The Sky is Up and the Ground is Down? Weird.

Here are some of the newer highlights with me... I ran out of two of my meds, recently - the first is Lamictal (Lamotrigine), which is supposed to help stabilise my mood, and the second is Neurontin (Gabapentin) which is supposed to help manage my (still being investigated, but suspect fibromyalgia) pain. Both have done quite a bit of heavy lifting in their respective departments. Both I’ve been out of for a long enough time that they are most certainly long gone and out of my system.

Want to hear the strange thing? I’m feeling fine! Better than before! What the f-... Yeah. Did the world suddenly turn upside down? Or have I just come to expect everything that can go wrong to go wrong so readily that I’m shocked and stunned when something doesn’t go wrong? I know that I’ve said for quite a while now that I expect everything bad that could possibly happen to happen (even though I also try to hope that it won’t), so it wouldn’t surprise me if I’m taking this the wrong way. I mean... good is good, right? Take it however it may come?

I’m quite sure that my mind has become conditioned so that - no matter what - I take everything and see it in a negative way. I see good things and think, “Wow, something must really be wrong, now!” Normally - or my ‘normally,’ at least - being happy and in a constant good mood was a result or symptom of something else, and never had much of a real or long-lasting basis in something good or considered ‘normal.’ Particularly mania, or more commonly for me, hypomania, was the suspect for giddiness, or even just plain and simple happiness. My brain, I imagine, would flood with dopamine, my heart would begin to flutter, and ideas and seemingly random words would flood out of my mouth as if a dam exploded.

Sans the bouncing off the walls and talking fast an in utter logorrhea, I’ve felt sort of hypomanic, though my psychologist has described this strange phenomenon as ‘happiness.’ Not mania or hypomania, not a disorder or something wrong with me. She suggested that I might just be this strange, alien thing called ‘happy.’

Now I think to myself, “Wait, so this is what I’ve been trying to achieve all this time? Weird.” I’m not saying it’s bad; it’s actually quite good! I know that. To me, though, it’s just weird. I’m not completely sure how to say it, especially in a way that would bring clarity to someone else. Let’s just say that some people live in places that have never seen the sight of snow, so something as simple as snow might be simply a marvel to them, or they may think that 68 degrees is cold. If you go to southern California in the middle of summer and it’s 68 at noontime, sure, that’d seem just crazy! It would here, too. But at the end of summer, here, that’s perfectly normal, even if others from other climates can’t quite wrap their heads around it or get used to it. No, lady, I’m not putting on a coat in September just because it’s 68 out! That’s not cold (to me)! Well, in this odd and fairly inaccurate metaphor, I’m the Californian who thinks that 68 degrees as the high in September means the world is beginning to freeze over.

Normally, after having run out of Lamictal, I would’ve quickly fallen into bitter moods and had moderate to severe withdrawals. No matter how much I anticipated them, they never came! I’ve had some minor bitterness from time to time, but it’s almost negligible; and withdrawal symptoms? I’ve had no cold sweats, no nausea and/or vomiting, no upset digestive tract, no withdrawal-specific pain, no shivers... I’ve hardly felt any sort of bad sensations since I ran out (albeit, since I ran out of Neurontin, my typical pain has increased slightly, but I’ve been constantly distracting myself from the pain, making it occur less.) Overall, I’ve been feeling better instead of worse. I certainly wasn’t expecting that. I mean... how does that happen?

One thing that I’ve noticed, however, is that - since I ran out of Lamictal - my sleep has gone from screwed up to consistently extreme. I went from an irregular near-24-hour sleep-wake schedule to a 48-hour one. I’ve been essentially going every other night without any sleep, staying awake for 34 or so hours and sleeping for 14. In middle school, I used to go just about whole school weeks without sleep, but that was because I could only sleep during the day, and school largely prevented that. This is a whole other thing, though. My body doesn’t even seem to grasp the concept of a ‘day.’ And what’s even stranger to me is that my body is staying pretty consistent with about when I get up, when I go to sleep, how long I’m up, and how long I’m asleep.

I’ve read from more than one source, now, that sleep deprivation can help with depression, and is even occasionally used as a treatment method! Since my sleep has become more extreme, with longer hours being both awake and asleep, I’ve noticed my mood is drastically improved. I’m not sure yet if those have anything to do with one another, but I’ve gotten to a place where I don’t want to ‘mess with success,’ where the success is the constant improved mood.

I’m not sure I want to mess with my sleeping schedule for fear that it might mess with other things, as well, such as my good moods of late. I’m not sure I want to mess with my meds, either, for the same reasons. Somehow, I’ve fallen into a system that seems to be working, at least relatively well, and I know that it could be, and could get, so much worse. This has been a drastic improvement, believe it or not! So why would I want to mess with that, at least right now?

Like always, I suppose I’ll just keep on trying to figure things out as I go. Make adjustments, gain knowledge... I’ll see how things go, try to go with the flow, so to speak.

