Mixed state - Hypomanic and depressed

Its July 2009 and somethings horribly wrong.

I've been stable for six months, no highs, no lows just baseline, it's been bliss. As always after a spell of normality i begin to think that maybe the bipolar has finally eridicated itself from my life, maybe the chemical chaos in my brain has finally sorted itself out, maybe it was all just a case of not thinking about my life and just getting on with it! Maybe i'm finally free of the terrible disease. Maybe pigs can fly afterall!

Iv managed to mantain a steady relationship for four months, an achievement to me, i've been faithful, rational and completly sane and the best part of all is that it was so easy.

I can never pinpoint the exact moment when it starts to go wrong, but at some point in July the cracks began to appear in my picture perfect life. It begins with the feeling that i'm flawed. My hair's not right, my tans not dark enough, my makeups all wrong etc etc. I'm convinced my boyfriend notices these things, i'm convinced that i'm not good enough for him. Ovcourse i know from experience that it has nothing atall to do with him or my hair, the problem is me, i'm not comfortable in my own skin. It happens when my mood is changing, but although i recognise iti can't stop myself from making all the same mistakes, the main one being the belief that if i change myself then everything will be alright.

I feel awful but it's different this time. There's a constant noise in my head, almost like an aeroplane, but louder. It wont stop, it's there from the minute i open my eyes in the morning untill i close them again at night. My head hurts. My sleeping patterns chaotic. I lie awake each night, eyes burning and praying for sleep, but it doesn't come. My thinking's different too, its excessive, disorderly and rapid. I know its the signs of hypomania, but somethings not right, i don't feel happy, i'm not excited, instead i'm feeling like shit.

I try to fix myself. Im taking eight slimming pills each day as opposed to the recommended daily dose of four, i'm not eating, not sleeping, but i'm still going. My energy levels have gone through the roof i can't stop.

I'm starting to do crazy things, i'm lying wakened one night at 3.00 and i'm restless, can't lie still, twenty minutes later and i'm up washing the windows and changing the beds. I wake my daughter up and tell her its time for mummy to change the beds. I know they're not dirty but i have a strong impuse to change these beds, i need to use all this energy and i need to change the beds, must change the beds. For that moment in time all i can focus on is changing the beds, it's the most important thing in my life and i know it's nuts. The next morning i take my three year old daughter on a miles walk wishing all the time that i'd bought her a pram, then i realise that i passed it on my way out the door. I know somethings happening to me, but i can't be hypomanic, hypomania feels good it's exciting, but this feelsawful.

I can't bear to look at myself in the mirror, i feel disgusting, fat and pathetic, i need to change. If i change my hair i'll be ok i tell myself. I can't sit still for long, i'm agitated and so i decide to dye my hair. Two hours and four bottles of paroxide later and i feel worse than ever. It wasnt supposed to be like this, it was supposed to fix everything. My hairs fine but i'm in bits. The following week i decide to dye my hair black,maybe i'll feel better but i feel worse. My hairs falling out in clumps and my confidence is in tatters.

I'm drinking excessivly, i'm drunk most days, i take my daughter to nursery and come home to a bottle of vodka. No it doesn't help but it makes my head a more bearable place to be in. I'm usually in a drunken haze when i collect her at 3.00 and i'm ashamed of myself but i can't stop, the alcohol is the only thing i can rely on to help me cope.

My boyfriend takes the slimming pills from me, apparently they're mking me crazy, what i wont tell him is that i'm already crazy, tumbeling half way down the road to Neverland. But it's a nice a gesture he's looking after me and for once i wont rebel/ I need someone to take control. save me from the path of self destruction, but i now that my co-operation in my drunken haze is only temporary, i'll buy some more next week.

I can't sleep, or maybe i can, i can't be sure, maybe i'm sleeping with my eyes opened. I lie down then spend the night tossing and turning and pushing him over, he's too close. I know he wants to comfort me and i thought lying his arms would soothe the open wound but it's suffocating me, I'm feeling claustrophobic in my own bed. I'm irritated, i want to get up and pace the floors, clean the house and write, i must write, everything will be ok if i write, but my body wont allow it. I'm completly exhausted. I lie with my eyes opened, tracing the shadow of the window and wondering what it measures in centimeters  Why the fuck does it matter? It doesnt but it does.I'm arguing with myself. Then i remember the smoke alarm, i took the battery out. Panic! What if i die during the night? What if i fall asleep and never wake up?  Ah-ha, my brain stills for a moment. Is this what death would be like?  It's comforting, almost tempting. Then i'm thinking again. At some point pictures rush into my mind each one overlappoing the other, maybe i'm dreaming, but i'm still aware of the window and the bed that i'm lying in. Uncle Ben, the cartoon character insists on making an appearance, he jumps all over the window with a spoon in his hand and i'm laughing hard. I know it's completly nuts!

