Monday, July 21, 2014

TOUCH ME I'M SICK

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“I won't live long, and I'm full of rot
Gonna give you - girl - everything I got
Touch me, I'm sick, yeah
Touch me, I'm sick”
Mudhoney, “Touch Me I’m Sick”

The thing about suffering from Bipolar II is that you’re usually low. What you’re never prepared for is the hypo-mania. This consists of several symptoms:
-Hypersexuality. This is not sexy, cute or something to boner over. It’s a real thing & it’s scary. My sexual appetite is insatiable in an unhealthy way.
-Inflated self-esteem. This is annoying to all those who surround me.
-Decreased need for sleep. Sleep is imperative to my well-being.  When I don’t sleep, I become crazier than I already am.
-Psychomotor agitation. I am constantly wringing my hands, I chew my lips, I pick out my eyebrow hair & I can’t stay seated for longer that two minutes at a time.

It feels like OCD.

For the past few months, I’ve felt well. I knew (because of the nature & progression of the disease) that it couldn’t last. Can I ever beat this thing? No. I can deal with it to the best of my ability but I can never out-grow it. It scares people away from me (flat-out I’ve had men tell me they wouldn’t date me because I’m “crazy”) & it takes a terrible toll on my friends & family. I do the best I can.
I stay clean & sober. I go to 12-step meetings, have a spiritual advisor, a therapist, I take my medication properly & I try to stay active & eat healthily. I try to get 8hrs of sleep a night. I try to self-evaluate & set goals. I pray. I meditate. What the fuck more do you want from me?
I want this nightmare to be over. It’s almost worse than being depressed because at least being depressed is a place that I’m familiar with, thus making me feel (slightly) safe.
Leaving my apartment is tormenting to the extreme. I have to go to work. We all do. It’s like torture. Writing is all I can do. Everything makes me ecstatically happy or devestatingly sad. I couldn’t figure out an app on my iPhone today & I nearly threw the phone off of my 11th story balcony. I’m unreasonable, irrational & emotional.
What’s worse is that I know what hypo-mania has always led to: DEPRESSION.
Where did this come from? I was doing just fine. It came from nowhere, like a natural disaster.
I shouldn’t write this blog. There’s a stigma that’s very much still alive when it comes to mental illness. People/ men will want to steer clear of me.
But you should know that I can be really nice, & really fun. I can be funny & smart & you can (usually) depend on me. I can be normal a lot of the time. When I’m at work I conceal my illness like a murdered buried body. Most would never guess. It’s when you really know me that you get it, & that’s when it hurts the most.
I’m sorry if I’m hurting you by being this way. I would give anything to make it go away. I’m really trying. But sometimes it gets the best of me.