June Gloom - Trapped in my body. Trapped in my mind.

This week I felt like I was getting “manic”. I use the word manic in quotation marks because it’s not true mania. True mania I’ve only experienced twice (maybe thrice) in my life over a decade ago when I was an early teenager before I was properly medicated. Running on no sleep, frantic thoughts, emotions running the gamut. Now if I feel “manic”, I’m running around getting things done being so productive that it eventually turns into a mixed or depressed episode. When this period starts, I’m most likely cleaning my room.

The other day though I was in a full upswing. Woke at 6am, did light housework, changed my grandmother twice, did her wake up routine of pills, nebulizer, breakfast, went on the elliptical for 30 minutes, all before 8:30am. The rest of the morning, I was highly productive and able to complete more chores before noon. I soon feared I was starting an episode. Some things don’t change. My thoughts still raced, I darted through online shopping websites (this time fortunately not finding anything so no superfluous spending), I paced, trying to purge the excess energy from my body.

But I knew what to do. I told the people I trust that something might be happening. I knew I’d see both therapists within twenty-four hours. I decided to suspend my intake of alcohol and caffeine. And guess what? The 5-7 day episode I feared didn’t happen.

Maybe my productivity was just a fluke. Maybe my awareness and action steps paid off. Either way, I feel fine and hopefully even good.

My DBT therapist cautioned me against catastrophizing. She gave me some ACCEPTS worksheets to combat the “manic” feelings again. I feel good working on what I can do in these situations because the other day, in the moment, I didn’t know what to do to settle myself.

For all the support groups I have, I don’t have one for bipolar disorder. I had wished I had someone to guide me through that “manic” feeling. Someone to say “do this to relax your body”, but instead I felt alone. Trapped in my body. Trapped in my mind.

It’s incredibly jarring and sad wondering if your good mood (something I thought I was having) is really you or the bipolar. It turns a bright thing overcast and not in a comfortable temperature kind of way. June gloom over my mood.

And that whole concept brings into question the identity politics of it all. “Is it me or my bipolar?” “Am I bipolar or do I have bipolar disorder?” For so long, I’ve felt like I have bipolar disorder, it doesn’t have me. But my identity is intrinsically tied to this disorder. It may not be everything, but it is a huge part of me.

I’m bipolar. I have bipolar disorder. It all feels right and off to declare. But I know this. I have eighteen years of experience naming my condition and knowing I can live through any experience that it throws at me. I just hope I can remember and feel that the next time depression hits.