Worst possible time for this…

Right now I have absolutely no time to deal with the hypomanic episode that my body/mind is trying to unleash on me.

I cannot deal with it.  I must not get it.

I am hours away from my normal doctor, days, hours and minutes removed from his care.

In a strange place, where I would have to see a strange doctor, to deal with something that I really do not have the time or patience to deal with right now.

I have not been hypomanic or manic in over  a year and I am currently not medicated in regards to my Bipolar disorder at all.

And it could not have come at a worst time for me.

Really bad.

I have had a conversation with a child psychiatrist about what is happening, and the right route I need to follow and which hospital to go to in order to be seen in a timely manner.  But I am beyond nervous about taking that step.

I am pushing it off until tomorrow to see how I feel then.  But as of right now its on a downward worsening slope that I can already see a difference  since this morning.

Normally I probably wouldn’t notice this early in the mania but I am so hyper aware because of another situation and trying to keep that under control that I began noticing the signs late last night / early this morning.  Its been lack of sleep for weeks.  Weird broken sleep that has gotten way worst over the past few days up to a week.

I have some of my personal signs, the tingly feeling, the agitation, the rapid thoughts, the not being able to sit still at all, lack of sleep, the talking fast, not being able to talk proper because my words are jumbled.  The wanting to write.

Please don’t, Please do.

Please don’t underestimate me because of my illness.

Please don’t Judge me because of my illness.

Please don’t feel threatened by me because of my illness.

Please don’t leave me out because of my illness.

Please don’t forget the good times when the bad times of my illness rear its ugly head.

Please don’t confuse my indifference about activities with me not actually wanting to do them.

Please don’t use the name of my illness`as an adjective.

Please do stand by me when I need you.

Please do remember the good times.

Please do remember that I want to be better, I do not choose to be sick.

Please do have patience with me, because often I do not have any patience for myself.

Sleep disturbances.

In the past 144 hours (6 days) I have slept 24.5 hours in total, and all very very broken sleep.  The most I have slept in a row is about 1.5-2 hours.  Some of those days I only slept 2.5 hours and one of them I managed to sleep 6 hours, but it was absolutely brutal trying to get all of those 6 hours. They were extremely broken.  The time I slept 6 hours I never took any meds.  Tonight I haven’t taken any again to see if I can sleep, but it is already after 4 AM and I am here writing.

I don’t feel manic or anything, I just don’t seem to need sleep or can’t sleep.  The only symptoms I am having other than issues with sleeping is maybe little tingles in my arms and body from the lack of sleep and a little bit of fuzzy-ness that seems to come and go.

I am however having trouble distinguishing between what I have dreamed and reality.  It only happened the one time.  Today I tried to sleep, I dreamed that my daughter came home and I had a conversation with her at 12:30 ish (that was the time in the dream).   When I woke up I thought that the conversation was truth, absolute.  But she was not even home, she was in school for the day.  I actually woke up and asked my husband if she had come home from school, I thought it really happened.  And although I know it did not happen I still almost feel like it did.

I am trying really hard right now to make my self sleep at least some, so I know that I am for the most part of sound mind.  We have some appointments coming up this week that I need to be able to function in, so I am really concerned about this lack of sleep and what it could mean, if anything.

Anyway, just wanted to update a little, as I am really trying to begin writing and blogging more.

How is everyone?

Resuming medication

After 9 and 1/2 months med free……


New one for me.  I may have taken it for a short while when I was hospitalized back in 2012, but I am not completely sure as I was hospitalized for 5 and 1/2 weeks and went through so many med cocktails at that time and I was so sick I don’t know half of what was going on anyway.

I am a little nervous because it is a SSRI med and I am not currently on any mood stabilizers or anti psychotics to combat any form of mania that may or may not rear.  I cannot remember the last time I was on an Anti D without a stabilizer…..

But I would take the beginnings of mania any day over what I feel right now.

The beginning is always fun, wild…..but we all know where that ends up.

Bipolar Whispers is 1

I have been blogging here for a year. A whole year.

I started Bipolar Whispers in a manic phase.  A time when I was full of possibility.  Another grand idea was formed because of mania.

A time when my ability to write came back.  Back after years of dealing with horrific writers block.

There were days when I wrote several articles, days when I published more than once.  Days when I did not publish at all.

Days when what I was writing made total sense, and days when I wrote in gibberish.

There were days when I was stuck inside my head, days when the words were screaming to be written but I couldn’t form more than a few coherent sentences.

I wrote with passion.  I wrote deep truths.  I wrote about pasts.  I wrote about futures.  And I wrote about right now as the words were forming.

I wrote with questions, and I wrote looking for answers.

Sometimes I found the answers, and oftentimes I found many many more questions.

I wrote when I was manic.  I wrote when I was hypomanic.  I wrote when I was depressed.  I wrote when I was flat and I wrote when my mood was ‘normal’.

Sometimes I didn’t write at all.  Because whatever I may have been dealing with at that time was bigger.  Bigger that I was able to deal with, bigger than I was able to write about, bigger than I was okay with.

