You know what I hate about this bipolar thing? You never feel that you can quite trust yourself. There’s the list of humiliating, stupid, guilt inducing crap that you do while manic or hypomanic because you have zero inhibitions. Then there’s the worry of not really being in control when you’re depressed. Even your own mind, you at some fundamental level, have no control over. Okay, no one has full control over themselves, that just isn’t how the brain works. but there’s that profound sense of it for me. Sometimes it’s like this little voice that’s always whispering, “You’re nuts, keep control. You’re nuts, keep control”.
This is why I want to be alone so much I think; I don’t want be able to fuck up or I suppose more to the point feel that I’ve fucked up. So much of this isn’t about anything other than feelings. A “mood disorder”. A mood disorder that creates a neurosis of it’s own because you never know what stupidity you’ll be in the mood for and you end up worrying about it.
It’s almost always there for me; this constant awareness that I have an illness. Sometimes it feels so fake and it feels like I fake it. When I’m well, when I have no depression, no mania, when I’m doing fine I wonder to myself if I actually have bipolar disorder and I wonder if I don’t make it all up or, if I wasn’t exaggerating, but then it hits me again. I find myself sitting on my bed staring into space, too exhausted to move and I think, “I wish this was fake” or maybe I catch myself in a fit of massive confidence and I’m like, “I’m not in control of this; I would turn this off right now if I could”. I know what it is to have a drink and feel normal again and be glad that I felt normal, to even feel relieved.
I think, though, a lot of the time I look at it through rose tinted glasses, I only see what I think of as positives and sometimes I even think of it as cool, usually when I’m manic I suppose, but then I don’t know what good it would do to look at it otherwise, does it help to be negative? It is a bipolar coaster, I go with it, I don’t decide where it goes. All I can do sometimes is hang on and scream at appropriate moments. So often I want to be somewhere that I can quietly self destruct in or find somewhere I just feel safe.