A Reflection, Darkly

I used to see people die right in front of me in some of the most gruesome ways. Necks being sliced in half, eyeballs being diced, limbs being chopped off by some disembodied, evil force. Of course it was all in my head, but it was real enough to scare the shit out of me. I loved these people. Well, most of them, anyway. Looking back, I don’t know if I could ever say that was mutual with them, but I blindly loved them, anyway. Seeing someone being brutally murdered right in front of you - but not - repeatedly, day by day, with the blood dripping from the walls and ceiling, all the worse in a large crowd... I have to admit, it took a toll on me.
 
Most of my days back then, I looked down, trying not to look at people. As long as I didn’t see them, I didn’t hallucinate their horrible deaths over and over. They would still talk and act normal, since... well, they were actually perfectly fine, but that only creeped me out all the more. Just several years ago, I handled hallucinations - both auditory and visual - as well as mood swings, paranoia, and just plainly my full blown insanity much better than I currently handle my semi-treated, moderately-medicated, much more ‘blah,’ grey life now.
 
I can’t explain it - I truly can’t - but I crave with such deep, powerful longing to return to that unfettered, crazed state where my mind ran rampant and I had almost no control and very little grasp on reality. Well, I take that back... I could always tell a hallucination from reality, my mind just also maintained a constant break from reality. But these ‘breaks’ from reality were what, ironically, held me together. Without them, in my current state, I have no adequate coping mechanisms. My hallucinations were what got me from point A to point B. Now... I’m just stuck somewhere around G, not moving forward, but perhaps steadily moving backward, heading back to A.
 
Now, I don’t want to be mistaken; meds were certainly the route to go. Without them... well, my brain just might be mush and my life might’ve been exponentially worse off. These are hypothetical possibilities, of course, as I obviously didn’t stay off meds. I have fought with the costs and effects of my various med regimens for quite some time, now, of course, and it’s altered me both biologically and psychologically in quite a drastic way. I look back at what my life was five, six years ago... at it seems almost like an entirely different life from this one - an entirely different world.
 
It feels as though my soul doesn’t really belong in this new world, however, and I’m constantly being tugged back toward the old world through distant memories that hardly seem completely real; more like dreams than memories. Writing about my old self almost feels like writing fiction when it’s far from it. It’s probably some of the truest stuff I’ve ever written about, but it goes in circles, in a continuous pattern repeating itself over and over, and I can hardly elaborate further. My memories are both very finite and continuously expanding through finding the keys to those memories through scent, taste, touch, or other sensorial data. The slightest, most seemingly trivial thing can trigger an uncontrolled tsunami of memories, and these memories sometimes pour over me over and over, overwhelm me, and even control me. They’re unpredictable, and closely tether to my senses and my heart, and can sometimes seem like flashbacks or glitches, flickering on and off erratically.
 
Unless a person has personally gone through what I have, I’m not sure I could ever get someone to completely understand. It’s like I phase in and out of this world, always on the edge, on the border, between two parallel universes that are all too different simply because of a matter of perspective. There’s the old world, before meds, and then the new world, stable and sane, and I seem to have started to ebb and flow between the two. I’m not quite insane, but not quite sane, either. I’m constantly on the edge of the cliff, not even knowing where I am or how I got there, staring down and down and down, knowing that a gusty wind pushing in the wrong direction could send me falling to an inevitable demise, and yet I can’t seem to simply take a few steps back. I become petrified, staring into that seemingly endless canyon, only able to dwell on the possibility of danger.
 
I feel drugged; not from meds, not from anything I know. I feel as though I were slipped a mysterious, foreign drug to which I’m at the mercy of, for I don’t know its effects, nor do I know how much I’ve taken, how potent... anything. It’s a mystery to me. All that I know is that things don’t feel right. Things don’t feel familiar or comfortable. Things have changed and I can’t control them - I’m out of control. All I can do now is try to weather the chemical state I’ve somehow fallen into and hope to come out the other side...

0 to 60

I have a tendency to go from 0 to 60 in a matter of seconds - from completely fine and decent to wanting to mass murder soft, fuzzy critters. It can be something meaningless or something I’m passionate about... or a meaningless rant about something I’m passionate about. Sadly, most of the time, it’s meaningless. It seems like just about anything can trigger me and so it can become extremely difficult to pinpoint what and anticipate when I’m going to have a flare up (and I don’t mean my pain... though it certainly is a pain.)

I’m an extremely hypocritical person. It’s not easy for a hypocrite to accept that they’re a hypocrite, but it’s certainly easy for a hypocrite to accuse another of being one. I’m a hypocrite who hates hypocrisy. Is this getting hypocritical enough? I will often take very large stands against something... only to do it myself, and then justify my doing it - whatever ‘it’ may be. For instance, I might say that I hate when people talk too much... but then what do I do? I talk... a lot... and I make people think the same thing, only about me. Mom just might hate that hypocritical problem of mine most. When I’m then accused of being a hypocrite, well... my thermostat usually goes well above the boiling point. Being accused of just about anything will do that to me.

