For the past week, I have been experiencing a feeling of being chased. You know, that heart-in-your-throat, can’t-get-away kind of feeling that is sometimes associated with anxiety.
After that? I started having difficulty abstaining from a number of behaviors that I avoid very easily as a Christian, but not so much as someone whose medications are out of whack. Swearing, impatience, starting and not finishing blog entries … stuff like that. Oh, and barely refraining from throwing one’s phone through one’s television. Fantasizing about imbibing certain anesthetizing fluids and acting out shamelessly. Wanting to jump into my car right after payday, because, after all, I’m totally messing up, so why shouldn’t I? To go cross country and get all the bad behavior over with, because there’s no point trying to restrain myself. That, my dears, is hypomania.
It is the state of mind in which one knows better than to attempt installing one’s printer, if one wants not to destroy it, or to become totally undone. Just yesterday I was trying to synch my “my fitness pal” to my “map my walk,” and between my phone and my computer, I just about imploded. I did have an incredible melt down, the likes of which I have been working toward all week, all month, maybe all year. Honestly! Why can’t the… ok we won’t go there…
So I had a call in to my doctor’s nurse yesterday, and she called me back. Late, I might add. But I had forgotten to turn my ringer on. By the time I realized she had called, she was already leaving a message.
That’s one thing cell phones lack, that regular phones with answering machines don’t. A regular phone could be snatched up mid-message with an awkward “Hello? Hello?” But at least you could catch the person who was calling. With cell phones, you end up playing telephone tag for hours, sometimes days, and most times they call you back when they’re darn good and ready. See? “Darn.” I have a little self control.
But back to the phone call. That was about the time the phone almost lost its life. But of course, when I realized I could not throw it and get away with it, and there wasn’t a punching bag or a human nearby, yeah… Instead of being angry, I dissolved into tears.
So then I couldn’t immediately call her back. It was pointless to even try. It’s very hard to convey one’s feelings and needs when one is sobbing. Well, on second thought, I could have communicated quite a lot that way, but not what I wanted to. After all, I do have a little self respect.
So today, I believe it was even before I opened my eyes, I was thinking the F word, which then caused me to start crying. Oh, it’s gonna be a fabulous day, I thought. I’m sorry, God, and please help me.
And then I started flagellating myself for saying sorry all the time but not changing anything. Yah. That kind of day.
One verse in the Bible says that out of the heart the mouth speaks. So this whole thing makes me feel like so much less of a Christian. I’m not even telling you about how I was trying not to shake the walls of the apartments on other side of mine with my hollering. Add consideration to self respect. I reeeeally am trying not to lose it.
For those of you who then want to say “Such thoughts, such speech and behavior would not occur to someone who truly knows and loves the Lord.” Well I’m glad it’s like that for you, truly. And maybe I’m not a Christian. Maybe I am just faking it. Putting on a big front. I guess I could use prayer instead of your judgment.
Oh, the joys of hypomania. I would love to take full advantage, and start cleaning my place, and doing whatever else needs doing, but I seem to have bypassed that stage of efficiency entirely, and progressed to the stage of irritability and ineptitude, and the unable-to-do-a-thing-right stage. Ohhhkay, see that run on sentence? Another symptom of hypomania. When it gets real bad, I don’t even use commas.
Anyway, had I not bypassed that efficiency stage, I’d be having this conversation with you in an apartment that was minus the dirty dishes and bags full of laundry. It would be pristine, sparkling. And I’d be a little less unhappy about this whole thing.
So there you have it. This is the quandary of the Christian who has bipolar disorder. Oh yes, the manic aspect and the depressive aspect are equally self-condemning, never mind concerning what other Christians might think. Is it any wonder that we hide ourselves from those Christians who don’t understand?
And yes I am tersely speaking with as much clarity and control as I possibly can. Who wouldn’t when other words want to fly out of one’s fingers?
So pray for me. Pray for proper medication management, and that I cause as little damage to myself and others, and things, as possible. In the meantime, I am fantasizing about being admitted to the hospital. Or of having it suggested to me, and replying with a long string of obscenities.
♪♫ Hi Anxiety …