Oh, hello again, bipolar

Comfortably Numb

Since I’ve been regularly medicated for the last 3-4 years it’s become easy to forget what the “battle of bipolar” can really truly feel like. I exist somewhat regularly in my day-to-day activities so I don’t notice the bipolar disorder too much. I occasionally resent the fact that I have to take pills EVERY DAY just to feel “normal” and sometimes a spike of mania or depression will sneak through the chemical defenses. . . but usually, it’s just a base level of functional existence. I’m still creative but not nearly as much as I was in my un-medicated manic phases. But – I’m also not in “blob” mode for MONTHS at a time any longer (THANK YOU, MODERN MEDICINE). My “cocktail” of two medications help me feel like a regular ol’ human being most of the time these days, and that’s pretty cool.



Until. . . today. As the morning wore on and welcomed the afternoon, all feelings of normalcy came crashing down my spinal cord and bursting out my rib cage in a sweat of sadness, panic, hurt, confusion, and a dash of hysteria.

I feel like every neuron in my brain is a bull in a China shop – just 100% chaos and I don’t even know where to begin to pick up the mess right now. Should I even bother picking up the mess? I mean, I could just lay here on my couch indefinitely until one of the animals started eating my body out of need for sustenance. That sounds like a nice way to go.

Nah, maybe I’ll just stick with a nap for now. I did call my psychiatrist to ask about getting back on another med that worked well when I was having compulsive thoughts before. Not being in control of my own damn brain is incredibly frustrating. “Needing” to add another chemical component to my current cocktail makes me feel “weak” – like I should be able to handle this on my own. And yeah, part of me knows that’s really toxic thinking, but dammit all if it ain’t STILL popping up as a reaction to “needing more meds”.

Here’s the thing, if you literally cannot stop your brain from thinking something then your lips from using that newfound “data” to speak something into existence. . . you may just need some additional help. I’ve been meditating more lately. I’ve been drinking less. I’ve been trying to be more open and honest in my communication. Sometimes though, diseases win over ALL of our efforts. And fuck, that sucks.


My Partner’s just like. . . SO Super Supportive. . .

I want so badly to swoon as I say how supportive my partner is in tough times. But I can’t. Because he isn’t.

And somewhat understandably so.

My diseased brain (what I call my “false brain”) is telling me that he doesn’t care, that he’s never cared. It’s showing me that he’s closing out of browser windows as soon as I turn my head. It’s whispering in my ear “Why isn’t he more concerned about you? Hmmm?” as if that whispering voice is the concerned one.

My diseased brain has single-handedly, within the span of 3 minutes, wiped every “true brain” memory from existence and replaced them with nothing but accusatory questions. That’s literally ALL I can think of right now. And what partner would be excited to hear accusations cast at them like a game of racquetball where you never signed up to be the wall?

“You SAY you’re trying to be positive and you tell other people to be, yet all you’re actually saying and thinking is NEGATIVE.” he says, coolly.

Well, doesn’t that sting like a million bees made of tiny truths that I can’t run from.

Sometimes I feel like everything I write is from my true brain to my false brain, not from me to an audience (no offense, reader-friend). My poor true brain who randomly gets held captive with duct tape slapped painfully across its lips, has no recourse as the false brain takes over and spews toxic waste all over the progress the true brain has been proudly building. Yes, I am forever on a soap box of spreading positivity, probably because in order for me to survive and not succumb to that false brain, I HAVE TO BE. It’s like being a record stuck on repeat to “Happy and You Know It” in a hospital. Like. . . why?

So I tell him he’s not supportive. He doesn’t listen. He can’t genuinely care. . .

Question: When you’re telling someone they’re not supportive enough. . . is it their job to then support you?

I’m genuinely asking, because I don’t know!


I Push, You Pull (NOT “You Also Push”)

I had this out-of-body experience where I saw my lower-self telling my partner how he wasn’t empathetic, how he didn’t listen, how he didn’t care to understand me – and after a few minutes of completely agreeing with it all – my higher-up-self began to get extremely anxious, like a kid watching their parents fight and wanting, with every fiber of their being, to stop the arguing. But even when my two selves joined back together, I knew stopping it was futile. I lost my damn “true mind” for a good while and there was no calling a time out in that moment.

So I left.


Sorry, no pretty bows here

I don’t know what’ll happen next. I needed to get all of this out though, and NOT paint a pretty picture after the make up later on (or the other bad outcome. . .) because so often we write these internet things with distance and wisdom from the situations which makes for comfortable reads, but not necessarily HELPFUL reads.


You, my friend, MATTER

If you’re balancing your mental health with your relationships and it’s a lil messy right now, I hope you can see. . . you are far from alone, my friend. I hope you know that you matter, you’re valuable, and you’ve got a lot to give – even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.


Cheers to. . . existing,

Jessie Britely

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