Criticism. It doesn’t matter if it’s constructive, corrective, or mean, I just can’t stand it. I’m very hypocritical here, too, but I’d rather be called a hypocrite than be criticised in any way. They say that people with bipolar, and similar disorders, are much more sensitive to criticism than the average person. You think it would just be easier if I did something your way instead of mine? Well... I’d curse my brains out... in my mind. I’d then argue quite persistently and arrogantly until no one feels in the least bit good. Criticism can get me to the point where I stab the person with words - and trust me, I’ve brought a number of people to tears on several occasions by just arguing with them.

Saying I’m lazy, especially when I’m in a bad mood. How do I want to react? ‘Well, f*ck you!” How do I respond? Well, very much as with criticism, especially since I consider it criticism, at least at the time. I’ll likely say that the person saying I’m lazy makes me want to kill them and all that jazz. If I’m already in a bad mood, it probably just ends up feeling like kicking me while I’m down. Depression isn’t easy, and thinking that I can just ‘snap out of it’ and go about my life is total bull (note, however, that it’s understandable to encourage activity while depressed.) Quite frankly, there’s a bit of justification in my anger in this case. However, the amount of anger and how I lash out is, admittedly, not justifiable.

Disrespecting or disregarding my quirks. OCD/OCD-like symptoms aren’t easy to deal with, no matter what someone might think. Yes, I have a silly desire to put the silverware and dishes in certain places, in certain orders, and in certain ways. Yes, I’m hypercritical about a lot of things. Yes, I can’t stand germs and will sometimes go to extreme lengths to avoid them (even if, in a different circumstance, I defy that impulse entirely.) Disregarding or disrespecting these quirks of mine can get my blood boiling. I probably hold in my anger the most with this, but that anger probably gets vented another way. Just like with the depression, I can’t simply snap out of these habits anytime I’d like and go about being ‘normal,’ so I take immense offence when someone acts as though I can, even if I end up overreacting.

Being told what to do, or what I need to do. Man, will this piss me off. I know, in the end, that people mean well, but you have to know that I just never can see it that way in the moment. I end up getting more discouraged, side-tracked, and frustrated that I actually am even less likely to do those things. I become rigid and resistant to the point of total stubbornness. Also... I tend to merely be reminded of what I haven’t been successful at in the past which doesn’t conjure any good thoughts and feelings. No matter how much you think you’re being encouraging, stop. It won’t work and it’ll backfire. Perhaps a little to keep some perspective is good, but only very little. Well, okay, that’s not to say that all attempts at encouragement is futile, but - rather - the average person just doesn’t know how to safely encourage someone with a mental, behavioral, and/or personality disorder.

A person with a disorder thinks differently than most others (it wouldn’t exactly be disordered otherwise), and it can be hard for both sides to understand one another. This is why it’s just a bad idea to assume that what works for everyone else will work for someone with a disorder. For instance, saying, ‘You’ll get nowhere if you stop trying,’ can be encouraging to someone without a disorder; however, someone with a disorder might translate it as, ‘You obviously aren’t trying very hard.’ Also, a person with a disorder - especially a personality disorder - will often perceive tones in a person’s voice that isn’t really there, causing for misconceptions and even disastrous miscommunication.

Perpetuating an argument, even if I started it. It’s not a good idea to do this, as I’ll practically take it as a declaration of war, and I likely won’t stop until I’ve either won, or the other person forfeits. However hard it may be for you to stop arguing back, it’s drastically harder for me. Once I get going, I’m going. I try to stop, but it becomes autonomic. These rages I go through almost cause a sort of dissociation where I feel separate from my body, and my body’s just acting on its own. It isn’t until I start to cool down that I get back into... at least some control.

These things don’t happen all the time, but frequently enough that it’s a problem. Anger has become something harder and harder for me to control, and I have to use all of my willpower to stop from making it physical on some occasions. The more that the anger becomes inflated, the more likely I am to hurt someone (emotionally, at least), causing guilt and depression in the aftermath. Nothing good ever comes of it, but I never feel in control in those moments. It may sound unreasonable to avoid these things, but it might end up with a more unreasonable result if you don’t.

This post isn’t to say anything more than how to hopefully avoid problems with me. I also not saying that I don’t want to even bother trying to change any of these things. It’s just about the here and now, and hopefully give insight into some of my actions and reactions.

One article that I could relate to - at least vaguely in some aspects - was: 6 Triggers and Tips to Avoid Disaster.

