Tuesday, April 7, 2015

ObsessiveBiCompulsivePolar Disorder

     There are so many thoughts buzzing around in my head, I can't seem to even write one down before another begins and takes its place. My moods today have been all over the place, ranging from "Is this what it feels like to begin to go insane?" to "I'm so alert and aware of my surroundings my eyes may fall out of my head!" to "I am completely at peace." and back again. Unfortunately it wasn't the first time that I've felt like I was quite literally losing my mind, and I am coming to expect that it won't be the last. Imagine having ten people's thoughts inside of your head. Now, those ten people's thoughts are intermingling with your own and beginning to have conversations, which in turn lead off to other thoughts, which lead into more conversations, and more thoughts, and...you get the picture. Unfortunately, no one can quiet what goes on in my head. Sometimes I like the thoughts I think and appreciate this personality effect (not defect) in its entirety, but in my depressive lows I cannot keep them a low whisper; instead my head transforms from a study library to grand central station.
     My hands have regained their tremor, my heart its incessantly rapid beating, and the feeling that I'm crawling out of my skin and need to rip it open to release my thoughts that are begging to come out is becoming all too constant yet again. I know that I can't. I know that I shouldn't. I know that there are other people counting on me. I know that I am quickly losing my grip.
     Smoking has a tendency to calm me. Pipes or cloves more-so than cigarettes. I don't smoke like a normal person. I am not addicted to the nicotine, I'm not actually addicted at all. I only smoke when my mood swings make me incredibly anxious. Smoking makes me calm down and gives me something to focus on. It makes me sit still. The crackling of the tobacco and paper as I inhale, a sound that soothes. The smell of vanilla pipe tobacco floating throughout the room something that reminds me of simpler times. Adulting while bipolar is one roller coaster I did not sign up for. Hell, I hate roller coasters.
     When smoking alone doesn't do the trick, I exercise. Today it was a three hour hike through the Niagara Falls Gorge down through Devil's Hole. How appropriate. There is nothing like the quiet expanse of the gorge and the rushing waters of the falls. Here I am home. Here, I am at peace. This peace lasts a mere hour after leaving before anxiousness again creeps in. I need to move. I need a more permanent change of scenery.
     I'm not entirely sure if this is other bipolar people too, or just my OCD tendencies I have about everything having its neat and orderly place, I need to change things every so often. I rearrange furniture once a month, change the cupboards out once every six months, rearrange the order of my books or the medicine cabinet sometimes weekly. I am in a constant state of re-order.

Sunday, April 5, 2015

Everyone's a little Holly Golightly

I wish I could be a character in a book.

Everything would be laid out for me. Even if my path was a bumpy and unhappy one, I would have just that - a path. All of my actions would lead somewhere and I would have a definitive purpose.

I started the day in a most excellent mood, despite being atrociously hungover. The sun was shining, it wasn't snowing, it seemed like Spring could actually be here, and I was happy. I was thankful for my range of moods even, because even with the lows I get to experience some of the most amazing emotional highs... then the low came.

It always hits below the belt. That gremlin in the back of your mind bringing up every fault and flaw you find within yourself. Finding every point on your timeline in which you didn't succeed as you had planned. Mood swings are a bitch.

Pulling the stereotype sitting on the bathroom floor a cigarette in one hand, the other holding a glass of wine, I did something different than my usual wallow in my sorrows. I told someone how I was feeling. My friends are incredible, beautiful people. We might be the most ragtag group you could think to bring together, but if they aren't the most understanding and supportive people I've ever met then I'm not bipolar (and boy do I have an official diagnosis to prove it).

So you buck up, pour another glass of wine, light another cigarette, and throw on Breakfast at Tiffany's. After all, I won't let anybody put me in a cage. Not even me.