Being Bi-Polar is FUN! (half the time)

You guessed it –my Ferris wheel  is at the top again! Wheeee!  Nothing but ideas and sleepless nights, full of energy and talking like a racecar. This is FUN –kind of. The adrenaline rushing through my body  makes me feel shaky and a little panicky, but, man, is my house clean!

If I didn’t take medication for panic anxiety this could turn into a real disaster. My panic anxiety was always triggered by the adrenaline coursing through my system during my manic phases and I would often end up curled in the same fetal position the depressive side creates but for different reasons. I also would crash at my friend Wendy’s place because she and her husband know all about panic anxiety and don’t laugh at me for being scared of my own shadow.

So maybe the manic side of the disease isn’t too much fun either. But it does give me delusions of grandeur and I find myself losing perspective about my importance in the world. I can only imagine that many of the antics of the stars are caused by this very same sense of importance.

So what to do when one is a creative –who wants to stay creative – but doesn’t want to spend a goodly amount of time curled up like a sow bug?

I think admitting that you have a disease is a big step. The first step, actually. The 12 Steps isn’t just for addicts –it is wise frickin’ advice. Besides, how many addicts are just trying to self-medicate away either the blue side or the manic side of a bipolar disease? A boat load. No doubt. Alcohol, drugs, mental illness and ADHD are actually linked genetically. So what a shock that some of what helps addicts will also help us. And the first step is a doozy. (They’re all doozies but this is the “gateway drug” into the steps).

There is Soooo much that goes into admitting we have a disease. First of all –if you were brought up as I was (see previous posts) having a mental illness was a no-no. Somehow it reflected on your parents, your grandparents, all the way back to the Mayflower. And actually, it does. Not because they were bad people, but because mental illness is GENETIC! It is no fault of anyone who has it. You are not bad, lazy, shameful, uncontrollable,  you are not ANYTHING because you have this disease. Except cursed, maybe.

Once you get over the misplaced shame of being bipolar or depressed or just plain wack-a-doodle you can start to take real steps to helping yourself. The sense of relief I felt at finally admitting I had a disease that was out of my control to fix was immense. My father believed that if you were an intelligent person (like him) you could think your way out of any mental illness. Perhaps that is why my father went to the emergency room  and when asked by the ER doc if he was an alcoholic he replied “I’m a heavy drinker.” Four days later he was dead from complications of alcoholism at the age of 69. 

 Denial is death. It is.