Limbo

I just took a shower. It might seem trivial... A simple task that many people - maybe even most in the civilised world - do every day. For me, it’s a little different. I’ll admit that I don’t shower all too often. At least not to most standards, but certainly more than soldiers in a whole somewhere in Iraq or any other place at least at one time in total ruin, dreaming - praying - for the next time they even get a drink of water. But I’ll tell you why. Even in the most unproductive or seemingly pointless tasks, I become obsessive. I keep on doing more and more, often ignoring the need to take care of myself. I’m a little better, now, though. At least I’m somewhat prompt when it comes to eating or drinking (I’m worse at making sure I drink something for the day than eating, when I have the chance to simply sit down and obsess over something.

But a shower is even more than just a moment where I remember and make sure to take care of myself. It’s my safe haven. It’s where I get a chance to think without limitations or distractions. It’s a place where I can step back for a bit from the troubles of life - of living. It’s where this man of little faith in just about anything gets a little... replenishment of faith. When I’m in a darker place... a much darker place, sometimes only the ‘safe haven’ part is true. Sometimes I lack all faith - in my spirituality, in people, and in myself, if not also in more.

I sometimes pray. It’s almost the only place I ever pray, or ever have prayed. I don’t very much, though. Not in the grander scheme of things. In this last shower, it was different. I think I’ve made it quite clear that I’ve been struggling - a lot - lately. In the past... well, almost year. I’ve struggled very much for at least six years, but not nearly as much as now, or the first two of those six years. In this last shower, while praying - if not perhaps begging - I was first upright, and then I fell lower, and then lower until I was completely on the ground. I was fighting and fighting to force tears to prove to a God I’ve had wavering faith in that I truly meant what I asked, and it isn’t until now, while writing this, that I’ve even came close. But, when I was done, and I got back up, a chill ran through my whole body, and in the hot, steaming shower, I got goose bumps all over, and thought to myself, ‘How can I not be sincere, with this reaction?’

My psychologist gave me a little homework to do before our next visit. She said to, ‘write down [my] thoughts every time I’m happy.’ At my last visit, I gave her a list of my main problems, and she had said how I always dwell on the negatives, but never on the positives. I always analyse what’s wrong with me, but never what’s right, or - if nothing else - good. I’ve thought about it, and the only answer I can think of is, ‘I never think when I’m happy.’ I don’t think, I don’t analyse... I don’t obsess. Happiness, for me, is just a moment - a time where everything is merely an endogenous response, a physical reaction, a natural, pure thing. It’s really not explainable. It’s not something that can adequately be put into words. But, being just a moment, happiness is all too fleeting. It lasts seconds, minutes, or probably at most hours. Days would be seemingly unheard of.

Happiness is a time where there’s neither hope, nor lack of it; where there’s no pain, no worry, and no fear. It’s a place where thoughts are essentially non-existent and the soul takes over. Now, this is not to say that I don’t talk, that I’m reckless or without intent, or where I’m totally vacant. I’m there, for sure, and happiness can most certainly be interrupted, or more likely crushed and destroyed, in seconds with a simple stimuli. When this happens - when happiness loses to... the darkness, I suppose - I return to my ‘normal’ self, constantly worried, constantly paranoid, constantly analysing, constantly obsessing, hopeless, struggling with faith of all kinds, angry, fearful, turbulent, broken, alone... sad.

I’ve heard on more than one show and movie at least something along the lines of, ‘Hope can only carry you so far before reality sets in.’ It’s too true. Reality set in somewhere toward the first quarter of this past school year - my 12^th grade year - that grew and grew into an unstable, unstoppable force until I become totally catatonic and had to drop out. I dropped out of my classes, really, and then my... ‘Home school,’ I suppose you can call it (not to be confused with homeschooling) dropped me... without any notice, too. Honestly, I just wanted a little break, not to end it outright. If I completed that year of school, despite all of the disruptions of the previous three years, all of my missing credits would’ve been waved and I would’ve graduated. I would’ve then been able to proceed to college and maybe even a successful life. I want to try and achieve all of that; I just don’t know when I’ll... even be capable of doing it.

Perhaps my biggest, baddest habit is avoiding... running away from, anything and everything that causes anxiety and depression, making my bubble, my safe zone, smaller and smaller, yet I get more and more anxiety to run away from, and that bubble gets perpetually smaller and... well, I think it’s quite obvious that it simply wouldn’t end well. Probably utterly petrified of the world, holed up in some deep, dark place, hiding from... everything. That is, of course, if it continues to perpetuate to that point.

But, there I am, with my likely second worst habit, dwelling on all of the negatives. I suppose that, when you wear the dark, roseless-colored glasses long enough, it’s hard not to only see from that perspective. When every attempt at doing something good, something productive, and something hopeful fails, crashes, and burns right before your eyes, you also start to pick up on the view that the world is a big bad, hopeless place that you simply don’t, and can’t, fit into. A puzzle piece trying to fit into the wrong puzzle. And you start to wonder, ‘What’s my purpose? What’s the point?’ And it gets harder and harder to see the light as you fall deeper and deeper into the tunnel that seems as though it was designed - tailored - for just you; a hole that you now fit into that no one else does, designed to ensnare and confine you to. And, when other people tell you that they’ve been there, or that you’re words ring true to them, you have the hardest time believing them because, well, obviously no one could possibly be like you. No one could possibly understand. And the darkness blinds you, and extinguishes the fire... at least until a little spark manages to ignite, only to eventually be extinguished again.

