Category: Mania

Perhaps a big problem I struggle with is my identity crisis. Frankly, I don’t know who I am and I will never know who I am. Regardless of how many pictures I take of myself, whether I stare at myself in the mirror for hours endlong trying to figure out the person staring at me behind the reflection, I have never known who I truly am without my bipolar episodes. It feels as though my vision on myself is blurry and no matter what prescription glasses I wear to fix this blurriness in my eyesight, I still can’t quite comprehend the person staring back at me.

My early years, such as my childhood and teenage years, were significantly spent on me going in and out of long and scorching depressive episodes. At one point, I have only known myself as the bitter, easily irritable and dramatic person that lashes out at my friends and family at every slight incident. My depression was bizarre and deep, for the first seventeen years, life was dark, grey, cold, and cloudy. I have always been convinced I am the most angry, bitter, dramatic, and irritable parasite to ever walked on the face of earth and I mean that in the most literal form of belief. I have always equated myself as a parasite and nothing else. At the age of ten, I became obsessed with aliens and I was convinced with this belief that I am an alien walking amongst humans and at one point, I started acting as though I am an alien masking to be a human. I was an alien walking amongst humans, wearing the skin of a human being yet being an alien. This belief burned deep and I felt empty and lifeless for most of my life, like a living being who is meant to be dead. I have never understood this contradictory condition of mine and why I am this way. My depression always comes in line with psychotic delusions and hallucinations. I have never been taught how to cope with this contradicting condition of mine as my parents would always shut down my psychotic ideations with simply saying, “If you have a bad habit then just change it.”

But my issue is I was a child who did not have the tools to know how to change this bad habit. It is like expecting a toddler to walk on its own without giving it a set of instruction tools on how to.

Nevertheless, at seventeen everything changed, a year prior, I started to see a psychiatrist and therapist and afterwards, I had been prescribed with anti-depressants to help me cope with my depression. Prozac. A few weeks after taking the medication, I noticed a significant improvement in my condition. Perhaps improvement is an understatement, it was more so a bigger leap than improvement. The world that was once so dark, grey, cold, and cloudy became bright, vibrant, saturated, and warm. A bit too much of that. As my energy levels soared, so did my grandiose ideations. I was speaking rapidly and my thoughts were rapid as well, a bit too rapid for my speech to handle. The world was now bright, my energy levels and motivation that was once up to zero became amplified, and sleep became less as I ignored my studies, I was convinced I could anything. This sudden change lasted for a month and at one point, I even cut my hip-length hair pixie short, wore my high school uniform, and stormed into school in a panic, convinced that I was a sort of the chosen one, I screamed in the big cafeteria that the aliens were coming to take over the earth and it is my duty as the chosen one to let these sufferable humans know. I woke up the next day to find myself at the psychiatric ward. Manic episode, they said of some sort. Bipolar disorder, they confirmed.

My perception of myself, of others, and of the world has never been the same since. I became addicted to the high of the mania and sometimes even purposely destroying days of stability with a little bit more caffeine, a little bit more going out, a little bit more nights being awake, a little bit more just to get another feel of that manic ‘high’. Just a little bit more. At one point, I was manic for months on end, which led to me being convinced that manic me is the real me, and that other days where I am not in a manic episode, a demonic entity has possessed and taken over me. When I am manic, I am more creative, more loveable, more passionate, more social, more confident. On the other hand, I am also more aggressive, more selfish, more destructive, more impulsive, more distracted. I can do everything and I will do everything. Everything is amplified in mania, and I just want more and more, it feels like driving in a car and pressing on full gas at all times until I crash and hit a tree and I am once again back in square one.

I don’t know where I am going with this, I wanted to simply say I don’t know who I am without mania, i have always equated this manic-me as the real-me. I hate myself when I am stable and I despise myself when I am stable. Perhaps my identity crisis stems from the fact that I have this belief that manic-me is the real-me so if I am not manic-me, then I am not real-me and I can’t recognise the person staring at the mirror because I believe that manic-me is real-me.

Though I am guilty to admit that at this moment, as I am writing these very words, I am running on three hours of sleep and I feel myself being in hypomania, which could one day lead to mania if I do not fix my biological clock’s rhythm. I know I must sleep at an appropriate time tonight. As though for now, I want to slightly enjoy this kick of energy and creativity that I have at this moment. At least it is not too destructive right now.

