Sunday, February 17, 2013

Just Another Deranged Dreamer

If I were ever to be diagnosed, I think Bipolar is most likely, although after explaining things to my mum and doing some research, Schizo-affective is another possibility. I think at least three other members of my family are Bipolar.

Anyway, for the sake of explanation, I’ll simply refer to it as my illness. I’ve often struggled with the idea of having an illness. Do I or don’t I? But given the effect it’s had on my life, my mind, the people around me, I have come to the conclusion that it is an illness. It’s not something I can just click my fingers and be rid of, and I’m not sure I would, even if I could. 

I’ve known all my life that something wasn’t right. As far back as I can remember, I’ve had these - I guess you could call them Waking Nightmares. The things I see in my head, they’re awful. I’ve also struggled with an abnormal relationship with food, depression and an addiction to self harm. I believe that I am a boy’s spirit trapped in this body (not necessarily because my real body is dead…perhaps I am having a prolonged out of body experience, although I think it’s more like an out of reality experience. 

When I wrote the first draft of this, it was mostly a mini bio – things that messed up my past. But I didn’t want that to be my story. Again, it’s always my story. The problem is, if you have an illness but you also have a traumatic past, everyone focuses on your past. Oh, you poor dear, that must have been so awful. But I’d still be fucking my life up even if that past hadn’t happened because I always had this inside of me, even before everything went wrong. 

The constant feeling of being watched, the disconnected feeling from life, from this body. I was self harming before I knew what self harm was. Yeah, my past was awful. I think it’s fairly safe to say that there are certain events in my past that have traumatised me. But that’s not all there is to it. This illness was inside of me before any of that happened. It’s as much a part of me as my phobia of spiders or my sarky sense of humour. 

Sometimes it’s not so bad – I’ll get this really elated feeling and I can do anything I want and have such important things to do. My life is like an hour glass. I’m high, the top is full of sand. But slowly the sand dribbles out and I go with it, get lower and lower until the top is empty. And I stew in this emptiness. I rot. And then the hourglass suddenly flips over and I’m high again. But inevitably, the sand begins to fall and it repeats and repeats. 

I’ve read many accounts on what other people think of their illness. Several said it was like cancer, only it can’t be seen. I think this is very true. It would be so much easier if there was a twin of myself beating the shit into me every day so that I could show people the bruises, the physical EVIDENCE. There. That’s why I can’t take it. That’s why I can’t do this. That is why I lie in bed but can’t sleep and it hurts to even talk.

It would take a very long time to explain my illness, if that were even possible. I fight with many demons, every moment of every day. I still don’t know who’s going to win this war. All I know is the void in me is getting bigger. I’m calm in the way that death is calm, not in the way peace is. And that’s a tiny scratch on my story.



Schiz Life said...

Your analogy of the bipolar experience being like an hour glass is amazing! I haven't heard that before, and it's really thought-provoking and insight-providing. Thanks for sharing this with us.

Russell Dill said...

Of course you can be triumphant in this war, Rhiannon. The consequences of having bipolar syndrome may be tough at times, but with perseverance to overcome it and counseling to guide you, you can be as successful as anyone else. Just remember to find it in yourself the will to walk the path that you want to. And surround yourself with positive-thinking people.

Russel Dill @ Kenosis Center