Now, there’s mania. Mania can be a great respite from all of this... awful, tiring shit, but it’s... well... manic. It’s crazy, nearly uncontrollable, frenzied, and... often enough, euphoric. It’s like a drug, and with any other drug (at least illicit ones), there’s a terrible crash, and you desire with all of your primal heart to get just one more taste of that ecstasy, regardless of any consequences. And when you taste it, you think that the crash is worth it, but it’s not. And when the crashes get longer and more frequent, that euphoria becomes just a problem. The higher you go, the lower you drop, but damn do you want to go high. It’s like a rollercoaster that’s both fun and frightening, only it’s constant and seemingly never ending, and you’re heart can only beat so fast, your lungs can only take so much, and it ends up taking a toll on your body, mind, and soul that feels as though it’ll be the death of you.

Lately... I’ve been in a weird state. My mind has been... turned to slush, my body put into a daze, and my consciousness in Limbo. I’ve felt as though I’ve been taking my opiate pain relievers every day, all day. I’ve had headaches, but they’re just slow, long, dull headaches. I’ve felt like I’m in a dream state, my body on autopilot. I react to things, even in ways that I don’t mean to. I’ve been in this sort of Limbo before, but not so... strongly, or dominantly. Not so long, either. It’s been weeks, and for months it’s been becoming more and more frequent with longer durations each time, building up with time.

If you’ve never taken an opiate, or at least something like it or a benzodiazepine, you probably couldn’t fathom what this feels like. You’re there... but you’re not... I suppose it’s a little like dissociation, which is common in some mental disorders and rare, often spontaneous states, similar to a fugue state. It’s relaxing, but it can also be disturbing at the same time. On the show Prison Break, the character, Doctor Sara Tancredi, talks to one of the... many antagonists about his addiction to a benzodiazepine, and - being an addict to morphine, herself - says, ‘It feels like you’re walking underwater, doesn’t it?’ That’s probably not an exact quote. That’s perhaps a very simplistic way to describe this feeling, this ‘Limbo’ as I’ve been calling it.

I suppose that it’s somewhat peaceful. From this whole, long ‘stream of consciousness,’ as they call it in the literary and psychological worlds, it probably doesn’t seem like it, but I’ve actually been dwelling on the dark, negative things less while in this state than usual. Maybe it’s a defence mechanism... Maybe my body knows something is seriously wrong and it’s trying to remedy that problem to the best of its abilities. I really don’t know.

I suppose that ever since I got on meds, I’ve felt like a great deal of my mind was locked away in a vault that’s seemingly impossible to break into, which I don’t have a key or combination to. It feels like the only... logical, if not a perversely logical, way to open that vault is to get off my meds... and let my mind run rampant once again. Much of the part of my mind that is still accessible tells me that that’s crazy and utterly stupid, but some other part - a very seductive part - says that it’s the best thing to do. My mind is split, in the sense of being indecisive as well as in the sense of being broken.

If the cost of my sanity is to lose a very large part of myself, sanity doesn’t seem like a very good option. Even with my sanity, I’m obviously not doing too well. I think with a more... I wouldn’t say rational mind... but one that is fully intact with reality. I almost envy my old self, delusions, hallucinations, and all. The only real downer - from where I’m standing now - is the very, very serious sleep problems. If I could be off antipsychotics/mood stabilisers, but still manage to get at least the sleep I get now... it seems almost perfect to me. I found comfort in... what was beyond reality. Sure, I was plenty aware of reality, too, but I almost lived in two different worlds at the same time. They didn’t collide, but rather overlapped. The things that were perhaps most clinically considered ‘wrong’ with me, which the meds then at least mostly got rid of, where the things that made the most sense to me. I was happier then than I am now, in the sense that I had more and longer moments of continuous happiness, but I also had much, much darker places, too. It was crazier in the most literal sense, but it was me, as a whole.

I suppose I’ve been in a sort of Limbo for a pretty long time, now, but it’s most obvious right now. It... surfaced into the physical and conscious world, rather than more just the subconscious. ‘These are turbulent times,’ they might say in some cliché movie or show, but it’s fitting, I think.

Manic Panic

I had a panic attack the other day. Not a hypothetical one as in my last post, but a real, scary, physically and mentally tolling one...

Really, the attack occurred in the early morning, around 4:30-5:00. The day before that, around noontime, I had gone to a class held by a clinical psychologist in the behavioral health class on the Air Force base. It was me - a plain, young civilian - in a room full of soldiers. The class was about relaxations, and covered the differences between calm and stress - both physiologically and psychologically, though less on the psychology. Rapid heartbeat versus normal or slow heartbeat, fast, shallow breathing versus normal or slow breathing, muscle tension versus looseness, and so on and so forth...