I want out of my head, i want out of this life, i want another drink. The vodka doesn't take me out of my head but it makes my head a more bearable place to be in.

People begin to notice and feel obliged to dish out their critisizm. "Pull yourself together" They tell me "Ther's no excuse for your behaviour" and i feel like lashing out and telling them to back the fuck off, i'm having a hard time. I'm feeling alienated because no-one seems to understand how much i hate living like this. I'm back to cutting my legs and hiding the scars, i'm completly reckless and its scaring me.

It's the gala day and i'm standing in the street with my little girl when a wave of paranoia hits me and completly washes over me. I'm, covinced that i'm the laughing stock of the town, i watch people smiling and i hate them, i see them laugh and i'm sure they're laughing at me. I need to get home to the safety of my four walls, but i know that my daughgter needs me to be her mother and so for this reason i stand still. I'm too scared to move, i'm scared to be noticed, i feel like my every move is being scruutinized. As i stand and watch the parade, the noise in my head gets louder until it becomes painful. I need a drink, i need to get home. There's tears in my eyes as i look around and realise just how much i hate this town, standing there i feel like the lonliest person in the world.

I'm partying constantly, if i'm not cutting or crying then i'm partyig. I'm surviving on twoi hours sleep each night and a bottle of vodka each day. The night of the gala day i'm sitting alone drinking when my friend comes up. She's returning my things from our night out the previous night.She knows the signs, i'm crumbeling and i think maybe she didnt want to leave me alone so we decide to go out again. I argue with my boyfriend, he's tierd of my nights out and i try to tell him that i can't stand to be on my own, i tell him that a night out and a few more vodkas will sort me out but he refuses to listen. He's supposed to be at mine when i come home but he cancels and the last of my sanity crumbles. I needed him to be there, i needed him to stick to the plan, i convinced myself that everything would be alright if he'd just stuck to the plan.

I'm drunk before we reach the club, but i'm drunk most days so it's hardly noticable to me. I keep telling myself that everything will be ok if i jjust have another drink, everything will be ok if i have one more dance, one more cigarette, one more vodka, but the truth of the matter is, nothing can fix me now, i'm too far gone. Deep down i know this, but i'm too scared to admit it so instead i cling to the hope that that i'll be ok if keep drinking.

We're dancing, or maybe i'm staggering, i can't be sure but the one thing i can be sure of is the guy thats hovering around me. I dated him months ago and tonight he's clinging to me like leach.I let him buy me drinks, i don't care where the alcohol comes from so long as there's enough in my system to drown out the noise and clutter in my head. I tell him i'm not going home with him, i tell him with every drink that he buys but still he continues to cling to me. It's just past midnight when i begin to feel claustophobic, it's too hot, too loud and the guy following me around begins to remind me of the very thing that i'm running from; the tidalwave of depression. It's clinging to me, following me around and crippeling me with alcohol and now he's doing te same. I try to lose him on the dance floor but just like the depression he always finds me. I'm standing at the bar ordering a vodka and orange but there's no orange and that's when the tidalwave hits me. There's no orange. I'm crying hard, hysterically crying, i need orange juice, people are looking at me but i don't care, i'm standing in the middle of a club with the tears running down my face and i'm panicking. The noise in my head is louder than before and i need to get home. I grab my jacket and make my way to the door. People stop and ask if i'm ok but i walk past locked in the misery in my head and the pain that's emerged in my heart. I can't stop crying as i walk through the darkness of the busy streets, people stop to offer comfort but i walk on,i can't speak for crying, i've reached a breaking point and im not sure what to do. I stand and wait for a taxi, i jump in the first one that arrives ignoring the ques of people.Once home i lock my door and collapse onto the floor where i cry myself to sleep.

Two days later i'm taken to hospital after overdosing on Depakote, venlafaxyne and painkillers. I'm calm as i peel back the silver foil and place the pills into my mouth. i wash them down with a glass of vodka and tell myself that i'm taking control, this is my decision. I've had enough of my life with bipolar, i'm tierd of building up my life only to have the bipolar pull it all down, i'm tierd of hiding behind a mask of makeup and trying to maintain a facade, i'm tierd of pretending to be fine when i'm not and i'm tierd of cutting myself up and thinking about suicide. My daughters at her dads and i'm sure she'll be better without me.

I can't remember much, i remember being sick and i remember the psychiatrist who assessed me. "How do you feel?" she asks. I tell her about the pain, the energy, the excessive spending and drinking and the contant noise and clutter in my head. "What do you think we should do?" she asks. I shrug, i'm not the psychiatrist, if i knew what to do i wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed. "Ok" she sighs "I think you should continue to take your medication and keep managing the way you've been managing" I want to laugh, hysterically laugh, i can feel it rising from the pit of my stumache. "If things get any worse go to the accident and emergancy department" "I've just come from there" i remind her. She says nothing and it suddenly dawns on me just how worthless my life actually is. These people don't care if i kill myself. i'm just a number to them, another troublesome patient. I turn my head from her and swallow the lump that has risen to my throat, i refuse to breakdown infront of her,she wont see me cry. She leaves the room and i allow the tears to fall.

