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lydyI used to get god-like manias and Lucifer-be-damned depressions. It's a much less interesting way to live than you might think. The real world is still out there, ready to cause endless trouble, and it has no interest in adjusting itself to your current biochemical state. I've been depressed most of my life, so when the mania hits, I find myself thinking, "Oh, this is what it feels like to be normal. Oh, this is great! Now I can do all those things that other people manage. Wow." I may be a little more hyper, and I do overspend, but my shrink has gotten the swing down to the point where I no longer get flashes of vision through God's eyes. Absolute certainty and total fearlessness are no longer occasional companions of mine. It is amazing what you will risk if you have no fear, if you are certain about your exact capabilities, and if your perceptions reach a few seconds into the future. On the other hand, it's nice to be able to get up off the couch and get a glass of water without having sat on the couch for 2 hours, trapped in a bubble of fear, unable to move for fear of breaking it.
The meds I'm on now have flattened out the moods significantly, which is a good thing. Every incident of flying high above the plain of causality, stooping on a single fact which, once caught, feeds my own reality instead of the punier one it had been involved in -- every incident of that grand feeling of mania is accompanied by a depression. The higher I fly, the harder I fall. Some days, I feel like I've stooped on a star, and fallen to the center of the earth. So my shrink, then, must be my falconer, in this metaphor. She's tied on jesses and bells, weighted my talons and made it impossible for me to soar too high. Because I cannot fly as high as once I did, I do not fall as hard as I once did. No gain comes without loss. Every silver lining has a touch of grey.
Less dramatic mood swings my psychiatrist calls cycling. Mostly, I don't notice it. The way I feel at the moment is the way I've always felt, with the exception of some abnormal circumstances. My productivity goes up and down. I don't always know what's going on. If I'm heading into a serious depressive episode, I usually go into denial about it, and it takes weeks for my friends to get me to make an appointment to see my shrink early.
It's been less stable this last week or two than normal. I'm taking a ton of Depakote, which is supposed to keep me from getting manic, and an even larger amount of antidepressants. Theoretically, I'm supposed to live in the space between the Effexor floor and the Depakote ceiling. Recently, though, I feel like a superball that's been thrown very hard at the ceiling, and is now rocketing around the room, richhochet after richhochet, without losing inertia. I hope I'm one of the cool light-up ones that flashes every time it makes contact. A pink ball with a blue flash would be really cool,
I'll bounce off now, ineffective but sporadically brilliant. Maybe sleep would help.
The meds I'm on now have flattened out the moods significantly, which is a good thing. Every incident of flying high above the plain of causality, stooping on a single fact which, once caught, feeds my own reality instead of the punier one it had been involved in -- every incident of that grand feeling of mania is accompanied by a depression. The higher I fly, the harder I fall. Some days, I feel like I've stooped on a star, and fallen to the center of the earth. So my shrink, then, must be my falconer, in this metaphor. She's tied on jesses and bells, weighted my talons and made it impossible for me to soar too high. Because I cannot fly as high as once I did, I do not fall as hard as I once did. No gain comes without loss. Every silver lining has a touch of grey.
Less dramatic mood swings my psychiatrist calls cycling. Mostly, I don't notice it. The way I feel at the moment is the way I've always felt, with the exception of some abnormal circumstances. My productivity goes up and down. I don't always know what's going on. If I'm heading into a serious depressive episode, I usually go into denial about it, and it takes weeks for my friends to get me to make an appointment to see my shrink early.
It's been less stable this last week or two than normal. I'm taking a ton of Depakote, which is supposed to keep me from getting manic, and an even larger amount of antidepressants. Theoretically, I'm supposed to live in the space between the Effexor floor and the Depakote ceiling. Recently, though, I feel like a superball that's been thrown very hard at the ceiling, and is now rocketing around the room, richhochet after richhochet, without losing inertia. I hope I'm one of the cool light-up ones that flashes every time it makes contact. A pink ball with a blue flash would be really cool,
I'll bounce off now, ineffective but sporadically brilliant. Maybe sleep would help.
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-04 05:48 am (UTC)You make it sound so fascinating, but even so I'm glad I'm not on that cycle.
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Date: 2003-09-04 10:02 am (UTC)You describe it all beautifully, and it sounds painfully familiar in parts. I don't get the manias, but it feels like I cycle between being functional/okay/reasonably cheerful/myself/aware and being inward-turned/scared/hiding/miserable/
depressed/unaware. I hate not being able to predict how I'll be functioning when I'm in an unstable phase (currently trying to tweak meds, so here I am...).
Have you read Kay Redfield Jamison's An Unquiet Mind? I found it oddly comforting, esp. her descriptions of depression... "Oh, so I'm really NOT making this up..." Sigh.
Hang in there.
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Date: 2003-09-04 01:28 pm (UTC)Ah, but I'm a Super Ball! Doesn't hurt a bit! I leap over Leggo buildings in a single bound! I destroy Log Cabins with a mere touch! I am chewed on by dogs and lost in the alley, I roll down the street end up in the storm sewer! Wait...this isn't very fun, is it? Hmmmm. Yikes, here comes the wall again! Oh, no, not the window---" *crash* *tinkle* *Didn't I tell you to be more careful with your toys, young man!*
I hate not being able to predict how I'll be functioning when I'm in an unstable phase (currently trying to tweak meds, so here I am...).
Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. There is possibly nothing I hate more than titrating drugs in my own body! Shouldn't there be a more scientific method than this, something involving bunsen burners and lab glassware? I'm not furry enough to be a guinea pig.
Not being able to predict how functional I'm going to be from day to day is a major component of my life. I have to build everything around it. I hate accepting invitations because, you know, I might feel incapable of dealing with people when the time comes around. If I get a job which challenges me all the time, then there will be too many days that I can't do it. If I get a job that I can do when I'm in the worst possible state, I'll be bored as hell, not to mention such jobs pay in peanuts and subway tokens. Every time I make a commitment, there's this sword over my head. What if it should fall?
Have you read Kay Redfield Jamison's An Unquiet Mind? I found it oddly comforting, esp. her descriptions of depression... "Oh, so I'm really NOT making this up..." Sigh.
I thought it was perfectly fascinating that, as a practicing psychiatrist, and therefore presumably prescribing lithium for her manic-depressive patients, she refused to take her own medications. The incident that resonated for me was her $35,000 credit card debt. Overspending is a symptom of mania. So is promiscuity. But I'll tell you, the latter is a fair bit of fun, and hasn't left any permanent scars. (Well, except my ex-husband. We were, as they say, very young.) The former, though, is downright expensive.