But Bipolar Whispers became so much to me.  It became a haven.  A place to go and not worry about anything to bare it all and let it all out.

I met great friends through blogging.  I have read other peoples stories, their life stories and understood.  I related to them.  I understood them and they understood me.

Even when I disappeared for a bit because the medical issues in our family was more than I was able to deal with, you were all here when I got back.  You continued to embrace me and hold me up.  You held my hand, and you gripped my heart.

Some of the most understanding people, some of the easiest people to write to, some of the easiest people to relate to have been the blogging friends I have made because of Bipolar Whispers.

And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here, for reading, for listening, and for hanging on.

I love you all,

I am calm, yet I am frantic.

I am calm, yet I am frantic. Some of the manic madness from yesterday has subsided in some ways but heightened in others. My brain is a mess. My thoughts are chaos. But my speech has slowed down some, or when I catch myself speeding up I try to suppress it.

This, most often does not work. But still I try. This is a weird time. I normally do not have this much self-insight into what is going on with me when I begin to get manic. Lately I have been more in tune to my mental illness.

It has been over 3 years since my diagnosis. Maybe things have just fallen into a place where I can see it for some weird reason or another. Most times I am pretty far into a hypomanic or manic episode before I know. Looking back I can see it, because retrospect as you all know, can be a very powerful thing. Looking back I can almost always pinpoint the first signs, however subtle they are.

But last time and this time I have been more noticing of what is happening to my mind. I have noticed the speeding up sooner than I have in the past. I guess a large part of that is the no sleep thing that is going on with me right now.

I have no choice but to notice things because what else am I going to be doing all hours of the night? Except pick apart what is going on inside me and write, and then write some more. Or cleaning at 3:00AM can be a nice big flashing red light. Like some indicator beacon going off inside my head warning me of where this is headed.

Writing seems to be the only thing that is really keeping me grounded lately. From one extreme to the next. I cycled a lot faster this time than I have in a really long time. My mania back in March came and did not stay as long as some other times, but then I guess I was sick, and my doctor and I managed to manage it faster than the last time.

Then depression crept crashed in, instead of balance.

No nice little neat balanced mood before cycling back into mania or depression. Or at least not much balance before the switch.

This past month or so, probably closer to 8 weeks have brought more anxiety than I have had since 2013. I have no idea where it came from initially. But I guess I know with the family things we have going on, I can understand why it has stayed. It is every day now, no days break. I hate the feeling.

I feel like I want to check out of my body and brain for a day. Just crawl right out of my skin and not have to deal with what I am feeling. No tingly feeling just under the surface, getting stronger. No insomnia. No intrusive thoughts. No manic brain, where everything seems to be occupying the same space at the same time, all vying for my complete attention.

The only thing benefiting from my hypomania/mania right now, is my writing. And I am not even sure if that is benefiting or if it is just me believing that my manic writing is better than my every day writing. If it is because I tend to churn out more writing when I feel this way.

It’s almost like when manic and talking too much, I find myself posting to Facebook more often than I normally would, and I seem to not be able to help posting to my blog once I get something written.

Then I get nervous that I am irritating my readers because of my frequent posts. I then try to remind myself that my readers read my blog for a reason, because they can relate or they enjoy my writing or some other reason within themselves, which means I most likely am not irritating them as much as my mind tells me I am. So I try not to worry about that. But worrying is something I am good at, and I apologize if I am indeed irritating anyone.

The mania is keeping me completely drawn in to the writing. It is making feel like I really do have some sort of talent which in turn is making me want to publish so bad that it almost hurts.

And so begins the manic chore of researching publishers, types of publishers. Would I self-publish or otherwise? Do I even have enough manageable, coherent articles to even begin to think about this idea in a more possible way….or am I delusional in thinking I could even possibly bring my writings together in book form?

Is this some manic brain idea forcing me to start a project that I know I will not finish? Getting excited over the prospects only to have them dashed and squashed once I begin to get balanced again?

Sometimes I hate this part of this disorder. Because I get such good ideas, or maybe good is not the word I am looking for. They are intrusive ideas that I act on, only to completely abandon them once the balance comes back into play.

But mania is where all my good ideas are concocted.

Wholly or not at all.

A long time ago…well truthfully a not so very long time ago….even a short while ago,  I would have cared, and I would have cared deeply.  I would have frantically tried to fix whatever the problem was and smooth it over.  Because I was a fixer.  That is what I did. I was always afraid of confrontation.  I did everything in my power to make sure everyone around me were taken care of and that no one was hurting because of something I did or something I said.

I always took a step back from myself to fix someone else’s problem. After all I never cared about myself as deeply as I cared about other people.  It was mostly because I knew I was not worth the trouble.  Why take time to try to fix the unfixable?

I used to want to be liked.  I used to want to be accepted.  But oftentimes I felt out of place.  I always cared too deeply about what other people thought about me.

I was afraid to say no.  I was also afraid to ask for help when I needed it the most.

Don’t get me wrong, I sometimes held on to grudges, and I sometimes cried over them.  But I always tried to smooth them over as best as possible.

