Bipolar Disorder Support Group
Bipolar disorder is not just a single disorder, but a category of mood disorders marked by periods of abnormally high energy and euphoria, often accompanied by bouts of clinical depression. This is the place to talk about your experience with bipolar disorder, learn from others' experiences, and find support.
It's the title of a Deftones song. But i'm going to explain where I've been.
I wish I came back bearing good news. Notice I said, "I wish".
As of right now I'm in a state of rampant self-neglect. Simultaneously, I'm going to great lengths to cover it up.
Actually, my local CSU (crisis stabilization unit) does not want to take me back because they feel like I'm using it for detox when my drug sources run dry, then going back out to use.
I can't deny it's partially true.
It's mostly not. Here's why. Firstly, I don't come out feeling like I'm ready to run a marathon, even though I might appear otherwise. Last time I was in, I had two separate pain attacks and almost left twice, because they refuse to treat even severe pain, and I could barely stand it. But I stayed.
The second is that I'm extremely reluctant to let anybody see the truth. Not know the truth. See the truth.
I put on elaborate makeup every single day in CSU because... I was trying to boost my own morale, but also I wanted my peers and especially my doctor and my mother/family to think I was doing much better than I actually was.
Why? Shame, I guess.
Right now, my hair's disgusting. It's a matted, repulsive mess that I don't wish to further describe. I won't say how long it's been since I've groomed it, but believe me, longer than you'd think.
My mother keeps bringing it up. I keep telling her I don't have the energy to do anything about it, she doesn't believe I could be that low on energy, but I am. She tells me I'm disgusting every day. Not that I didn't already know that, I guess she feels the need to remind me in case I forgot.
Anemia? Hormone imbalance (PMDD etc.)? Chronic fatigue syndrome? Narcolepsy? Who knows. I have a health department appointment I believe tomorrow to put me on birth control pills to balance out my hormones, and they'll do an anemia check as well.
That's the best they can do for me. And the best we can do, since we're in poverty, we won't have to pay for the visit, the pills will only be a couple bucks for one of those little flip-top BCP packs.
Absolutely no narcotics. I'm scared that my energy's so low that nothing short of stimulants will help, but my psych clinic/the health department/the charity clinic, none of them will do narcotics.
I'd have to see my doctor, or probably a private psychiatrist, we don't have a few hundred dollars right now, and with me in the state that I'm in, I can't get a job right now, which I feel awful about.
There's something called Diogenes Syndrome that I'd only heard about maybe once in my college studies. It's also known as Squalor Syndrome, and the only way the public knows about it, are the people who wind up on Hoarders.
I don't look like that and most of my house doesn't look like that, so I doubt I'd get taken seriously if I suggested it as a possibility.
Most of my self-neglect has to do with hygiene, I keep myself from smelling badly by washing myself frequently enough to not develop BO (because even I couldn't live in my own stench), but right now, that's about it.
My house isn't in "squalor" because my mother keeps everything but my room IMMACULATE, and I don't go out and collect random shit.
But I do hoard. I will hoard anything and everything, aside from stale food and food wrappers/containers, but because of my hatred of wastefulness, I recycle absolutely everything I can, even if I have to wash it and dry it off first.
Other than literal stale food and grimy, moldy gross things, I'll hoard anything else, probably the worst example of this is papers.
I have a bag full of my own hair, when I tried to brush my hair out a few days ago when I panicked and had a sobering moment of "Wow, this is REALLY, REALLY bad" and tried to fix it, spent 2 hours, ripped out at least a quarter of my hair, and still couldn't quite get it.
Packaging, papers, I hoard those sorts of things.
But I'm the worst with personal belongings. THE. WORST. I will not throw out, donate, or recycle any actual things that belong to me.
Books, clothing, old-ish makeup (aside from mascara etc. because I don't want to get an eye infection), notebooks, drawings, perfume, video games, whatever.
I even have very frequent recurring nightmares about trying to collect random shit. Just like piles and piles of random little objects, trying to either sort random things or hoard them, and the nightmare part is that once I think I've gotten them all, I see something lying there that I accidentally forgot.
But I'm the worst with stuffed animals. Oh lord, I own more than 200, but the vast majority of them are boxed up, because there simply isn't enough space, and over dustmite concerns.
But I've got like 50 or so out right now.
I'm 21 and my room is fullllllllllllll of stuffed animals, loool.
There's piles all over my room. Piles of mostly-clean clothes, because I just keep them in fucking piles instead of putting them away, I guess. Boxes full of random shit and books that won't fit on my bookshelf.
There's a small walk space between my door and my bed/closet/full-length mirror, but it's lined with objects and notebooks littering the floor, and stuffed animals line the walkway, to where any normal person would probably assume I have a weird sexual fetish for pretending to be an infant or whatever.
But you'd never know it! When I'm in CSU I'm magically "well" enough to shower and wash my hair every day and do 3-hour makeup and draw and read.
