The Ugly

     I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve managed to talk myself into a panic attack (thank you Lorazepam) because of worries stemming from my pre-diagnosis days or from recent episodes (medication can only do so much). Before I get into that though, this is probably a good time to describe myself before I was diagnosed and prescribed the proper medications. From what I hear, I was horrible to deal with and a force to be reckoned with. I mean, sometimes I had “normal” periods and wasn’t a burden to anyone but I think the manic and depressive episodes significantly outweighed these periods. I was never fully aware of what I was doing (and am still not) during the manic periods but I have a vague idea plus what I’ve been told from others that should allow me to piece together my psychotic era. I realise that generally you start with The Good, and then move onto The Bad, and finally The Ugly. However, in my case, the story is just ugly.  Since I’ve been diagnosed there has been some good and hopefully this will continue so I can write about it down the line but for now, it’s just ugly.

     First, there’s the inexplicable rage, irritabiliy and constant mood swings. I don’t even want to think about how many times I’ve gone off on someone I care about for no apparent reason. From what I remember, I wasn’t provoked, there was nothing that could justify the onset of that amount of anger in such a short period of time. And I’m not talking about getting mad and telling someone off. I’m talking about full on rage: screaming, yelling, punching inanimate objects, etc. I left the people I care about feeling utterly terrified of me, of what I might do (although I never physically hurt anyone besides myself). [If they ever read this, once again, I am tremendously sorry. I know an apology isn’t enough and may mean nothing to some of you, but I will probably spend the rest of my life fretting and feeling guilty about what you had to go through with me.] If anything good can be said for these fits of rage, it would be that they occurred sporadically (ie. I wasn’t turning into The Hulk on a daily or weekly basis). The irritability and mood swings, on the other hand, were anything but sporadic. I was snarky and got annoyed with everyone regularly and could go from happy to sad to angry in 1.2 seconds. I didn’t want to be around anyone and some people had learned to recognise these periods and avoided me at all costs. Clearly, I was a delight!  

     Next, we have the debilitating depression and sometimes aggressive depression (part of which is the fits of rage I just mentioned) making me even more delightful to be around. I had no energy, no motivation, and most days I could barely get myself out of bed. I didn’t want to spend time with anyone, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I just wanted to lay in bed and be sad. I had lost all hope and nothing seemed to matter anymore: school didn’t matter, family didn’t matter, friends didn’t matter. I felt so alone, no one could understand what I was feeling, and so I started pushing everyone I cared about away. I had chronic insomnia and would spend all night crying until I, unfortunately, turned to cutting. My brain forgot everything and focused solely on the pain, allowing the mental anguish I had been experiencing to dissipate at least for a little while. I finally felt some relief but was using the worst method possible to get it. After about a year of this, the aggressive depression set in.  When I say aggressive depression, I’m referring to the mixed state in bipolar disorder where you are technically having a depressive episode but at the same time are experiencing certain symptoms of mania. During these periods, I would be depressed to the point that I couldn’t get out of bed and wanted to die because I felt worthless and insignificant. Then the manic symptoms would set in, relentlessly urging me to act on the negative thoughts. [It could also go the other way where the drunken mania would become accompanied by depressive thoughts]. I was losing control. My mind was constantly racing. I became beyond desperate. I was screaming for help from people who couldn’t help me and ruining my relationships with these people in the process (what ADHD and BPD do best).  

[This blog post by another person with BPD pretty much sums it up: http://natashatracy.com/bipolar-disorder/attempt-suicide-not-die/].

     This last bit brings me to the point of this post which is the reason I cause myself to have panic attacks. I am now relatively aware of what people probably think about me after witnessing any of these episodes and unfortunately I can never take it back. I have created a reputation of being psychotic and unstable and there may not be much I can do to change this, especially since these episodes will still happen from time to time regardless of how strictly I stick to my treatment regimen. I’ve taken to spending most of my time home alone so that when the episodes strike there is no one there to witness them, but occassionally a bit of bad luck brings them on in public. I constantly worry that my future isn’t looking to bright and that I’ll never be stable enough to get where I want to be. All of this causes me to panic on a regular basis. If only the onset of a new year actually did wipe the slate clean and eliminate your past. I’ll soon be seeing yet another psychiatrist but hopefully she can help to make my life a bit more stable. I guess only time will tell.