Nowadays I have learned to try to help myself a little more.  When I am ‘sick’ I choose not to put myself in situations that make me feel more agitated or make the hypomania/mania symptoms more visible.  I try to hide them and confine myself to my house when I am able to.  But when I try to hide the symptoms it causes the irritation and agitation to become worst and I tend to get more and more frustrated with my surroundings and even more so with myself.

It feels like I need to crawl out of my body to get some relief.

I have learned that I am who I am and I am beginning to not care what people think about me anymore.  I have let go of the feelings of wanting to belong, of needing to be liked and accepted.

I am who I am, accept me wholly or not at all.

I no longer give a shit!!

So I sit, and I write.

I wish I knew how to properly explain what I am feeling right now.  I keep wanting to write.  But the words won’t form the way I want them to.  The writing does not measure up to the standard that I have set in my head for posting on here.  But yet the urges to write are so strong that I keep finding myself drawn back to the keyboard to write here, or drawn to my journal to scratch illegible sentences into the pages in blue ink.  I know I will take out that same journal and read over it at a later date and think about how the writing does not look like my own, and try to pick out some of the words that were written in a scramble.

This happens more often than not.  My writing changes from mood to mood, the style and even the font.  It was first noticed about 15 years ago by a therapist.  She asked if I had ever noticed that my writing changed from mood to mood, day to day. I hadn’t noticed up until that point, but as I started to read through my journals it was very obvious. Mania or depression played a part in the way the words were written, in my choices of descriptive wording, and how my paragraphs were styled.

Sometimes when I was angry the wording and paragraph structure was angry too.  It was visible.  You could look at it and know that I was angry when I wrote it without even reading the words.

My journals were personal.  For me.  Well really for my psychiatrist and therapist.  They deserve the credit for me and my writing.  Without them I would never have known that writing was my creative outlet.  I am very grateful for the gift that I found because of necessity to express my feelings to them because I found it hard to talk.  Writing and then reading it to them was easier because I could disassociate from the fact that I was reading my own story.

So many things that I needed to express to my psychiatrist, but my mouth would not speak the words.  My writing became my voice.  It described scenarios that I was unable to articulate otherwise.

This became a way of expression for me.  I get drawn to paper to write, or more recently I get drawn to the computer to write out what I am feeling inside.  Which is why I keep getting drawn back to this editor, I need to express myself and the urge to write is so strong it is like craving something.

So I sit, and I write.


I am going to apologize for this post before I even get it written.

My mind is in chaos.  Constant buzzing, thoughts and doing.

I feel like there is no way I can stay still.  I am enjoying the productivity of the stuff that I am doing.  Things that have needed doing for quite some time, I have accomplished more in one day, today, then I have in a week.

I find myself wondering if this is the beginning.  Normally I do not notice it right away….it takes a while.  I also wonder what they heck are the chances of another mania so soon?!?!

This, if it is indeed the beginning is the part I like.  The productive part.  The flight of ideas part.  The, I am superwoman and I can do anything part.  This…..this is the part, the part before.  Well during, well the beginning.

I keep thinking, perhaps this is just a fantastic day, with some productivity, maybe its just that.  But then I see that my lap top is shaking on my lap as I am typing this because I cannot stop shaking my leg.  I stop.  Just long enough to start again.

Maybe tomorrow will be balanced?

I don’t even like to use the word manic until I know for sure, until someone finally points it out or it is that obvious that I cannot keep denying it.  I am more in tune now then I once was.  There have been many times I have not known until it got bad.  Bad, bad.

But the charts are telling me something…..my mood tracker charts.  I see the subtle signs.

The chaos within.  Trying to keep my voice steady, trying not to talk fast, I am loosing the ability to control it as much as I could earlier this morning even.

Lets talk sleep.  I have noticed the sleep schedule get a little off track lately, but then it picks back up. A 3 hour night here, and a 5-6 (broken, I do not sleep that long in a row) there.  Then in the past 26 hours I slept 1.  1 measly broken hour of sleep.

But do I need sleep?  Nope.  There is not an ounce of tiredness in my body.

Sleep, my friends, is overrated.

I ran.  Like literally, wtf is up with that.  I am a pretty big woman who is in probably the worst shape I have ever been in, or at least close to it.  And all I could think of was running.  So I ran.  Not far, not long, but I ran.  It is a start right?!

The self injury urges have been bad for a while, today they are off and on, not as bad as they were but still there in the back of my mind, taunting.

Metallica is playing in my headphones as my fingers are flying across the keyboard and the words are jumbled on the screen.   I went through a P!nk phase, now its Metallica.  I cannot seem to get enough of it lately and I am constantly writing while it is playing in my earphones.

Anxiety today and some irritability, nothing major on either front.

The irritability was mostly because I started a project and could not finish it for a particular reason because I did not have the necessary things here to complete it, which annoyed me.

Its still not bad, I still think maybe this will not get any worst than it is right now and perhaps it is nothing just a weird day….I dunno perhaps I am delusional in believe that too.