Tag: depression

Party vs Hangover

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Honesty time: I have done many things in my short life. Learned lots, and also made many mistakes. But the one I make over and over is this – I party too hard and die the next day.

As a bipolar ii/cyclothymic (depending on the doctor you ask) I cycle relatively fast. Not all-seasons-in-one-day kinda fast. But fast enough that it’s like getting drunk and sobering up waaaay too quickly.

You know what I mean, right? The booze is flowing and you’re full of ideas! Making friends! Taking shots! Solving all the world’s problems with your new friends! Hey friends! Lets all GO TO INDIA AND START A BUSINESS THAT HELPS PEOPLE END POVERTY FOREVER

Maybe some of these ideas stick. Maybe they even work out. And Maybe the friends remain friends – it happens! And these are good things.

But then I go too fast and too hard and nothing is good enough or happening fast enough. No one can keep up and I’m just a burning mass through everyone’s crap complaints about being “too tired” or that I’m “being weird” or “not fun” or “aggressive”.

And then, the next day, it all comes crashing down. I realise I am moral trash, the human equivalent of a used moist towelette. And I can’t complain – it’s my own fault. Everything, every single thing in my life, is crap, and it’s crap because of me. Nothing is good, and I just want to die in my bed with nobody noticing my passing.

Now, I don’t know if this will work, but I have an idea. In the party/hangover scenario, the pain the next day is dependent largely on my own dumb-assery the previous evening.Drink too much, dance too hard, and my body suffers.If I take it easy on the partying, I suffer less, right?

So if I’m able to reign in my hypomanic displays, maybe I will feel not-as-shit in the depressive stage?

Maybe there’s a chemical deficit? Like my brain uses up all my feel-good chemicals when hypo, leaving me with nothing but the bad stuff the next day?

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[shirt]

QUESTION TIME

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ANONYMOUS ASKED:
hi! so im currently dating someone who (most likely) has cyclothemia, and i love her so much and i just wish i knew what i could do when shes having one of her irritable/depressive stages…. especially when she’s lashing out at me, because im never sure how to respond in a way that won’t set her off more. any advice you could give me would be hugely appreciated!! 🙂

So, first up, I’m not a doctor and I’m not a relationship therapist. I don’t know you guys or your situation. Also, it’s completely possible that any advice I offer will be off-target and may blow up in your face – I can only talk about what works for me. So I want you to take what I say in that spirit, and hopefully you can cherry-pick the parts that work for you.

Ready? Here we go.

Depression and irritability make it hard for me to do. For me, they cloud out possibilities – from my future as a professional, to the chances of starting a family, right down to the possibility of getting up to make toast. It all becomes too hard, too annoying, too ugh. Like standing in the middle of a desert – any direction you choose is the wrong one.

Because of this, it’s easy for depressed-me or aggressive-me to enter a shame spiral when interacting with the world. As an example, if I turn down an invitation to a party (for me a wise decision because I will be horrible company) I won’t think about how this is an intelligent and rational decision – instead my brain will focus on how I am a horrible human being for being so negative and avoiding people.

Does this make sense so far? Good.

Now, the tricky bit – how to deal as the non-bipolaroid:

  • Show them it’s about liking them, not about helping – depressive-me cannot accept help because it makes me feel worthless, and aggressive-me hates the idea of other people thinking I need help. But I can still accept that people want to hang out with me – because then it’s not about me needing assistance, it’s about them enjoying themselves, and I’m just, like, there. I can live with that.
  • Work with their capacity – appeal to the parts of their personality that are not under attack. If they’re not hungry, don’t invite them out for a meal, but if they’re okay watching cartoons on their laptop maybe offer a binge LoTR session or whatever. Build on their strengths.
  • Keep it simple – understand that the person does not have full access to their emotional range, and will neither be able to instigate activities nor accept vague invitations. So instead broadly stating your intent (“I’m here to help, what you wanna do?”) offer a specific, pleasure-based invitation (“pizza and Netflix for the afternoon?”) as these are much easier to digest and accept.
  • Respect their space – if I turn down every invitation for a week , it’s because I just don’t have the capacity to deal. I’m not trying to make anyone feel bad – I don’t have the energy to do that. I’m just trying to get by. So blowing up about how we “never see each other” doesn’t help. Instead, my friends just accept that there’s no energy, and understand that I will reach out again when I’m a bit more stable, apologise for my distant behaviour, and try to engage socially once more.

I hope that helps you, guy! Thanks for reaching out!

Liloing

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A plateau is a flat ground at the top of a high point. If it was a feeling, it would be contentment – the feel that you’re in a good place, but that nothing’s changing.

The opposite of that? Maybe a canyon.

If a canyon was a feel, it would bee that feel you get when you’re stuck in a rut, and are limited in directions to go. I mean, yeah, you could climb the walls, but that’s hella hard, and when I’m at the bottom, any direction that isn’t immediately ahead of me is doomed to failure.

So, how can I beat it? Well,I can’t, and I don’t. Fighting against depression is like throwing rocks at a cliff wall – I can flail away, but in the end I will just get frustrated at my lack of progress. I’m weak. And if I take it too far, I might hurt myself or those around me.

