The Other Side of Depressed

For the past few days I have been having to remind myself that I’m not manic. When you’re bipolar and you start to feel great, you often have worries that you’re becoming manic because you’re not used to being in between. So when you start feeling great (and sometimes it’s not gradual), you have to take a step back and examine symptoms of mania with your normal mood.

Yesterday at work I was so confident, outgoing, and competitive that I had to wonder if mania was fueling the heat in my veins. But my thoughts weren’t fast, my brain wasn’t telling me to “Go! Go! Go!”, I didn’t have thoughts of reckless behavior, I didn’t have psychomotor agitation, I wasn’t over excited, and I wasn’t overindulging myself in my work.

I am a naturally hyperthermic person, I have come to realize. According to psychology, hyperthermia is a step below hypomania, which probably explains why even a small dose of an antidepressant or even an atypical antidepressant makes me either hypomanic or manic. I am a naturally driven person. I am naturally optimistic and sociable. But after everything that has happened, I am much stronger.

Bipolar disorder has taught me a lot. I am not romanticizing this illness, but I might as well make the best of an overwhelming illness. I am a much more thoughtful, sensitive person. Mania can remind me that my life can be great–just not to such an extreme degree. Being able to compare my current thoughts to my depressive thoughts makes me realize I am a much more confident, caring person. Yesterday at work I gave up my coat to a co-worker who was barely dressed for the occasion. Certainly I was cold, but she probably would have started crying with how she was dressed. I also don’t smile and bare things anymore that I don’t need to tolerate. My co-worker was playfully criticizing the way I tried to get people over for the drawing, and I just said, with confidence, not meanness, that I’ve been at it for more than 6 months and my method works with my personality. I don’t want to add a Southern drawl to my words when that is not me. And I was proud. Before I probably would have just done it to appease, but no more.

I work today at 12. I woke up just before 9. No longer am I thinking I don’t want to get up because everything feels pointless. I am waking up, and even though I am still tired when my mind shakes me awake, my thoughts are positive. They are not irritable, grouchy, upset, despairing, or hopeless. I am also appreciating the fact that I am alive when my mind tried too many times to count to kill me. I have a joie de vivre, joy of life. It’s so surprising to me how extreme I can become. I go from hating life to loving life so much I am grateful I have never even attempted suicide.

But there is the fear of becoming depressed again because of how I am right now. Why would I want to go back to feeling suicidal, hopeless, angry, hateful of myself? It’s hard to accept there is a possibility of that happening again. I was terrified it was happening yesterday, until I realized my anxiety was doing it to me–for no reason. I might need meds to help with the anxiety side of things, but I also know getting up and doing things helps it. And caffeine. But I’m no addict, I swear.

It is nice to be able to enjoy this life again.

In any case, today promises to be a good day. I will work hard at work to make extra money for a few surprises, I will come home and proofread my novel, I will possibly watch Naruto with the fiancé, and I will come home and blog again, possibly proofread some more, and go to bed for the surprises of tomorrow.

Depressive Episodes Won’t Daunt Me

Looking upon 2013 so far makes me realize what an amazing year it has been. And this is in spite of the moments I’d cry by myself, wishing I were dead, or laying in bed for hours believing I wouldn’t be able to do anything that I loved without screwing it up. I know it’s insane to say 2013 is great when I spend a good deal of my time depressed, irritable, sometimes hopeless, sometimes sad. How is it possible for me to be able to look back upon all of this and go, “Well, this year has, in fact, been pretty incredible.”

I’ll tell you why: not only have I changed my thinking, about the way I view my depression, but I’m learning to let the good things outweigh the bad.

For some reason most of us want the bad to outweigh the good. We look at one tragedy caused by one or two people and are sickened by the human race. But we don’t look at the countless scores of people reaching out and helping in the midst of tragedy. This is the kind of thinking I’m changing. Tragedies are tragedies and are heartrending and make me wonder how another human being could do that to someone (because, by my nature, I love people), but then there are so many people doing so many good things each and every day.

In any case, why am I no longer letting my depression rule me? Is it because I am no longer depressed? Not necessarily. I still have problems with irritability, but I’m giving myself reasons to wake up so I don’t find myself trapped in bed until 12: mainly this blog, thinking of strong content to pound out, and advancing my writing career. These are phenomenal reasons for me to wake up earlier than I usually do. I’ve been waking up at 9 when I normally wake up at 12. And that’s good, because before I let depression drown me, 8 or 9 o’clock was my wake-up time. I couldn’t physically sleep in any later until depression struck.

