ups and downs

Most of my posts thus far have centered around my battle with hypochondriasis and irrational fears of diseases that cause a slow, painful, humiliating death. But that's not my only problem. I also suffer from bipolar disorder and debilitating depression. And it sucks. Most of the time I'm dealing with mania: the drugs keep it in check so that I don't fall too deeply in love with life, but even so, most of the time I am fighting tooth and nail to keep myself at a managable level somewhere between the stratosphere and outer space. The slightest thing can set me on a manic rampage that can last for weeks at a time: this episode that I'm going through right now, for example, was triggered by a song that I liked on the radio. Stupid, isn't it? But that's my life.

When I come down from my high I will quickly plummet, without warning, to somewhere between the center of the Earth and hell. Once again, mood stabilizers save me from damnation.
The hardest thing about it all is the inconsistencies it brings to life. I make plans deep in the throws of mania, then swing into depression and cannot possibly carry them out. I feel like I don't know myself. I feel like I'm NOT myself. I feel like I have demons. This can't be me.

I'm in therapy. I'm on meds. I cry a lot. I can't sleep. I laugh a lot. What saves me is my humor. I find great comfort in my friends, especially the ones who understand my roller-coaster because they're riding it, too. We talk about therapy, meds, mania, the blues, and joke about how it makes up better writers, artists, and scholars. After all, the most creative minds are often the most disturbed. We try to convince ourselves that it makes us more interesting, attractive and intelligent because there's a depth to our being that others lack. Still, in all honesty, there's really nothing hott or glamorous about being a mess.