Introduction, I think.

Being Bipolar came as a bit of a surprise. Well, the diagnosis anyway. I'd wrestled with depressive bouts my entire life. I didn't know anything about there being a Type 2 Bipolar Disorder, or something called hypomania. I just thought I was a moody bitch. So did everyone else, for that matter. I was that person...you know the one they say this about:

"You just have to get to know her."

At the age of 37, I was hospitalized under a 3 day hold for suicidal ideation and it was then that I was determined to be Bipolar type 2. What? What the hell is that? I thought Bipolar people got so depressed they couldn't get out of bed. My depression wasn't that bad. I just had been sad for about a year, suddenly couldn't stop crying for two days straight and had not been able to get the idea of tearing my wrists open with my teeth constantly for about two weeks, but I was able to get out of bed, for crissakes. That happens to everyone at one time or another, right? I never had a time in my life where was so "up" that I felt as if I had done meth and was wide awake for days on end feeling creative and cleaning the house until it was spotless or anything. Well, not unless I was...uh...on meth, that is.

Cut to reality: Type 2 isn't like classic Bipolar, which is Type 1. Surprisingly, Type 2 is much more common, and is often undiagnosed or misdiagnosed as unipolar depression. In both types of Bipolar I have mentioned, the depression is categorized as Major Depression (and of course, you can be functional and still have Major Depression). The opposite of depression in Type 2 is something called hypomania, and it is not the extreme high with which most people are familiar. The DBSA (Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance) website, www.dbsalliance.org, gives a great explanation of mood disorders. I would rather people visit this website for succint and accurate information, rather than anything I can provide myself. It's that important. Bipolar is a major mental illness. It's not a temporary affliction, nor a minor problem, easily resolved by a pill or two. This is probably the one thing I will be consistenly serious about. It's important to know and understand. By the way, there is a Not Otherwise Specified (NOS) and something else called Cyclothemia. I recommend you learn about them all. Someone you know might fit one of these profiles and might not be getting the help they need. IT'S IMPORTANT. It could be as important as someone leading a pain-free life filled with new hope and happiness, or averting the danger of suicide or other life-threatening disasters (as in the safety and lives of others). No joke my friends.

I've since had an upgrade to Type 1. Think Coach to First Class on the perceived Mental Illness scale. Great. I'd have settled for some frequent flyer miles and called it fair. THIS is not my idea of fair. No...Fucking...Way. You see, the difference between Type 2 and Type 1 is being a bitch and being really fucking crazy, respectively. Well, in the interest of my more sensitive Type 1 counterparts, I should qualify the really fucking crazy statement to say sometimes really fucking crazy. They probably won't like that either, but it's true. I'm speaking of the mania side of the illness, from which the term maniac was coined. So my Type 1 beepers out there, deal with it. We're batshit crazy sometimes. Get over it and stop being pussies over some words. That's all they are: WORDS. Some of us think we can fly when we're manic. Some of us think we're getting messages from God when we're manic. I recently thought my husband was going to rip my face off with a claw end of a hammer and run off with my best friend and that my family was in on the conspiracy and called 911 two days in a row, and then had to have him take me in on the third day. I had to write a note to myself during a lucid moment saying that he was not trying to kill me and that he loved me so I could see in my own handwriting that my illness was trying to trick me. I could have hurt my husband. Worse, I could have hurt my children trying to get away. They were certainly hurt seeing me taken away in the ambulance two days in a row. Being picked up from the hospital three days in a row. Being ferried back and forth to homes of friends. Having mommy locked away in the bedroom because she was "sick". So, I'm sorry, y'all. C-R-A-Z-FUCKING-Y. If this hasn't happened to you, either: a) you're lucky; b) your medication is working; c) you're in for a treat someday. You're still a nutjob, regardless. You sane people, that doesn't mean you get to disrespect us (or other people afflicted with a different mental illness). I may be irreverant and poke fun at mental illness, but you may not. It's that great double standard and I don't mind admitting it.) Remember that we whackjobs are no less human than you, and I'm fairly certain you have your own problems. So fuck off if you think you've got it better. I'm on to you.

If you're still reading this, I will have my rambling rants (or will just generally ramble) in the future. It's part of the illness. I'll do my best to contain myself, but this is a blog afterall. If I don't do it here, I'll do it in my daily life. I'm trying to appear as normal as possible, so I'm on a strict verbal rambling diet. Lucky you guys. Where was I?

Before I go on, I'll try to give you at least one Bipolar lingo translation per post. I think I just used one a little while ago: Beeper. Beeper = BP'er = A person with Bipolar Disorder.

Many of my posts will also be disjointed. Rather than apologize (I am doing my level best to fight the urge to actually do so--damn crazy BP psychosis) I will just say this will be one of the fun parts of my blog. Prepare yourself for the gymnastics of my mind, because you will surely get a mental workout. It just won't be one of those ones that Mensa recommends to increase your IQ and keep your mind sharp in your old age. For all I know it might have the opposite effect. Uh oh, paranoid flash (another lovely BP psychosis), should I have a disclaimer here? Just in case, read this blog at your own risk. These are just my rambling thoughts and are in no way designed, nor do I claim, to increase your IQ. Please consult your doctor before beginning any exercise program physical, mental or otherwise--and this is NOT an exercise program, unless you see it as an exercise in futility or an unfruitful way to kill some time. [Insert more legal mumbo-jumbo to protect myself here.]

With that, I am going to go grab an ativan and lay down for the half hour I have before I must get my son up and through his before-school routine. See you next post.

PolarBabe