Later, nearer to when the panic attack happened, I was told to get some yard work done - racking some leaves off of the concrete areas of the backyard and doing a little weed whacking, or at least getting rid of some of the tall grass and weeds. When I was asking for the sheers, since it was quite obvious that the weeds were too thick to cut with a weed whacker, I was told it was in the shed, but that the shed had a hornets' nest. It was also suggested that I should take out the nest, which I said should be fine while they were still dormant. However, despite all of this, I knew that those sheers weren't what I was talking about.

At this time, and maybe even earlier, I was going through a bit of a manic phase. It was obvious once I got up and moving around. I was searching for those sheers like a madman, turning over everything that they could've been hiding under. I went all over the house. My overhead light in my room hasn't worked in probably over a year, now, but I needed light to search my room - where I thought they most likely were. They're just scissor-like sheers with two or three inch blades put back into their original package.

I got my brother to replace the overhead light and, voilà, there they were, under a pile of... well, assorted things, after a manic search with a heart beating a million miles per hour and breathing like a hot dog. After I found those, I decided that the next thing I needed to do was deal with the hornets' nest. Something to note is that I'm deathly afraid of wasps, and basically any bug that bites or stings - but especially the first (and spiders.) So, can of deadly chemicals in hand, I slowly crept up to the nest hanging just over the shed doorway like mistletoe, I started spraying and spraying and spraying. I could see several wasps just drop down dead, but even then, I started spraying the grass they fell into, then switching back to the nest itself. The nest was soaked and dripping, the spray all over my hand, having had held the trigger on the can for probably thirty or more seconds without letting go.

They were undoubtedly dead at that point, but I was also hyperventilating. Mix that with my meds, which have sedating properties, I was barely in my right mind, woozy and stumbling. I climbed up the deck stairs up into the house. The world seemed like it was spinning and I felt like I was going to pass out. My hand - the one that got the spray all over it - was burning, so I read the back of the can which, at the time, was quite a feat. It said to immediately rinse the skin which it came into contact with for fifteen to twenty minutes with plenty of water.

I went into the bathroom and got to the sink. I then just let the water pour and pour and pour, as I laid my head on the faucet feeling the warmth of the hot water passing through it on my forehead and the steam rising to my face. I was still breathing rapidly and shallowly at this point, my heart beating faster than I could've kept up with counting, even with a clearer mind.

After maybe ten minutes of the rinsing, for some reason, I thought I should still go back out and start cutting the big, prickly weeds in the backyard. I don't really know why I did it, but I did. Being on the brink of fainting and trying to do yard work while simultaneously being paranoid about every little sensation just doesn't make a good fit. I was accidentally passing through small spider threads and would frantically - almost psychotically - start trying to pull the threads off as if they were laced with some sort of neurotoxin. After five or ten minutes of trying to cut weeds, I then frantically ran up the deck stairs in the backyard, neurotically looking for any wasp nests or spiders, until I finally got back inside.

I went downstairs and frantically searched for clothing and a towel. When I did, I went back upstairs as quickly as I could, stumbling around, until I got back into the bathroom. I jumped into the shower as quickly as I could and just sat there. I began to settle down, but it seemed so mentally exhausting that I somehow went from manic, to frantic, to exhausted and nearly depressed in just thirty to forty minutes. I was so mentally and physically exhausted that I nearly fell asleep in the shower.

When I was finally done, I was calmer but had absolutely no life in me. I went to bed and nearly slept the whole day away. I kept on thinking to myself, "If I get up, then I might be told to do yard work." There was no way I was going back outside; at least not for a few days. I didn't want another panic attack, and I didn't want to even spot a single wasp. When I finally woke up past 19:30, I just casually went to eat something and then went downstairs. I did also bring up the whole debacle with mom, trying to make sure that it was understood that I wasn't going outside. A bit of an agoraphobic episode. I still don't really want to leave the house - not even a single foot out the door.

I never thought it could be so... traumatic. The hornets weren't even awake, though they did do a number to mom's arm the day before. That probably didn't help, nor did the visual my brother gave me of the wasps seemingly spewing from a relatively unknown location. All of that added to the suspense and anticipatory anxiety. I've always had a fear of wasps, and I've always had some pretty panicky reactions whenever even a single wasp got within ten feet of me. I had never had a full-blown panic attack, though - not that I can remember. So this was certainly unexpected and extreme.

If a single hair on my body moves, I automatically think a wasp or spider is crawling on me. If I get even the smallest poke, I think I'm getting stung or bitten. If I see a tiny shadow pass over the ground or just over me, I think a wasp is flying over or around me. The paranoia kills me, and it's not actually unusual for me; it's just been unusually bad since the attack. Every year, during summer especially, I live in fear for at least moments of almost every day, submerged in the paranoia of little creepy crawly things. I love winter because most of such critters are dormant or dead, just how I like them. My anxieties and paranoia become less frequent and bothersome. But summer... the worse season of all for so many reasons, creepy crawlies at the top of the list.

