Although I was diagnosed in 2012 at the age of 26, I still feel like I’m only. Just coming to terms with identifying when I’m up and when I’m down, as well as the reason for the fluctuations.
I posted a few posts back on me feeling absolutely glorious. I had energy, mind bursting with ideas with a little less irritability than the usual spells of mania. I thought, or I think I am well. As in not ‘ill’. Mania may seem ‘fun’ for some, but the consequences of being delirious can leave one alone, bankrupt and probably depressed. All those are not fun.
I’m confused. I feel great. How do I know if I’m well?
I’m bipolar 1 and been known for my mania’s. I should have been institutionalised many times, but I circumstances didn’t afford me that luxury. I suffered on the inside. I was walking tornado, tormenting myself on the inside.
At the moment I think I’m just scared I become that tornado again. So I constantly peer through my windows to check if I’m okay. I’ve had a gazillion ideas since last week, but I’ve managed to zone in on one, that is writing, for now. I’ve started many businesses in my head, including a transport company and a designing company. My ideas are brilliant, and the level of detail and creativity I display is quite fascinating. I take a step back and marvel at the ‘awesomeness’.
I guess my ‘reasonabile Yvette’ test lies with the retrospection. If I look at yesterday’s ideas, do I ask myself, ‘Did I write this?’ Or ‘can this really be me?’ If the answer is yes, and I’m okay with that, then I could not have been manic. The problem with the test is that it’s reactive. I could caused a lot of damage/ lost of money in the mean while before conduct the test.
The only proactive or in-the-moment test I imagine I can conduct is a personal one. I don’t think all bipolars experience the same. When I am not well, I am detached. I ebb between knowing who my family is to feeling completely estranged; sometimes I fee so detached that I can see myself sitting in the car/ speaking, but it’s like I’m not speaking. I’m a ghost of the self I see before me. I hope that makes sense. That’s scary because I lose out on memories and promises and feelings. I lose out on life.
I’m documenting these things in my memoir, in the hope I can piece my life back together. I can’t get the past back, but with me (hopefully) not manic, I can recollect and manage a better life forward.