The funny thing about hypomania is that it makes everybody love the inflicted — everyone, that is, except the inflicted\’s closest loved ones who are inevitably left in the dust of so much crushed Risperdal. (Except I can\’t remember at the moment if my Risperdal was a gel cap or a solid tab, but I digress.)
Yup, the past few months I\’ve been the life of the party, and wherever I have gone the party has gone with me. Of course, that\’s just my perception of it all, but what do I care? I AM THE PARTY, and as such, you need an invite to attend to me. It just kind of happens that the people who are usually there aren\’t invited.
Why do the hypomanic purposefully severe ties with their closest relations when ill? Why are our newly capacious sex drives never handed over to the ones who hold the deeds to our heart? Why do we always bite the ones that feed, shit where we eat, piss where we drink, etc.? It\’s such a cop out to just say chemistry; \”Oh, my brain\’s chemistry made me do it.\” But the mind is more complex than that; it digs itself deeper holes. I could be lying next to my life partner in bed, feel the intensity of hypomania\’s urges in my loins, then jump out of bed and find another body to jump into another bed with. It would be easier to love the one I was with — to love the one I love. But this isn\’t about love. It\’s about fucking: mostly about my mind fucking over all my hard work at creating a stable life. It\’s about everything doesn\’t make sense to anyone except those who have felt the silent burn themselves.
It\’s unfortunate that it burns so silently, because the side effects and outcomes are so outrageous as to inspire nothing but hysterical screaming reactions. I\’ve managed to burn my bridge with Dr Maude…I spent last night crying into my pillow, telling him in between sobs that I wished he, the sprog, and I had never left Australia. It all seemed to work there, or at least, it was better. Here, it\’s different. It\’s not working. My health is declining in every way. I severed a three year relationship at what seemed to him to be an impulse; to me, it seemed like a great idea based on several months and years of building issues and discontentment; however, in retrospect it seems like the breaking point of the early stages of agitation in what has become almost three months of a rapid cycling mixed episode state. My first cycle in years. Bridge, silently burned. He told me last night that he was completely fed up with me, didn\’t even like me anymore, the way I had been acting lately. Then he held me, silently, as my tears burned into the pillows.
Fortunately, the medication the doctor started me on last week — the Geodon — seems to be working. I\’ve remembered to take about four doses at this point, and I do feel as though things have slowed down. I haven\’t had any outrageous impulses for two days. I\’ve been rather well behaved and have even managed to get some reading done again. If it weren\’t for the dastardly sinus and ear infection that has set in, and the construction crew next door drilling away, and the fact that I promised I\’d move out this week, and… okay, actually, I\’m not going to start listing the \”if it weren\’t for…\” because the list is still as dastardly depressing as it was last week. Difference is that now I\’m not feeling terrified about it the way I was before. Now, instead of being on the rollercoaster, I\’m on the even keel to nowhere.