Nebulous

“What I really do when I write is follow myself, and I’m doing it right now: I’m following myself without knowing what it will lead me to. Sometimes following myself is so hard. Because of following something that’s still so nebulous. Sometimes I end up stopping.” — Clarice Lispector

It’s funny, I had a dream that I was going into mania again; I can’t say it did justice for how it felt, but the fact that it was surreal captured the essence of it. I, (touch wood), have not had another manic episode that led to hospitalization for nearly 2 years, to the month, so maybe it’s on my mind? Maybe it is because I am expecting it again?

Although I wasn’t hospitalised, I was actually going through the stages of mania at the end of 2023. After moving back into my flat, a year since I went home to be comforted by my family during my depression stage, I had started to get back ‘in my groove,’ so to say. It’s hard to get off any high when you have been so low for an extended period of time. You drink up anything and everything that makes you feel good because before, it was all numbness and a void. Time was spent thinking of all the things you would do and wondering if they will ever happen again because they honestly do not feel like they couldn’t be in your sphere of being. I wondered if I would walk the same streets I walked before, engage in conversations as I had somewhat easily managed prior.

So now, any feeling didn’t go amiss. This uncertainty meant that you don’t know when you have crossed from ‘getting back to yourself’ to becoming more of a harm to yourself. The most common preconception for people thinking about those with bipolar is that they are harmful to others, and unfortunately, this is how bipolar is portrayed, perpetuating the stigma we have to battle with. The truth is that the majority are actually a harm to themselves; we spend frivolously, get into situations we normally wouldn’t, and often think in some forms we are invincible. This is a neat little package of a complex issue, one that is often more than I can even fathom.

See, this mania—let’s call it 2.5—was interesting in that I was, in some ways, more ‘aware’ of the lift. I was constantly questioning it but also felt grateful a shift was happening. Sometimes, I wondered if I was on the precipice of being able to achieve the places in life I wanted to reach. The energy was there, the motivation was there, and the feeling it was possible was palpable. What transpired, however, was an issue: spending was one of the biggest challenges I faced (aside from being hospitalised). My first encounter had me grappling with voices and hallucinations, leading to psychosis. The second time, I spent a somewhat ‘manageable’ amount on an unnecessary hotel stay for a long weekend, including a room for my sister and mum. Before it could get any worse than bar tabs and breakfasts, I found myself in the hospital.

However, 2.5 was different; it was a ‘creeper’. The incessant spending made sense initially because I had spent so long doing nothing, and to be honest, I am not shy about making purchases. Simply engaging in ‘life’ as some would say is where it began. When did it transition to the ‘dark side’? When excitement for the next day meant you didn’t sleep. Not like a child excited for Disneyland or Thorpe Park; this was more sinister. You didn’t want one day to end but swiftly moved onto what the next day would bring before finishing the activities of the latter. By the time you had mapped together the next day, you were overstimulated, excited, eager to go, and unable to sleep for ages. When sleep did come, it was fleeting, and before you knew it, you were up again.

This anticipation needed to be matched by anything else that could ignite that feeling of joy; traveling to London, indulging in overpriced cocktails, fed this need. It wasn’t just about the cocktails; it was the presence you sought, the luxury of not having to worry about your actions. Being able to indulge without considering the consequences was intoxicating. On one occasion, on my way back from the toilet, I just had to buy a bag for no reason. When I say I was in Selfridges, you might understand the sentiment I am alluding to. It was not an isolated incident. Lunch wouldn’t just be casual; I’d find myself at a sit-down restaurant, going on without thought of what I was spending. All of this was done spontaneously, as if it were the norm for me—though it certainly wasn’t for my bank account. I amassed a sizable expenditure in a mere two months. At the time, I attributed it all to a bonus I had received, but I can tell you that the bonus did not match the size I was telling my credit card it had. When faced with the repercussions, my stomach dropped, and the reality became hard to accept. I was ashamed to admit this to anyone, especially given previous conversations about the precautions I should have taken.

I was also in and out of sick leave at work, which further fueled my need to fill time, resulting in even more impulsive spending. A walk around the park in my development no longer sufficed; feeling at one with nature was no longer what I wanted.

When I finally made it back to work (now with anxiety about going back to the office), I felt restless and constrained. The grey, dull walls felt like a trap. Even when I succeeded in getting there, I left shortly after. As you can imagine, this led to a many issues; I thought perhaps my absences might go unnoticed or that no one cared at all. This situation, along with others (which I may elaborate on someday), put me in a position of searching for a new job just months after this 2.5 mania began. In many ways, this was more destructive to my life than the events leading up to it.

There was a part of me that knew exactly what was happening, but a larger part chose to ignore it. I was back in a place in my life I didn’t think was possible. My family began to pick up on the signs, and I went to see my psychiatrist. It was clear that being off antipsychotics (which I had taken off, of to pull me out of depression) was a significant issue. Ultimately, I decided to begin taking the dreaded Lithium. Dreaded, you might ask? I had convinced myself during a previous episode that it was made from Lithium batteries, but that wasn’t it. I was also aware of how it wasn’t ideal. Yet, there was something within me that knew if I tried this medication and it didn’t work, I might just be treatment-resistant. That’s a daunting thought, one that made me hesitant. However, after researching and speaking with others who had experienced success with it, I thought, why not?

As with most medications, it takes time to take effect. It’s not like a painkiller that works in half an hour; this is more like months. So, there was no immediate impact, and those urges and wants remained. You also need to take the time to gradually increase the dosage, and with Lithium, you have to undergo monthly blood tests to monitor for adverse effects on your kidneys and thyroid gland.

I think my symptoms began to ease a little around the start of 2024. There was a sense of balance returning, and I started to figure out how to resolve my financial situation. I wasn’t entirely adamant about going out (marginally, at least). The energy diminished, which is always tough to grapple with. There were more days spent on the sofa, dividing my time between watching TV and job hunting. I truly didn’t know how I would get back into a job at full capacity again. The first hurdle was the interviews: would I be able to hold my focus and engage with the interviewers? Could I even remember how to do my job anymore? I was convinced I had forgotten it all and was no longer any good at it. This consumed a good portion of 2024; applying and worrying took precedence over actual interviews. I had to start reengaging in life with the weight of my past experiences hanging over me.

I don’t say I hope year X is my year; I now just have to be prepared for whatever happens and manage things with what I do know. There is always growth in life, especially during challenging times. It’s been a minefield. You have to restructure your relationships, hoping that people will understand that not everything you did reflects who you are. Yet, you must still take responsibility for the damage done and the new dynamics in people’s lives. I don’t think I will ever truly grasp how far I am from being well because, honestly, it’s a new playing field. Stability is all I seek, and for the first time in perhaps decades, I may know what that means—albeit with the help of medication and countless therapy sessions. Some aspects, I am still not ready to accept as my reality.

So here I am, in a phase of stability, still figuring out my next steps while remaining cautious of potential triggers. It’s daunting, but at least there is some movement.