So what are some of the good things that have happened to me this year that are keeping me from drowning?

This is Wind, my favorite role in the recital I participated in. It will also be my author photo.

I was chosen to dance in Columbia County’s ‘Roar of Love.’ I was stunned. I hadn’t been there in almost two months due to psychiatric visits and my health, and here I was being asked to perform three roles, two of which were en pointe, one of which is for girls above my level. Not only was I overjoyed, but it was a compliment to my skills to put me in three roles when I wasn’t present for a good bit of the first part of the ballet school year. I mean, I came back after all the hospitalizations and hadn’t lost anything, not my strength or technique, and I was so worried about those two things.

But dancing in a recital was  a dream come true, especially because there is no true adult ballet program in my area and so I have to dance with kids–but I love the girls I dance with and wouldn’t leave them for any adult ballet program. Even though I was still trapped in the web of depression, going to ballet helped immensely with my mood, and I always left chipper and with a renewed sense of self-esteem. And even though I woke up the next day, and the day after that, and so on and so forth, wondering how ballet could help my dark mood, it always did.

What else is great about 2013?

Shush!

Well, that is a secret. But I can tell you I’m proud of myself for getting back into writing, being able to blog as much as I am, getting back into my literary magazine; I freaking registered for fall classes, I’m going to pick up more hours at work, and I’m going to do a ballet summer intensive among other *hush*surpsingthings*hush*. Now if my depression starts flaring doing all these things, I’ll slow down. I mean, frankly, I’m writing all of this in the heat of excitement. Even depressed people experience situational joy from time to time. But I’m going to keep up the positive thinking even when I feel like crap. As I’ve said before, I can’t change the way I feel, but I can change the way I think.

I can’t wait to tell you all what this surprise is though!

Grasping that Motivation

I’ll admit that I probably chose the worst time in my life to launch myself on to the road of self-publication. Or perhaps there is no better time? Who is to say?

As I’ve mentioned before, I have bipolar disorder and am not stable on meds. My mania is treated, but my depression still struggles. I do struggle with suicidal ideation. I am not ashamed to admit that. I know how to cope when suicidal feelings become overwhelming. I’ve coped for months. Some days are worse than others. Some days I do feel inches away from wanting to take my life. But then I do my best to remember what I’m fighting for.

Before I made the decision to self-publish, I was fighting to keep going by using my dance recital. And it was worth it. It was worth everything. As a later starter, being in a recital was a dream come true, especially being able to do two of my three roles en pointe. Getting en pointe was a dream come true itself. But when the recital ended, I felt this deep emptiness because it was the reason I was still alive. Depression is a horrible illness, especially bipolar depression. It’s hard to find enjoyment in your life when you feel so detached, so to no longer have my recital to strive for, I found myself breaking down every night in what seemed an unending sobbing fit for the next three days.

Then I realized I needed to pull myself together. I needed to, once again, accept that I was still depressed. I still had dance, but I needed something bigger to make my heart continue beating, to make my life worth it so I could continue fighting for stability through this trial-and-error medication management. Because I am worth it, right?

Then I thought about my novel, When Stars Die. I stopped writing because it took energy and concentration that I didn’t have. I’m still not sure if I even have it, but one thing I do know is passion and a desire to live will make me have the concentration needed to self-publish my book. Using the publication of my book as an incentive to stay alive is the best thing I can do for myself right now. That is my ultimate motivation for getting back to my book: to stay alive. That is how, despite the depression, despite the desire to sleep all the time, despite the unending thirst to isolate myself, I will continue living, I will continue getting up, and I will continue fighting.

I think about my favorite singer, Emilie Autumn. She used her album Opheliac as a bargaining chip to keep living. She figured once she completed it, she’d no longer be suicidal. She was right. I feel the same way, but I know the deletion of suicidal feelings is not so easy. That will take the right medicinal cocktail for me. But my book is worth it. I’ve dreamt of being published since I was a kid. I’m not throwing that dream away just because I’m in a bad spot right now.

So that is how I grasped the motivation to get back to my novel, when I’d been away from it for so long without a care as to whether I’d get back to it or night.