Bipolar disorder (previously known as manic depression) is a diagnostic category describing a class of mood disorders where the person experiences states or epi...
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Not so much a venting as a question about it.
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I was just diagnosed with BPD (probably type I -- no major depressive episodes, no rapid cycling). I'm taking 500 mg of valproic acid (Depakote) b.i.d. In all likelihood I have been bipolar for a solid dozen years (I'm 38, male, never married) but have escaped diagnosis through a combination of horrific binge drinking taking center stage, masking my symptoms via lots of distance running (I was once close to a national-class marathoner), and both consciously and unconsciously giving evasive answers to key questions from the few shrinks I've run into who were in fact move to dig for dual-diagnosis-type stuff.
I finally more or less diagnosed myself after watching an episode of House, M.D. Once I went online and read some first-person accounts I was literally dizzy with recognition. And although BPD is not exactly a label I wear with fuckin' pride, it's nice to think that a proper course of therapy cnan help put a stop once and for all to the drunken episodes that have cost me more than I care to think about and hurt everyone who has stood by me these years. I've noticed one thing lately. I feel OK most of the time, and am maybe a little less irritable as a result of the medication, the simple knowledge that I'm *taking* the meds, or both. Normally I am a misanthrope and an atheist and apologize for neither, but when these things start to bear emotional content, they hurt me because I get completely wrapped up in the futility of humankind and marvel aloud that what this place needs is a huge nuclear holocaust. For some reason people react poorly to this sort of sentiment. Worse, I have an impossible time putting the past behind me. I drank my way out of medial school when I was about 2/3 done, and although today I am far too unsympathetic toward people to regret not going into health care, the *manner* in which I left continues to leave me with unmanageable feelings of rage toward myself. Throw in the DUIs, break-ups, being broke and basically homeless at times, all of that shit, and being a worthless romantic companion/brother/son/employee/etc., and I see myself in a manner I can only describe as clinical as needing to eat a gun or jump off a bridge. As is probably often the case, when I get on one of my rolls (and I do so in e-mails and in blogs with reckless abandon and with ever more momentum; I am a writer now by profession) I vent not to strangers but to those I trust and like most. So it's the people who care most about my well being that put up with stuff like "I'll give myself 'till December to finish the novel before I decide to shoot myself in the face" and "It's not that I'm depressed per se, it's that I'm an oxygen thief just for being here and I need to be put out of your fucking misery; this is my decision alone." Even as this garbage pours out of me I seem almost helpless to stop it, and take a perverse and savage glee in being as blackly toxic as I can. And sometimes I believe exactly what I write, even when I'm not suicidal (and it's been a while since I truly was). Does anyone here find himself or herself acting this way -- i.e., feeling OK with life one moment, then being triggered by some memory or simple string of words into thinking that the only proper course of action is to first explain to everyone in range why you need to perish and then describe how it might happen? This is just wrong, I know. But fuck, it seems so *ingrained*. And I have a sense of humor! Agh. Posted on 05/16/08, 09:05 pm |
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this post ruled. we should shoot the shit. 
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You're not crazy, well actually you are, but you're not alone.
I can relate to your plight in many ways, but forgive me if this turns into a bit of a rant on my part. I was diagnosed with atypical bi-polar 15 years ago, my diagnosis hastened by a strong and disturbing family history. I would later be diagnosed sychizophrenic as well. I am 31, female and divorced (the latter, I believe, in large part due to the cruel reality of my illness). Anyway, my everyday existance consists of taking six different psych meds and still living in periods of agonizingly different states of mind. At times I am filled with an absolute hunger for life. A yearning to make a difference, to make my mark on the world. I find myself typing away frantically (I too am a writer, a Communications Specialist if you want to speak professionally). In this state I am either working frenetically on work or on my fledgling memoir. In other moments, many times too frequent, I find myself yearning for non-existance, just wishing myself not to be. My sense of humor is, at best, dark, many times morbid (something so difficult for others to understand) but in many ways I think it may be one of the few things that have kept me alive. I, luckily have found two people who "get me." My mom and my best friend of 20+ years. Although they cannot comprehend what I am feeling, they stand beside me and know just what to say to make me laugh, even if it is just a sick joke about my own mortality. I too have spent a large part of time drowning my symptoms in alcohol and, even though I have long been diagnosed, there isn't a therapist yet that I haven't been able to fool. Not to mention the docs in the psych ward. As for your running, it struck a note with me. My brother is actually bi-polar as well but controls it with diet and exercise. He has a relatively mild form of the illness, but all the same he is able to manage it with running, cycling and a healthy diet. So although you were unable to manage yours with the same alone, you were on the right track. So to speak. I am going to get to my point now as I find myself rambling as usual. My experience is bi-polar is a constant, and often infuriating, struggle between life and death, be you immediately suicidal or no. It is finding a balance between wanting to be or not to be. After all isn't that the question :) The trick is learning how to live in that ever present question. And to you I give all my best wishes in figuring that out. I'm still working on it.
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Thanks, already.
My claiming to be a writer was obviously not well supported by the typos and other gruples in my first post. Where I wrote "medial school," I obviously meant "medical schol," although come to think of it the place was kind of in the middle (of nowhere). And much of the rest of my musing was a stylistic shitbomb. Not that it matters. I like this place. I have a private blog where I vent like a MoFo, and maybe I'll transfer some of my posts to the journal section here. I get a ton of support from the few people I invite into my little electrodynamic sphere of psychopathology, but if there's anyway I can put the Web to good use for once it's probably through forums like this.
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The triggers are what burn my ass. I know it's coming, I can feel it like a damn train. But instead of trying to run from it, I barrel full steam ahead. My mania is constantly writing checks my depression can't cash. Then I freak out about it for weeks, that someone will find out "what I did this time." Yeah, I feel ya.
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Your post hit a real chord with me, sounds like a bit right out of my journal, especially if I'm manic at the time. I had a whole long post to write, but I just realized I'm late for work. Just wanted to say, look no further, we have been there, done that! I think you will find people here that you don't have to explain yourself to. Good luck on the journey, let me know if I can help in any way.
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