So... that was a real panic attack - not some hypothetical example. That was real, genuine fear I felt, fear for my life. I felt like I was going to die, like I was going to drown without even an ounce of water. It seemed as though I was going to suffocate, or fill my blood and muscles with carbon dioxide. I've had that happen once before... and it was probably one of the most traumatising moments in my life. It happened in an entirely different situation, and altered my life quite dramatically, but the symptoms were all too similar.

I'll give myself a few days break from the outside world... more so than usual. Hopefully I'll get over it soon, but I'll just give myself some time to try and shake it off. But... one thing's for sure - I won't forget it for a long time.

Panic Attack

The jaw clenches, the neck tenses, the forehead tightens, hands shake. Breathing becomes shallow, scarce, and trembling. The mind’s shaky, dizzy, blurry, as the world begins to melt. Palms become sweaty, head heats up. Is that light real? Those blacks spots? I feel like passing out, but I won’t. Chest is tight and I feel like I’m drowning. Every joint shocks and tingles with pain. The storm builds up within me.

All of my senses become overloaded as I forget my extremities. I get sucked into my head, sucked so far back that my eyes become tunnels as I dwell in the darkness. My vision begins to blur as I don’t know whether I’m going to faint or explode. I want to wake up from this dream.

Finally, the adrenaline begins to dissipate, my muscles begin to relax, as a wave of exhaustion - both mental and physical - crashes over me. Is it over? Was any of it even real? I lay down, tired and stunned. My eyes are wide open, jaw dropped. ‘Go to sleep,’ I tell myself. With double vision, my eyelids begin to slowly close until, finally, I shut down and go to sleep.

Faces of Bipolar Disorder

Today, I'm gonna to talk about some of the 'faces' of bipolar, and to a degree mental disorders in general, and some ways situations affected by those faces could play out. Probably none of the information will be universally accurate or effective; everyone's different, even if they have the same diagnosis.

So, here are some of the faces (likely an incomplete list):

Neutral/Normal: Exactly what it sounds like; the 'Green Zone' of bipolar. Normal, basic, healthy - whatever you want to call it (though 'neutral' could possibly also mean apathetic, which isn't so healthy.) While an individual who is in the 'normal' stage may not show any signs of a disorder, she still has that common human element of unpredictability. You can typically treat her like any other person - though that's not necessarily to say that she would want to be treated differently in other cases, while showing the other faces of her disorder; some people simply wanted to be treated normally.

Depressed: This is a common face for many, many people with a mental disorder, spread across a wide demographic and a wide spectrum of different disorders. It can become extremely different for friends, loved ones, and carers to know how to treat an individual who is depressed, and - once again - everyone's different. Some people just want someone to talk to, while others may want to just be alone. Some peoples may want intimacy and/or hugs, while others may want the exact opposite. Some people may eat more, while others eat less, and so on and so forth. Really, you just have to learn the habits of the individual and play it by ear. You can never be too careful when treading a minefield.

Some rules of thumb - very broad rules of thumb - are: men tend to manifest their depression as anger. Taking their aggression personally can be one of the most detrimental things you could do. Women, on the other hand, tend to either become withdrawn and/or desire love and affection. Both genders may push their loved ones away, even if they actually want the exact opposite (so trying to be there for the individual even when they say they want otherwise isn't always a bad idea, unless they seem very adamant about wanting to be left alone; weigh the costs and benefits the best you can.) Sometimes being adamant about being left alone or more suspicious/atypical behaviors can be signs of being suicidal, so it's usually best to be close by just in case. This, and even some other situations, may often call for immediate medical intervention at the hospital.

Manic: This is, simply put, a whirlwind. An individual who is manic is often totally unpredictable, physically and emotionally tolling (both for her and those around her), and even a danger to themselves or others. She would likely have the attention span of a six-year-old, should that six-year-old be on a sugar rush with ADHD. She might have the speed and activeness of a cat high on catnip and, speaking of catnip, even start having hallucinations and delusions. She may speak faster than you can keep up with, or occasionally faster than she can keep up with! I know I've had a train wreck of thoughts during manic episodes where I couldn't keep up with my own thoughts.

Now, when I say a danger to herself or others, I mean being impulsive and have risky behavior such as gambling, shopping frivolously, and even things like promiscuity (hypersexuality) and drug abuse. If someone who is manic is simply too manic, the hospital may very well be the next stop you and she will have to go, just like with depression. A manic individual may become very irritable or even (or rather often) euphoric. She may feel like the greatest thing to ever happen to the world, or think she thought of the greatest thing to ever happen to the world. She may make promises she can keep when she finally crashes or the manic episode simply goes away. Feelings of grandeur, grandiosity, and other 'grand' sort of things are certainly not uncommon.