And my online profiles are chock full of photos with tons of likes and comments, meaningless social currency/validation. I don't post photos to be validated, but rather to appear normal and to boost my morale by being able to look at myself and see a little bit of beauty amongst the chaos of my brain, hair, room, life, and bad decisions.
I don't know where I'm going with this, but yea. That's the state of my life right now, and most of my shame lies within being too tired to do anything.
Hopefully, though, I will have at least a couple of answers from my Health Department appointment tomorrow. It might not be a magic pill, but it just might be the first stepping stone towards getting better that I'm looking for.
And because this post was so hard to slog through what with its length and negativity and wah wah wah, maybe I'll do a music thread here shortly. (do you guys still do those occasionally?)
-hello again, all! -Sev
I wish I came back bearing good news. Notice I said, "I wish".
As of right now I'm in a state of rampant self-neglect. Simultaneously, I'm going to great lengths to cover it up.
Actually, my local CSU (crisis stabilization unit) does not want to take me back because they feel like I'm using it for detox when my drug sources run dry, then going back out to use.
I can't deny it's partially true.
It's mostly not. Here's why. Firstly, I don't come out feeling like I'm ready to run a marathon, even though I might appear otherwise. Last time I was in, I had two separate pain attacks and almost left twice, because they refuse to treat even severe pain, and I could barely stand it. But I stayed.
The second is that I'm extremely reluctant to let anybody see the truth. Not know the truth. See the truth.
I put on elaborate makeup every single day in CSU because... I was trying to boost my own morale, but also I wanted my peers and especially my doctor and my mother/family to think I was doing much better than I actually was.
Why? Shame, I guess.
Right now, my hair's disgusting. It's a matted, repulsive mess that I don't wish to further describe. I won't say how long it's been since I've groomed it, but believe me, longer than you'd think.
My mother keeps bringing it up. I keep telling her I don't have the energy to do anything about it, she doesn't believe I could be that low on energy, but I am. She tells me I'm disgusting every day. Not that I didn't already know that, I guess she feels the need to remind me in case I forgot.
Anemia? Hormone imbalance (PMDD etc.)? Chronic fatigue syndrome? Narcolepsy? Who knows. I have a health department appointment I believe tomorrow to put me on birth control pills to balance out my hormones, and they'll do an anemia check as well.
That's the best they can do for me. And the best we can do, since we're in poverty, we won't have to pay for the visit, the pills will only be a couple bucks for one of those little flip-top BCP packs.
Absolutely no narcotics. I'm scared that my energy's so low that nothing short of stimulants will help, but my psych clinic/the health department/the charity clinic, none of them will do narcotics.
I'd have to see my doctor, or probably a private psychiatrist, we don't have a few hundred dollars right now, and with me in the state that I'm in, I can't get a job right now, which I feel awful about.
There's something called Diogenes Syndrome that I'd only heard about maybe once in my college studies. It's also known as Squalor Syndrome, and the only way the public knows about it, are the people who wind up on Hoarders.
I don't look like that and most of my house doesn't look like that, so I doubt I'd get taken seriously if I suggested it as a possibility.
Most of my self-neglect has to do with hygiene, I keep myself from smelling badly by washing myself frequently enough to not develop BO (because even I couldn't live in my own stench), but right now, that's about it.
My house isn't in "squalor" because my mother keeps everything but my room IMMACULATE, and I don't go out and collect random shit.
But I do hoard. I will hoard anything and everything, aside from stale food and food wrappers/containers, but because of my hatred of wastefulness, I recycle absolutely everything I can, even if I have to wash it and dry it off first.
Other than literal stale food and grimy, moldy gross things, I'll hoard anything else, probably the worst example of this is papers.
I have a bag full of my own hair, when I tried to brush my hair out a few days ago when I panicked and had a sobering moment of "Wow, this is REALLY, REALLY bad" and tried to fix it, spent 2 hours, ripped out at least a quarter of my hair, and still couldn't quite get it.
Packaging, papers, I hoard those sorts of things.
But I'm the worst with personal belongings. THE. WORST. I will not throw out, donate, or recycle any actual things that belong to me.
Books, clothing, old-ish makeup (aside from mascara etc. because I don't want to get an eye infection), notebooks, drawings, perfume, video games, whatever.
I even have very frequent recurring nightmares about trying to collect random shit. Just like piles and piles of random little objects, trying to either sort random things or hoard them, and the nightmare part is that once I think I've gotten them all, I see something lying there that I accidentally forgot.
But I'm the worst with stuffed animals. Oh lord, I own more than 200, but the vast majority of them are boxed up, because there simply isn't enough space, and over dustmite concerns.
But I've got like 50 or so out right now.
I'm 21 and my room is fullllllllllllll of stuffed animals, loool.
There's piles all over my room. Piles of mostly-clean clothes, because I just keep them in fucking piles instead of putting them away, I guess. Boxes full of random shit and books that won't fit on my bookshelf.
There's a small walk space between my door and my bed/closet/full-length mirror, but it's lined with objects and notebooks littering the floor, and stuffed animals line the walkway, to where any normal person would probably assume I have a weird sexual fetish for pretending to be an infant or whatever.