Instead of fighting it, or trying to force change where change won’t happen, I accept my situation. Hell yeah, it sucks – that’s mental illness for you. But there’s another way.

I just go liloing. Perhaps the best way out of a canyon is to follow the water – just jump on an inflatable tube mattress and let the current carry me along. Eventually, I find myself at a place where the canyon walls are low enough to scale. Then I can get out any time I like – or if I want, I can just keep floating.

Here’s the lilo lesson – sometimes it’s best to just go with the flow.

Umbrellas on the inside

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It’s raining. Do you decide to cancel your activities? Not see your friends, stay away from your job? Sometimes. But more likely, you’ll do the intelligent thing and grab an umbrella.

Will you get wet? Sure, a little. But you’ve done the smart thing, so the damage is minimal, and when the rain clears you can be happy with the results of your efforts.

Now, let’s liken depression and hypomania to weather. It’s not a straight-up comparison – none of that sunlight-for-happiness-and-clouds-for-sad bullshit. No. I mean:

  1. you just can’t control any of them
  2. they will impact on how you choose to spend your day
  3. you can only choose how to respond

Knowing this, you can still choose to do the intelligent thing.

Grab an umbrella. Even if all your doing is sitting in a park. Or sitting in your room reading the internet on a laptop. Grab an umbrella for the inside – talk to your doc, the therapist, your family – let them know what’s happening. Do the exercises, eat good, be kind to your meat-suit.

You will still feel the effects – you will still get wet – but I think it’s better than being drenched.

God Dammit Mr Williams

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Trigger Warning: I talk a lot about death.

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Mr Williams, we met only once, and very briefly. It was after one of your shows here in my home town. On stage you were full of fire – the audience’s shrieks and howls seemingly fuelling you as you dropped line after hilarious line.

“Voluntary Tourette’s” you called it. I called it “why are my ribs so damn sore”.

But after the show, outside the venue, you were more restrained, on edge, almost fearful of the handful of people around you. That could be hindsight, foreshadowing, or wanting to see things in retrospect. I don’t know. I just remember how nervous I was in your presence.

Now I’m feeling something. Not angry. Not disappointed. Just argh.

Mr Williams, I get by on my talents and skills and training and luck. Right now, in this space, my options are limited by funds and chance. At times it feels like my healthy existence is largely predicated by goodwill from a wide range of sources. And I am sort of at peace with this – most of the time.

I can imagine that you also had times where you were at peace with your lot, grateful for your experiences, content with your existence. You had options, same as I do. And family and friends to support you. Same as I do.

But depression don’t care. And if you were anything like me, Mr Williams, then at times in that place, that desert of depression, you felt out of options. Like every choice you could make would only lead to Shit City? I am familiar with that feel – I freeze with indecision and fear, then melt into apathetic boredom. And the people? I feel ashamed that they have to deal with me and my lack of options.

But here’s the kicker, Mr Williams. Here’s what I’ve learned from your death.

Self-slaughter is an end of options.

Self-slaughter isn’t a plan, not really. All it does is remove the chance of ever having any options ever again. No more plans, no more choice. Both for you and the rest of the world.

And that, Mr Williams, is what I’m taking from your death.

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I’m so sorry, Mr Williams. I just really wanted to talk to you. There, on that evening outside the venue, one on one.

I wanted to talk to you about the choices I’d made because of your work. I don’t know why. Kind of a selfish want, I know, wanting you to notice that you had made a difference to me. I guess it’s a human thing, wanting other people to know they matter – to extend their experience in some small yet positive way.

And now? Now I don’t have that option.

Anxiety Party

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It’s a three-day festival like mardi gras! Except instead of beers and beads and boobs there’s anxiety and headaches and frustration! And instead of floats there’s bouts of crippling doubt that make it hard to get out of bed or leave the house! And this metaphor has kind of gone off track, except that the time frame is still accurate! I can’t believe I’ve been like this for three days already!

WOOHOO

Affliction

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Caught in the crushing grips of a depressive episode, one thought haunts me above the rest. I am a burden on those around me, and the more I struggle, the more they are contaminated.

Look at how the look at me with pity in their eyes, regret and resignation just beneath the surface. They know I am nothing more than a fake, diseased excuse for a human being. They have read my file somehow, they know my disease, and they know I know it as well.

They put up with me the way they’d put up with a pimple on a strangers face—a disease that everyone’s too polite to make into a thing, but everyone would wish would just go away.

Free Shrugs

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Look, I’m fresh outta fucks to give. No, it’s not you or the thing we’re talking about. It’s just that – well, let me put it like this. I can’t see a future right now. Like,any future, good or bad. I can’t plan anything beyond the next five minutes. So I can’t really take in what you’re saying. Instead I’m just gonna shrug and hope I go back to normal real quick. That’s the plan.

Autoclave

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There’s a small space in the centre of my chest, just to the right of my heart. It is inconspicuous most of the time, but when feelings of confused anger and uncertainty get too much, it activates.

Suddenly my chest cavity gets blasted with super-heated doubt and self loathing. This high-pressure scalding is no less painful than the rage and disappointment that bubbled and schlorped around before,but it’s different. It is a change from before, and I welcome this difference.

At least for a while. Even autoclaves have safety valves.