Prosaic

I thought about my last post and realized that it was prozaic in tone.  That is to say that it was, "lacking in poetic beauty."  This, not suprisingly, comes from years of expository writing with very little narrative writing.  There is no real problem with expository writing except that it fails to accurately convey the emotions and thoughts present during a manic or depressive episode.  Bipolar disorder is, by definition, a mood disorder and not a cognitive disorder.  Therefore I will attempt to intersperse some narrative style into my writing.  This will be a stretch for me but probably a good experience.

The other night, when I forgot my medications, became hypomanic, and stayed awake all night I felt awful.  My mood was rapidly cycling between euphoric and dysphoric.  Because of the forgotten dose of Paxil I was having a physical as well as emotional reaction.  My arms were tingling and I was having periodic, panicky sensations.  I like to call them "fear fantasies."  I was feeling that I might be having a heart attack.  Fantizing about the collapse on the floor, the ambulance ride to town, and the frantic dying phone calls to family members as I was preparing to be airlifted to the nearest city with a cardiac unit.  Needless to say, I was not actually having a heart attack except in my mind.

During sections of my hypomanic episode I was feeling as if I could do anything.  Stay up all night, make a batch of cheese, write a fabulous blog post, clean the kitchen, read a novel, and or write a new song on the guitar.  In reality, I accomplished very little.  My mind was racing and wouldn't slow down.  The euphoric feeling that I could do anything and the world was at my fingertips alternated with the dysphoric feeling that I was dying, losing my mind, may never sleep again, and may have to be locked up permently in a psychiatric unit.  Of course, none of these things actually happened.  The weird thing about symptoms of bipolar disorder is that they feel they are going to last forever.  Or, more accurately that life has always been and will always be crazy.  That applies to both depressive and manic episodes.  The idea that, "tomorrow is a new day" or that "this too shall pass," makes no sense to someone who is experiencing symptoms of mental illness. 

I was trying to find words, either my own or someone elses, that encapsulated the feelings I was having.  I thought of the Yeats poem, "Second Coming", and the line that the "centre could not hold."  The stanza goes like this,

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

William Butler Yeats

This is exactly how it feels to be having a mixed state manic episode.  My brain is whirling in ever tightning circles, going in a faster and faster inward spiral until in ultimately implodes.  By the same token, the real world also seems to be imploding as well.  Spiraling out of control, falling apart, and eventually self destructing.

How did I snap out of this episode?  Well, getting back on my medications most certainly helped.  Eating and sleeping didn't hurt either, getting into some meaningful work, and trying to be of service to "God and my fellow man."  This last meaningful work part involved a trip up into the mountains to cut firewood for next winter.  It was a long, sweaty day of splitting rounds of wood and loading them on to the truck.  By the end of the day, I was physically exhausted and my mental state had ironed itself out.

With that, blessings and good night.