Family members have told me I’m acting like myself again. Living without the roller coaster thrills of swapping depression for hypomania for depression is a loss, in a weird way, but it’s so much easier to keep an eye on things when my neurons are in good working order.

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