In my world, living with Bipolar Disorder is like navigating a stormy sea, where the waves of emotions can either lift you high or pull you deep into the abyss. Recently, I’ve been riding a particularly prolonged manic wave, a state where everything feels exhilarating and I believe I can conquer the world. However, the inevitable descent from this high is one of the most challenging experiences for me.
During my latest manic phase, I found myself in a whirlwind of activity, fueled by the pressure and stress of my situation. Recognizing the signs early, I sought treatment to avoid hospitalization, which has always been a lurking fear. While I managed to stay out of the hospital, I’m far from feeling “okay.” Instead, I’m transitioning from the high of mania to the deep sadness and impending depression that often follows.
This transition phase feels like being thrown into a deep ocean with weights strapped to my ankles. I’m desperately paddling to stay afloat, knowing that sinking to the bottom could be catastrophic. My primary goal now is to avoid hitting that bottom, even if reaching the surface seems impossible.
To keep myself from sinking, I find distractions to fill my time and prevent the onset of depression. However, this is also when my risky behaviors tend to emerge. In the past, I’ve turned to spending sprees, thrill-seeking, and other impulsive actions to stave off the darkness. These behaviors, while providing temporary relief, come with significant long-term consequences.
Previously, I tried to avoid these risky behaviors by withdrawing from social interactions and limiting my activities. This year, however, I’ve been part of a Unified Protocol Therapy program, an IMR Group, and a Multifamily Group, where I’m learning to articulate my experiences with Bipolar Disorder more clearly. This process has helped me understand the stages I go through and the short-term versus long-term impacts of my actions.
Despite this understanding, implementing changes is incredibly difficult. My attempts to adjust my behavior often rely on others, whose schedules and willingness can be unpredictable. Learning to accept and adapt to this has been a significant challenge.
One example of this was my plan for a Full Moon Burn Ritual. Unable to perform the ritual at home, I made arrangements to travel to a campsite for a more elaborate ceremony. I spent hours discussing my plan with my case manager, ensuring she was comfortable with the ritual’s details. She agreed, but on the day of the ritual, she had to cancel due to staffing issues. This left me disappointed and struggling to adjust my plans.
I turned to Henry for help, but he wasn’t up for going out that day. His suggestion to postpone the ritual led to anger and frustration. We don’t often fight, but this situation brought tension between us. After some time apart, we communicated and devised a new, more intimate plan for the ritual.
Henry’s involvement in the new plan surprised and touched me deeply. He not only supported but fully engaged in the ritual, helping me gather supplies and participating in each step. His contribution transformed the ritual into a shared experience, adding a depth and power that my original plan lacked.
This experience taught me the importance of flexibility and communication. The initial disappointment and frustration were necessary to lead us to a more meaningful and intimate ritual. It highlighted the significance of adapting to circumstances and finding strength in partnership.
Living with Bipolar Disorder means embracing both the light and the dark, understanding that each twist and turn shapes the journey. By sharing my experiences, I hope to shed light on the complexities of this condition and the resilience it demands.