But you'd never know it! When I'm in CSU I'm magically "well" enough to shower and wash my hair every day and do 3-hour makeup and draw and read.
And my online profiles are chock full of photos with tons of likes and comments, meaningless social currency/validation. I don't post photos to be validated, but rather to appear normal and to boost my morale by being able to look at myself and see a little bit of beauty amongst the chaos of my brain, hair, room, life, and bad decisions.
I don't know where I'm going with this, but yea. That's the state of my life right now, and most of my shame lies within being too tired to do anything.
Hopefully, though, I will have at least a couple of answers from my Health Department appointment tomorrow. It might not be a magic pill, but it just might be the first stepping stone towards getting better that I'm looking for.
And because this post was so hard to slog through what with its length and negativity and wah wah wah, maybe I'll do a music thread here shortly. (do you guys still do those occasionally?)
-hello again, all! -Sev
-
Well, good morning to you!Today is National Roller Coaster Day. Are any of you going?It's also National Tell-A-Joke Day! Come up with some and share!I'm not bright with jokes these days, but I'll start:"Today I ordered a chicken and an egg from Amazon...I'll let you know." :D
-
Woke up feeling very emotional and about to clock in at my place of employment. And can't place it all in writing but not been a good experience with my store manager or his boss. Defamation of my character is a concern. I've been losing appetite and weight. Trying to perform at work to keep myself from hospitalization as a result of toxic masculinity.
Yes, I can relate. I never talk about this. But spacecat posted a video tonight that made me look at your courage and realize that you needed to know you were not so unique. More than I needed the anonymity that blankets my shame. The guilt becomes remorse, The shame, isolation. It feeds on itself.
I have no solution but I've known the problem for ten years. You could be me in thirty years but I don't think so. You are already on the right track, asking the questions that need resolution. Go easy, but keep going. Find the answers you need but remember to be gentle with yourself.
When I get depressed, I've gone from days to weeks without showering, without paying attention to my hair or body, not eating well, not sleeping well. I know the feeling of trying to run my brush through my hair only to pull out clumps here and there. I LIVE in my pajamas and old long sweater coat until the day comes where my hubby says he's had enough. Kind of like your mom, except how she treats you is Unacceptable! That's plain mean. I'm sorry, Voltaire.
I too go through great pains to NOT let anyone outside of my house see me like this -- which, of course, means I'm not letting anyone in. My one RL friend recently told me he thought I was cured b/c I looked so 'put together' -- HAHA. Of course, I thought, you'd never seen me at a low or anywhere NEAR my lowest!
My thoughts are with you, Voltaire. Big hugs.
I had to take some heavy-duty anxiety meds so I could quit crying uncontrollably about how I'm a hermit and my life is in disarray, while all my friends are in uni and have jobs and it's been second-nature to them to just sort of...... "Live", for years, while I never truly have.
My hair's alright. Smells like an awful mixture of spearmint and eucalyptus oil, coconut oil, argan etc. And is much thinner, took me 2 hours to get combed out and cleansed, and I lost about a pound of hair.
But it's alright-looking, at least.
I told my mother, by this time next year, I'll either be truly living, or dead.
(I'll reply more in-depth and specific to all 4 comments when I get back from the Health Department, the valium will surely have worn off by then, nice to meet you Christoph. Kitty, TC40, and Irish, nice to speak to you all again! It's kind of a relief to come back and see that certain members are.... Still here. You know, because we've lost so many.... l: )
I'm going to see about going to an NA meeting tonight, and I'm going to viewpoint first thing monday to see what can be done about my situation.
I've realized that something must be done about my isolation and addiction immediately. Otherwise, I can never truly accomplish anything. I'm a shell of my former self.
But all that's lost can be regained.
All my friends know me for my love of snakes.
There's a thing about snakes. They have the ability to molt, or in other words, shed their skin.
Humans as well can shed our metaphorical "skin". We can emerge as tender, fragile beings, ready to re-learn everything we thought we knew, rewire our brains and lives.
I think I'm alive only because some small part of me is still confident that this can be done, and I feel that's more than likely the case with everyone who's not even sure why they're still here.
I'll be back in a few hours. Much love for you all.
-your resident bipolar, genderqueer, hermit reptile, Severin
I was a hoarder, but tried to keep an air of respectability by stuffing my drawers full of paper stuff in order to keep my room spotless. Then I got WiFi and Chores were out the window altogether.
My Brother was even worse as he bought used Video Games Consoles; especially an American Version of the Super Nintendo; and also hid from the world.
Now the both of us are more social and can look back fondly on our cave-dwelling as just a phase of Adults who haven't fully Grown Up emotionally.
Is it possible for you to go into either an inpatient or outpatient program in order to address some of your OCD and addiction?
There are episodes of Intervention on Youtube ...It's really a great show and gives an idea of how much the right type of help can make a difference when you're ready for it
Another hug and a blessing...xo