‘Bipolar’: by MS Paint

These two things have nothing to do with each other, yet I have been a concoction of both for as long as I can remember. How can this be: a volatile cocktail of extreme sadness and extreme exhilaration, bottled up for one girl to drink?

I was diagnosed with a Bi-Polar Type II disorder in my mid-20s. Formerly known as Manic Depression, this condition causes a person to experience drastic mood swings due to a chemical imbalance in the brain. Type II is the milder version of Type I; in a way, I am lucky that my ‘happy’ episodes don’t cause me to spin out of control and straight into the psychiatric ward. I have my normal days, when my mood is stable, mixed up with occasional periods of intense, irrational sadness known as depression. And then, there are periods when I feel like I’m the Queen of the Universe – or at the very least, Socrates.

Many know about depression, but few are aware of the dark, erratic, deceitfully glittering world of hypomanic euphoria. It always starts out pleasantly – the wind of inspiration lifts you up and carries you on its iridescent wings. This is how most people feel when they are inspired; except in my case, I feel like the concept of failure had left the building. Hypomania makes you lose inhibitions and makes you feel like you can succeed at absolutely anything. I’ve been known to take up way too many projects during this period, pursuing them eagerly and with zeal, only to lose interest once the high is over.

During my manic stages, I tend to dress flamboyantly and gravitate towards bright colors – to liven up the surroundings, which suddenly seem lifeless and dull. I feel like I’ve got a magic touch – practically anything I sneeze on becomes a work of art! Sleep is an annoyance rather than a necessity; 4 am writing sessions ‘because I felt inspired’ become commonality.

And what do you know? People love the new you! They think you’re the best thing since sliced salami with all your eccentricities and overflowing enthusiasm; even you yourself can’t help but marvel at your newly found charm, sense of humor and generosity. You go on shopping sprees, become overtly social, your calendar bursting with all the exciting events you’re planning to attend. You’re too preoccupied to notice the inevitable crash for which you’re headed.

If I had to describe the tail end of hypomania, I would say it’s like speeding through a dark tunnel with  bright lights rushing towards you – and you trying to catch every single one. You keep grasping but there are just too many, too fast. Your thoughts start racing, so you speak faster to keep up. You feel madly inspired, but can’t seem to focus – and as a result, for the first time in weeks, you produce nothing. The physical exhaustion takes toll: you begin to feel tired from weeks of incurred sleep debt and realize you’ve got a huge callous on your right wrist from mousing for 10 hours in a row. You want to keep going but everything you touch falls apart. You get frustrated, blame others, turn into an asshole. Paranoia sets in: you feel like everyone is trying to tear you down and don’t understand your genius. You get careless, egotistical, aggressive. Nobody likes you any more; not even you.

Pop culture likes to glamorize manic depression – it plays into the whole tortured genius stereotype. Some of the people who had (or are thought to have) the disorder are Isaac Newton, Kurt Cobain, Edgar Allan Poe, Peter Steele, Van Gogh and Beethoven, alongside many others. Most have produced some of their best works during their manic stages. While I in no way compare myself to any of these people, it does feels good to know that I am not alone and, in fact, in good company. I might have to manage mood swings for the rest of my life, but in a twisted way, I am grateful to my bipolarity because it makes me who I am.