Riding That Bipolarcoaster

All my life, in every way possible and through and through, my entire existence is on the swinging of a pendulum, with the consistency of the tide, and the motion of a roller coaster.

My human emotional experience changes on a daily or hourly basis. I may become absorbed in a new project, which is done to perfection and then I become so lifeless that I wet my bed. Some days are spent in the sun, while others are spent under my blankets.

I seem to have different personalities. 

Some days, I am almost (and often) working too hard. I am creating, organizing, and cleaning, while also posting on social media so much that I am shadowbanned. I am moving, active, feeling great and living my best life. I am positive, busy, creative, and vibrant.

But then, it happens.

The switch is off, the drain is pulled, and the free-fall downward begins. 

It usually happens suddenly with me, just minutes. I have adult memories of being in the middle of washing the dishes and sinking to the floor. I have stopped abruptly in the middle of painting and walked away, leaving my brushes to sit in paint and ruin. I have been in the middle of creating something for days, and then literally shredding it to pieces.

Of all the things I have written, I only have about 40% of it saved because of my habit of destruction. My hours and days and years of work and I have little to show. My prized projects become trash, and so do I. 

I sink to the floor like a candle in the sun and every drop of life drains out of me. Just hours before, I was laughing and doing flappy hands, but that all goes away within minutes.

I remember when I first noticed the Bipolarcoaster. I was in the 6th grade and we had been assigned our first daily agenda to keep track of our assignments. As a doodler, I decorated the day in the notebook calendar and wrote happy words and smiley faces. But just days later, my doodling would turn to a very simple sad face and nothing more.

I didn’t notice at first. I just absentmindedly kept track of my mood while keeping track of my homework. But then I saw it one day. The ups and downs and the on and off. 

And I found it absolutely fascinating! I was completely amazed that the human brain worked that way! I found it so interesting how our moods can just drop and rise like that;  Incredible! Of course, I was only 12 years old and clueless to the fact that none of my classmates seemed to experience what I did. But the stage was set.

Over the years, my experience has changed. As my life has gone on, it’s like my mental health has become more precise and pronounced. And, as with many autistic adults, I have grown exhausted of masking my symptoms so I can fit into society. It’s not that “I’m tired.” I just simply can’t do it anymore.

My ups and downs are Bipolar, but it is complicated with being autistic and now, experiencing the physical hell that is Myalgic Encephalomyelitis or “Chronic Fatigue Syndrome”.

A productive and active day can leave me in horrific pain, inability to stay conscious, and sometimes, suicidal depression. 

Now that I am older, I have realized that my brain is unstable and this is not the typical human experience. And part of that is learning to “take it easy”, space out my work, take frequent and long breaks, stop before it gets worse, plan ahead, and accept that this is who I am. 

I have learned to stop throwing my work away. I now walk away from a project, sometimes for days or weeks at a time, so I don’t take out my pain on my work and dig holes into the painted canvas. 

I will always be this way because I have always been this way. This is who I am. So now I am learning how to ride that bipolarcoaster. How to lean into the turns and let go of the bar and have confidence in a teenage fair employee with a screwdriver.



Love Always,

Duckie May - The Mad Hatter and The Maker of The Things 







 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

You Can’t Fake Swollen Lymph Nodes

Image
 My experience with illness has always been complicated. I had many emotional problems but was never given the language to describe what I was experiencing. I told myself, and others, that I was sick with “a stomach ache” or similar, when I needed to rest or avoid a triggering situation.  I also frequently told my teachers that I was sick so I could be sent home. I knew I was lying, but I didn’t know why. And looking back now, my stomach actually did hurt, but for reasons that no one in my world understood, including me. Although, beyond the fib of a tummy ache, I actually do have odd physical health episodes. My hobby of hiking has been slowly brought to an end as my stamina has severely decreased. An alarming episode occurred a few years ago after a strenuous hike in Yosemite National Park. We had gone on this trail many times, but this time was different. On the way back to the parking lot, which was about a mile away, I collapsed. My legs had completely lost strength. I tr...
Read more

The Maker Of The Things

Image
People told me I was artistic though I never really believed them. I was just bored with busy hands.  I was frequently gifted those cheap art kits for holidays and birthdays. I loved to use the pastels. Watching them smear across the page was so satisfying. I played with the paints and made a mess. But I didn’t know what to draw. My brain was incapable of creating anything new without plagiarizing someone else. I was artistic, but not creative.  My mind only knew facts and words. There were no pictures. Reading a book without pictures left me largely in the dark. My mind knew nothing of fantasy or an alternate reality.  I started to paint and draw on my bedroom wall. I took pictures that I found in life, and then used them as a skeleton to turn them into my own. I was ashamed of my lack of being a “real artist” and I felt like a fraud. The world is only black & white to me. There is no grey area. And to me, a “real artist” draws with a pencil. I can only draw stick fi...
Read more

Mustard Sandwiches

Image
One of my parting gifts into adulthood was a box of pictures from my childhood. It was then that I understood that pictures of a child in their childhood aren’t for the parents to remember, but for the child. Noticeable though, is the gap of pictures between my birth and preschool years. Of course, it was the 80’s, so there weren’t nearly as many family pictures back then as there are now. But still, there is a gap. My mom told me I always hid from the camera and would cry if my picture was taken. She told me of the ruined professional photos because I wouldn’t stop crying. Thus, there were fewer pictures of me in the early years.  But, the pictures that were taken of me, were mostly of me eating. Being distracted by eating is a pretty good time to sneak a picture. My relationship with food has always been deep. I adore food. My relatives are always sure to tell me how much of “an eater” I was when I was a toddler. I was famous for eating almost anything, hiding my food in my cheek...
Read more