This is an old diary entry of mine from 2009, and it really captures what’s going on in my mind when I’m hypomanic:
I went out to a club last night where a friend was DJing. I had a blast but forgot to take my anti-mania meds. I also had a flask full of vodka that I poured into the $3 cokes – 3 of them.
I did have a great time and lucky for me, only drank that vodka and it was good quality. So last night was a nice, clean drunk with no blackouts and no hangover today.
When I’m manic, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve yelled at people in public. The “rude” (according to me) receptionist at my doctor’s office who’s already lost my records twice and doesn’t care that I’ve been waiting for 45 minutes. The “asshole” at the business tax department who wasted 4 hours of my life because she couldn’t fill out forms properly, even the “sour-faced c-word” who acted like I ruined her day by asking her what aisle the dish drainers are on.
And I can’t even count on my fingers the number of times I’ve thrown my cell phone across the room while being hung up on for the 5th time after asking to speak to the Sheila, the phone operator’s supervisor and asking Sheila what her last name and ID number is. Thanks USPS, Comcast, Sony, 1and1, Zingotel, Vonage, AT&T, CapitalOne, and on and on and on.
Some of the symptoms of mania are: anger, rage, irritability and highly vocal arguments. Yep, that sounds like me.
Something I learned in DBSA (Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance) I’ve found reassuring:
Never say “I AM bipolar”
Always say “I HAVE bipolar disorder”
Bipolar disorder doesn’t define who you ARE even though it may be a part of who you are.
Yes you read that right. I’m typing this in 2018, 9 years after 2009, but I actually started this blog in 2009.
In 2009, 7 years after I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and 9 years after my bipolar dad committed suicide, I decided I should write a memoir. So I started working on it. And with it, came a little blog called Darkness and Light.
And so much happened. I wrote hundreds of pages of the book. I wrote dozens of blog posts. I submitted query letters to agents and went to writing workshops and writing conferences. I contacted publishers and wrote more blog entries.
And somewhere in there I got married, divorced, started a new career, moved around a few times, lost my 2 beloved kitties, adopted 2 new ones, attempted suicide, survived, was hospitalized, and came out on the other end a much stronger person.
And I didn’t get agent representation. I didn’t get published. So what did I do? I gave up.