I don’t know what it is but there is something about music and mania. Almost every time I am manic I like to listen to music and write.
Its like the music keeps me focused enough to be able to write something that makes more sense that the jumble that is inside my mind.
Sometimes I feel like the music is seeping into my soul.
I sit and I write and the constant movement of my hands flying across the keyboard and my leg shaking is somehow satisfying. Fulfilling.
Its like, I cannot even explain the feelings that I am feeling at the moment. It is truly bliss. I love the feeling of my fingertips flying over the keys. I love the sound of he soft clicking just under the sound of he music in my ears.
When all the world goes out like the tide, and you feel like you are standing alone watching and waiting for the water to reach you again, to cleanse you. That is the moment when I feel most alone. Knowing the tide will eventually ebb and flow again, but standing there and waiting.
I cannot believe it has been 2 years since I first started the Bipolar Whispers blog. I started this in a Manic high to let out frustrations to write to my hearts content and to express things I could not even begin to express in my ‘real’ life.
This past year was a lot slower than the first 6 months or so of the blog, but lately I have been trying to get some content out. Thanks to everyone who has been reading for the past two years and thanks to all my new readers.
Be sure to read through my older content, you will find a lot of good information and a lot of soulful and heart felt writings there.
Lets hope that I can get back to the basic reasons for starting this blog and make year 3 fantastic.
I let my writing fall to the wayside over the past year. I haven’t written anything seriously in months and have not written anything worthwhile or with substance for this blog in a year or at least pretty close to that.
I feel like I have let myself down, let my blogger friends and readers down and that I really need to start creatively writing again.
I have been told I do my best writing when I just let it flow, when I do not force it to happen and I write from my heart. I write with depth and meaning when I write from somewhere deep within myself. Whether that be depression writing or Mania writing or just something more I am honestly not sure where it comes from. Most times, as I have written in the past my fingers fly over the keyboard or my pen over the paper so freely and so quickly that I just write.
There have been times when I have re-read my writing and not remembered writing it. Times when I have not recognized the thoughts that my mind put together, not recognized the writing on the page.
Right now I am at a place where I want to write. I want to create. I want my ideas and my passions to flow through my writing. I feel the need to write because writing for me is a form of therapy, one of the best that I can receive and one I can give myself.
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 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.
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.
On Monday the 27th of April 2015 I was published on Imperfect Cognitions. I was contacted by them to write a post to be included in their series of monthly posts by experts-by-experience. I decided to write about my writing and how my bipolar disorder is related in some way to it. I took part of a post I had already published here and added to it. On that day I wrote a post linking you directly to that post so you could go and read.
Today I am sharing that post because I like to keep track of my writings here on the blog.
Please take a moment to head over to Imperfect Cognitions and check out their blog and read the great articles.
Bipolar Whispers on Writing
They say that many people with Bipolar Disorder are creative. I always wondered if this were true. Within myself I could never see my creativity. I could not play music, I was not crafty. In retrospect I can see my creative outlet has always been writing. My love and knack for writing began around the time I experienced my first true mania, although I never knew it was mania at the time. Retrospect is a very powerful thing.
I never knew I could write, or rather, I never knew I wrote well. I went to appointment after appointment with my psychiatrist or my psychologist for therapy and they always praised my writing. I just thought they were being polite. You see, I found it hard to talk during these appointments. So we decided I would write between sessions and during my sessions I would read what I wrote and they could ask questions if need be. Reading what I wrote made it much easier to express myself to them because it was like I was disconnected from the situation, reading someone else’s story.
I continued writing through my teens and into my adulthood. I have written pages and pages, books on top of books worth of my thoughts.
I never shared my writing with anyone except various therapists or psychiatrists through the years. It has only been recently, during a manic phase that I found the courage to begin Bipolar Whispers and began putting my writing out there.
At times when I am writing and my pen flows across the paper so freely or my fingers fly across the keyboard so quickly that I re-read it days later and I do not remember writing it. Yet there it is, staring back at me in my hand writing or illuminated on my computer screen.
It is like my hands have a mind of their own and they know that the words are inside my head waiting to be formed into some semblance of coherent sentences.
Then there are the times when my mind is so crowded with manic thoughts and ideas that my fingers are going across the keyboard making mistakes because they are going so fast while I am trying to form paragraphs that make sense.
Half started ideas, fragments of paragraphs dancing across the screen. Black letters swirling, flying across the editor as I write, correct, fix the mistakes my fingers are making.
To say it is frustrating would be an understatement. But I am writing. I am in bliss and I am happy.
Writing is a form of therapy for me. When I re-read what I have written I can feel what I have felt, or even feel what I wasn’t able to feel at the time it was written.
You see, writing for me is like breathing. It is not a want, but instead a necessity. Each letter, each word, each sentence, each paragraph, all a part of my existential self.
I was just talking to a friend about writing. We both write, we both have blogs, and she was saying how she was not sure what direction to go in and I mentioned how I feel my writing slipping away from me.
I replied to her with the following:
I hope you are able to find a path. I am frustrated at the moment, my writing is slipping away from me like some boat sailing in the distant fog, I can see it but I cannot get to it. And it is very frustrating to say the least.
That very message is what perked my writing of this post. I liked the way I formed the sentence, so I thought, why not, if I am not able to get my mind to work to write about something else I can at least write about my lack of writing.
So as you have all read in my past posts. I had my knack for writing gone for over a year. With the new mania I began writing again, in fact I could not write enough. I was almost in a constant state of writing, and I was in bliss. I began Bipolar Whispers in hopes that by sharing some of my writing it could at least help someone, somewhere.
I never imagined it would pick up as quick as it did, and I am thankful for my readers, their comments, and their likes and shares.
But lately, as I am sure some of you have noticed, my writing has been few and far between, and not as elaborate.
I am sort of blaming it on the medications that are keeping the mania just under the surface. They seem to be stomping on my creative flow. I hate this.
It is times like this when I feel like taking all the medications, tossing them out and saying “forget it”. But I also know what happens when I am not medicated. My husband and my family are too important for me to go unmediated and risk getting really sick again.
So I am writing bits and pieces, trying to work through the little bit of writers block that I am currently experiencing.
As I sit here watching that ship sailing just on the horizon in the fog, I realize that it is at least still in sight, I can at least try to get closer to it. It is closer to me then it was a year ago when I thought I had my writing capabilities lost forever. I will fight to get to it again, even if I have to swim the distance.