A while ago, my med manager had to up my meds. I was on the max dose, but it wasn’t working. My med manager felt comfortable giving me a bit more, which I halved a bit later. It’s been working, and maybe a bit too well. I stopped the extra, about four or five days ago, and now I’m paying for it.
I felt it coming on this morning, but by three o’clock, I was ready to smash my head in with a mallet. **No, that is not a threat. All is well.** Anyone who has ever dealt with symptoms of Bipolar Disorder knows that there aren’t actual words to describe the feelings. We can come close with things like, agitated, irritable, or simply bah, but they don’t even come close to the way it is.
I went out to the store, with my mom, and that’s when it got really bad. Feeling like this, for me, is exacerbated by being around others. Going out in public, having visitors, or even going to see my friends is like giving meth to a sugar glider. It never turns out well.
The way I feel is beyond words, and the way I want to act is far from appropriate. If I acted on my feelings, I’d be adding to the stigmas that I’m desperately trying to fight. I’d be yelling at everyone who annoyed me; I’d be darting around, changing subjects and ideas like said meth-filled sugar glider; I’d be digging my nails into my head and screaming, trying to make it stop.
This behavior does nothing to create awareness around mental illness. It perpetuates the “Don’t shoot me, you mentally ill freak” stigmas that the media already spreads. It’s up to us, the real sufferers, to show the world that mental illness is not the same as evil.
Being aware of your behavior, despite how you feel, can help you more than you think. It’s helped me understand myself, and given me back my self-control. I rule me; my brain does not! It’s not something I learned to do in one go, though. It took years to really be aware of myself. It’s a learning curve, and takes everyone their own time. There’s no time limit on learning.
Do you, your way.
No comments:
Post a Comment