Apathetic: While all of the moods and behaviors can be found in essentially any non-disordered person, just in a smaller version, apathy can be one of the even more common and relatable of these different moods and behaviors. An individual can be hyper or excited (smaller version of mania) or sad/blue (smaller version of depression.) However, apathy is a quality that any individual can have under one circumstance or another, even at the same level of someone with a disorder.

And apathetic individual usually shuns her emotional involvement in one situation or another, or even all situations for a period of time. Apathy can also be confused with angst, though they are actually very different. Few individuals who aren't sociopaths, or something of the sort, are totally apathetic, also. There's still a human being underneath that façade, and it's often very important to let her know that you know that. In the end, just about everyone wants to simply be treated like a human being, even when they're withdrawn or need some time alone,

Mixed: An individual may have mixed emotions, moods, or a 'mixed episode,' as it's often called in the world of mental health. During such a time, she may have qualities of manic, depressive, and even more 'neutral' or apathetic episodes. These episodes can be even more unpredictable and varied. When dealing with an individual in such an episode, one may need to play it completely by ear - there's no way to predict how it will turn out or what the best methods of traversing the situations are.

To go about the difficult task of supporting someone during a mixed episode (or any episode, really), walking on eggshells can actually be a very good and important thing to do. There's nothing like saying the wrong thing and then repeating the mistake to make the situation go completely out of control. If you do accidentally say the wrong thing, instead of diving deeper into the issue, try to back off a little bit, show compassion and empathy, and then simply let go.

Other Noteworthy Things / Dealing with Unpredictability: When an individual becomes defensive or attempts to dodge a question, don't push it. You can support someone without trying to 'get to the bottom of things,' so to speak. Sometimes the best thing to support her is to simply say nothing at all. Gestures can be so much more important than words. When an individual is depressed, words often don't mean much, or can even exacerbate the situation, whereas caring gestures can make a world of difference.

When an individual becomes offensive, or just mean, it's usually best to try not to take things seriously, even though it can be incredibly difficult. Once again, sometimes the best thing to do is to simply not say anything, as just one wrong word could potentially set her off. Maybe half the time an angry or frustrated individual couldn't care less about gestures, either. Removing yourself from the equation and giving her some space could be one of the best things you could do.

When an individual tries to dodge a question or a subject, imagine she's trying to dodge a bullet, because that's how it may feel to her. It's obviously a sore spot and you don't want to be pressure on the soreness - it just doesn't turn out well for anyone. Periodically bringing the subject up isn't always bad, though; just make sure to bring it up, and not push it.

In a very simplistic way of putting things, adapt; find patterns and work from there. Just like many things in life, you just need to figure it out because there isn't a manual. No matter how many articles and blogs you read, you can't find the perfect recipe for caring for a loved one or friend with a mood disorder (though those things can certainly help.) You may have a very difficult time bearing the burdens of caring for such a person, but just know that it's likely even harder for the individuals themselves. A loved one's depression can take an emotional toll on you, but try to stand in their shoes - it's certainly not a walk in the park for them, either.

Anxiety. It has a pivotal role in the lives of many people, but there's good anxiety and bad anxiety. People with a mood disorder can very likely be susceptible to bad anxiety. The moods themselves can cause tremendous anxiety (depression and anxiety love to go hand-in-hand), and social and interpersonal lives can cause even more anxiety. If you want to help and anxious individual, try to alleviate as much of her stress as possible. Create a sort of 'zone' where they feel safe. Relaxation, slowing down, taking a breath, and feeling safe are extremely important to deal with anxiety. There are probably very few things you could do for someone that's better than helping them cope with anxiety. However, make sure not to enable their anxiety so much that the individual gives in to it. Just lend a helping hand.

This, again, is just meant to give some general advice. It may or may not be effective depending on the individuals (on both sides of the table.) Interpersonal relationships aren't - and never will be - an exact science, so try not to be discouraged when something doesn't follow through all too well. If at first you don't succeed, try and try again, as the saying goes. Also, therapy can't hurt (except in the case of your wallet, perhaps.) Therapy isn't only for people with mental disorders; anyone can benefit from therapy, even though stigmata have taught the general public otherwise. Therapy gives a person the tools to cope with stress, improve interpersonal relationship and social skills, help yourself so you can help others, and much, much more.

Much of this information can be related to various mental health areas and issues, as well as disorders, other than just bipolar (though it's certainly geared toward bipolar.) Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) also shares many characteristics of bipolar, and so much of the information is potentially transferable - at least to an extent. Two other sources to understand bipolar disorder and BPD are here Bipolar Disorder, Coping with Bipolar and Manic Depression  and here An Introduction to Borderline Personality Disorder For more information on BPD and some other methods of coping with mental health problems, this is a good place to go: MeAndMyBlackTable