Bipolarity, bipolar disorder, bipolarism: whatever you call it, I've got it. I started a mental health (mental awareness ? ) blog to help deal with it. I'm forcing myself to write out my thoughts and organize them. Stopping to think about it has helped me understand it and cope with it. It has caused me to do something about it!
There is still a strong fear of failure, so I have severed many ties with friends and business. This is a common trait of bipolar disorder: isolation. It is common with people who suffer from depression as well. Major depression forces people into isolation. It is the physical body changing the mind without consent. People who suffer mental illness do not want to suffer, but they are given no choice. Literally, one could say it's Mind Rape.
About two weeks ago, I started helping a friend with his business. He gave me a key to the store, and I opened everyday the first week. I filled the management position, since he is pressed for time in other endeavors. After that first week, I lost my energy and motivation. The mind rape started. The customer interactions required the energy that I lost. Without the ability to face customers, I remained inside my dark apartment.
"I can't go out." I told my girlfriend. "I'm a failure." It was a conversation I didn't want to have, but I had to give her something, to let her know why I wasn't going to work anymore. Saying those words hurt on a deeper level of failure. It was a lie! I wasn't a failure, not by my own choice. I didn't choose this! Yet there was too much anxiety to leave the house. How do I tell my friend I can't help him anymore? More anxiety struck with this thought.
"I fail at being normal. I fail at being a friend. I can't go out!" I wanted to cry, but there were no tears left in my soul, only empty space that sometimes fills itself with shadows of a person.
In a "book" I started writing, I found a temporary peace in failure. It began with something like, "This is the last thing I write before I commit suicide. It's my story. Of who I am, and what I think, and what we are." I had resolved to kill myself at the conclusion of the book. There was motivation once again, since now there was a secret to keep: my planned suicide. Hospitalization must be avoided at all costs to avoid disruption in writing the book and completing the plan. This resolution granted peace and clarity for a brief period of time so that I could write, think, create. This creative demise was short-lived, however. I've since lost motivation and interest. Thus, it is probably something I'll never complete, so I will never be able to honor that promise to kill myself upon its completion: Another failure.
This is how I cope today. Sorrow and pity. They attach themselves to the spirit inside and drag me inexorably forward.
"Why do you choose to believe that?" An observer might ask.
How do I stop it?! I take drugs. I force myself to do something. It isn't entirely in my control, just like being born white or black or red is not anyone else's control. Times like now, I just go lie down. Force myself asleep, until my dreams torture me too.
The blade inside my head has returned....
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