Sinking

In most times and places bipolar disorder was considered a curse or demon. I’m guessing that, against conventional wisdom, it wasn’t ignorant priests or hateful neighbors who came up with that but the bipolar people themselves. It’s such a tragedy that every time you get some relief, that every time you think you’ve figured out how to manage it or keep it at bay it inevitably comes back.

It’s even worse if you haven’t fully internalized the meaning of “chronic” or “degenerative.”

I knew something was wrong in September, but just because something is wrong doesn’t mean the sky is falling. I realized I didn’t have an outlet for my worries, concern, or pain. I was doing better going to work and getting things done than I have in several years. Far from the intense social isolation I experienced just a year or two ago, I had a growing group of people relying on me for emotional, academic, and professional support. I liked that. But the more I spent my time helping and listening the more I realized how lopsided most of my relationships were.

I can’t get mad at students for that; even though they’re adults they’re still not my friends. I can’t get mad at my friends who do occasionally check in about how I’m feeling; I often don’t elaborate much, especially if things are going well. It’s like I don’t want to process the few moments of joy I find because they’re always illusory in some way. But that joy is medicine, it literally helps me rewire my brain. So, I have a habit of finding crutches that maybe aren’t good for me in the long term. Or maybe they are? Pain is so commonplace in my life that the disappointment or sadness of losing a crutch is probably worth the hit I got from it for a month or two. It’s like using the paddles to start a stopped heart. You don’t want those paddles electrocuting you forever-that would be horrible. But for a brief period they give you another opportunity to keep going.

Bipolar people know this dynamic better than most. Dropped hobbies, canceled plans, and failed relationships litter our minds and closets with a bunch of crap that served us for just a little while. We don’t know how people can go through life without things to get excited about or plan for or look forward to. Our present is usually so painful, our past so dark and muddled, that we have to invent reasons to keep going. I think this is part of the reason our suicide rate is so extraordinarily high compared to the general population. What do you do when you have none of this? What do you do when you realize you’re completely stuck?

In early October my most recent crutch broke and I was sad for maybe a week and then I got past it. I’ve lost so much so many times that this won’t register as a blip in a year or so. However, losing my distraction as we enter the dark part of the year has proven extremely damaging.

At first I realized I was waking up cloudy and anxious. For months my sleep had been improving, so I was a bit concerned, but there’s a lot going on so I didn’t think much about it. Then I started waking up feeling foggy, anxious, and like someone had driven a stake through my chest as I slept. It physically hurt quite a lot, and as the days went on it took longer and longer for the feeling to pass. I noticed feeling heavier, like I had put on 50 pounds overnight. Walking was harder. Talking was harder. Thinking clearly took all of my focus. I started canceling plans again. I started making excuses for missing appointments.

This week has brought the fever dreams that don’t stop when I wake up. Disturbing images that defy description or explanation stay burned in my brain all day. It takes an hour or two to get out of bed. I wake up with my heart racing, fists clenched, and tears flowing down my cheeks. I don’t know who I am, where I am, or what I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t want to get out of bed because the world is out there and I don’t understand what’s happening.

Nothing to see here, just my normal morning routine (Christ in Limbo by Hieronymus Bosch)

I’ve been at this a long time, and I know what comes next. The tears will get worse because I’m going to start waking up upset that I woke up at all. That’s the first mile marker in Suicide Town.

After 20 years of this the thought occurs to me, “If I have to go through another 6 months of suicidal ideation maybe I should just kill myself now and not have to deal with all of that?” It’s so natural now. The suicidal thoughts come before the true wave of depression. Forget all of those crutches that helped me access serotonin or dopamine. My dearest crutch, the thing that keeps me going, is suicidal ideation.

That’s fucked up.

No medicine, no coping mechanism, no relationship has even been able to provide the comfort I need. Nothing but death will ever make it stop.

Doesn’t that sound like a curse or a demon to you?

Let me be clear. I don’t want to die. Things are better now than they have been for a long time and I don’t want to lose that momentum. I’m in pain that I haven’t felt in a while, but it’s nowhere close to how bad it can get. But, I have been experiencing a new (psychotic?) symptom. When my brain does flip into “you should kill yourself” mode it’s now accompanied by the physical sensation of a rough rope around my neck or a cold gun pressed against my head. Somehow this makes me feel calmer.

The truth is that my future is already laid out in front of me, I just don’t want it. I will fight this demon alone for the rest of my life. Maybe some people will help out a bit but there’s no real possibility that anyone is going to step up and take up arms beside me. It’s no one else’s responsibility and the genuine shape of my SMI is truly horrific. People see the highly functional me and they think I’m like them but maybe a little moodier. I’m not.

Every single day is a life and death battle. I travel to hell several times a week. I scream like a banshee, I slap myself and bang my head against the wall trying to drive IT out. I lock myself in closets and pray to every god I can think of. I pace around and hold my head in my hands and speak in extremely rapid gibberish for hours at a time. I claw at my skin and destroy things I love.

I am sympathetic to exorcisms. Sometimes there’s nothing anyone can do, and its human nature to try anything to stop suffering. I wish they worked.

“Have you tried yoga or calming music?” LOL. Go fuck yourself.

Anyway, here comes November. Gods help us all.