Everything was still for a short time, no thoughts, no feelings, no debates, it was a bitter bliss. I slept and ate, spoke and responded but it was still. The bleeping of the heart machine was all that i could hear.

I'm back at mums. I answer the phone calls, eat dinner, i take a bath and enjoy the stillness, then finally the tears come. The traffic lights have switched from red to green andmy brains back into rush hour mode. Did jackson really kill himself or was it murder? Pantene or Hebal Essences? Herbal smells better but ha rthat's the trick isn't it? Sales, sales, sales. Pantene and Herbal it's abit likeheaven and hell, do we take the muddy road and find heaven and it's angels or do we we follow the rose garden and meet satan and his fires of hell? Cheap and nasty, expensive and tasteful. Trickery! Ha. When am i paid? if i use household bleach on my skin will it take my tan off? I really could be doing with decorating my livingroom, i want to, i want to, i want to. At this point i can feel the little kid in my brain stamping up and down. It feels physical. I'll do it when im paid.Waht buy shampoo or decorate the livingroom? Ther's a gap in my thinking as i try to decide on an answer but it's not silent or still. Ticktock, ticktock, ticktock. It's that little kid in my brain again, we arge alot. I'll do both.Superb! Now pantene or Herbal? I dunno. What would Freud say? Fuck Freud, Fuck the shampoo. Now you don't want to wash your hair? Ovcourse i do. What's paint made from? i must get to Debhinams. Where can i get a loan? I wish i could drown myself! I liked the picture on my psychiatrists wall but what did the plaque above the light switch say?

I'm out the bath and lying in a heap on the floor. I can't stop crying, i eedit all to stop. I need the stillness. There's no excitement, no colourful souds, no enjoyment, just a deep seeted dpression anmd a brain that's gone into overdrive. And to add insult to injury,I feel like a fool cause i can't even kill myself properly.

I sleep very iittle. I cry hysterically and cling to mum and beg her to help me. She tells me it's been 13 years, i cry harder and cling tighter, i tell her to take control, i tell her i need her to care for me and she gives me valium. I'm stillcrying and talking about the noise and clutter in my head, i tell her i need stillness and she tells me i need rest.

The nightmares plague my dreams. Phantoms stomp around carrying sticks with human heads covered in blood and scars. I wake up at 3am surrounded ain darkness and clutch at my head. It aches, really aches. The pain travels from my forehead down to my facde and i can't even cry it hurts too much. I close my eyes and vision my skull cracking open and suddenly ther's blood and brains everywhere. I want to die. I can't open my eyes because the pains too intense, i'm stuck in a world behind my eyelids with blood, brains and open skulls. Maybe it's a reaction from the overdose, maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's a new phaseof bipolar, i can't be sure, but whateve the fuck it is i want it to stop. I want out, i want out of my head and i want out of this life.

It's Monday. I washa nd dress, cry and apply my makeup. I've spent th weekend lying in a dark room crying and living in my over-active brain. It's stiller today. I go to the doctors surgery and ask for an appointment, there's none, to hell with them. I find myself sitting in a pub downing vodkas like water. It may not help but it's reliable, it's the one thing that's always there and it feels like all i've got right now. It's vodka or suicide. Self-destruction. Ultimatly it'll lead to my death. i drink to that. I leave the pub and walk around the streets without any idea where 'm goling. I feel lost, i'm somewhere but i'm nowhere. I've lived in this town for 17 years and yet nothing feels familiar. I keep my eyes firmly focused on the road ahead of me, i'm oblivious of the crowds. I don't care that i may look strange and i don't care that my head feels like it's spinning.  I'll bedead soon, that's the one thing in my life i can be sure of.

Im sitting with my cpn, i can't sit still. I'm rocking back and forth and fidgeting with the sleeves of my jacket. "It sounds like your having a  mxed state right now" she begins. "The drinking, the spending, the racing thoughts and the irritable mood are all signs of hypomania. But on the other hand you're really low and tearful and thinking about suicide which is very much the symptoms of depression" I'm in tears, i'm rocking backa nd forth clutching at my head as the tears pour onto my jeans. She hands me a tissue but 'm not sure what to do with it, do i wipe my eyes or my nose? I blow my nose. She hands me another for my eyes but the tears don't stop. "I think a short course of valium may help, it might slow down your thinking and help you to get a full nights sleep." A short course of valium led to an overdose, a three week spell in hospital and a complete change in medication.