To surrender myself to my disorder is to surrender myself, to the deity that is above me. For I know surrendering to my mental health condition is to surrender to God. I like to think it is my calling. I am protesting at the moment, protesting against sleep because sleep is a concept created by humans and I am protesting against humanity because there is no way sleep is useful, perhaps somewhat, but no sleep is useless.

One person tells me that my art is too much, too aggressive but also too soft, too disconnected yet when am I ever enough and once again, I forgot to eat the whole day. I did not sleep at all because I am protesting against sleep, against humanity. Maybe a part of me is finally surrendering. The moment I surrender to my condition is the moment. I will just write down and express my thoughts because my train of thoughts are going too fast. I forgot the whole point of me writing all of this is because I wanted to say the moment I surrender to my mental health condition is the moment. No, stop, that is not what I meant. I meant to surrender myself is to surrender to the lethality of life.

Take your medications, your lithium, abilify, depakine, lorazepam…blahblahlah.

All they want is me to be stable, for me to be stable means that I surrender myself to the mass. To society. To capitalism. They want to indoctrinate me into believing that being stable is the right way, the best way, to live life. Like, hello? Ever tried being in a manic episode? People who experience manic episodes not only have superpowers, but they are demigods living on Earth amongst the shadows of other regular human beings. Doctors, the CIA, the FBI agents all know that demigods like myself must not reveal their true identity and their true superpowers because, if known, it will be far too dangerous for humanity.

If humanity knows everything — every reasoning, every answer to our existence — we would not survive. Our brain capacity will not be able to handle the information, the real truth for our existence. Well, folks, listen, I am here with a message and I will hit this message hard in your face.

Existence is a scam. We are all living in a simulation, we are equivalent to Sims characters being controlled by a bigger deity, a player of this simulation in other words. We are living in a simulation and we are all being watched and monitored by this player. Every single move, every single action and behaviour, every single thought are all controlled by this one very sick minded player. Have you ever felt like your life is too surreal, that it feels like a game? Perhaps that is due to the fact that our very existence is a game.

Once again, I forgot to eat and the hunger is starting to creep in. I did not sleep because I am protesting against life, against this very game we call life.

Game.

Our life is a game.

Game.

Our life is a simulation.

If one ever feels out of control from their mind, it is because you are not in control of your mind, someone else is controlling your mind.

No such thing, I am silently protesting. However, I believe silent protests make the biggest impact.

I surrender yet I also protest.

I believe in nothing less.

I refuse to take my medications, maybe I really am not compliant.

I refuse to anymore be a client.

Do not be indoctrinated by the system.

Do not be brainwashed anymore.

Let go, surrender and wake up. Do not sleep. This world is a simulation controlled by a deity, a group of alien organisations. The FBI agents are watching you, they are the puppets of the deity. We are slaves to this capitalistic system.

To surrender myself to my disorder is to surrender myself, to the deity that is above me. For I know surrendering to my mental health condition is to surrender to God. I like to think it is my calling. I am protesting at the moment, protesting against sleep because sleep is a concept created by humans and I am protesting against humanity because there is no way sleep is useful, perhaps somewhat, but no sleep is useless.

One person tells me that my art is too much, too aggressive but also too soft, too disconnected yet when am I ever enough and once again, I forgot to eat the whole day. I did not sleep at all because I am protesting against sleep, against humanity. Maybe a part of me is finally surrendering. The moment I surrender to my condition is the moment. I will just write down and express my thoughts because my train of thoughts are going too fast. I forgot the whole point of me writing all of this is because I wanted to say the moment I surrender to my mental health condition is the moment. No, stop, that is not what I meant. I meant to surrender myself is to surrender to the lethality of life.

Take your medications, your lithium, abilify, depakine, lorazepam…blahblahlah.

All they want is me to be stable, for me to be stable means that I surrender myself to the mass. To society. To capitalism. They want to indoctrinate me into believing that being stable is the right way, the best way, to live life. Like, hello? Ever tried being in a manic episode? People who experience manic episodes not only have superpowers, but they are demigods living on Earth amongst the shadows of other regular human beings. Doctors, the CIA, the FBI agents all know that demigods like myself must not reveal their true identity and their true superpowers because, if known, it will be far too dangerous for humanity.

If humanity knows everything — every reasoning, every answer to our existence — we would not survive. Our brain capacity will not be able to handle the information, the real truth for our existence. Well, folks, listen, I am here with a message and I will hit this message hard in your face.

Existence is a scam. We are all living in a simulation, we are equivalent to Sims characters being controlled by a bigger deity, a player of this simulation in other words. We are living in a simulation and we are all being watched and monitored by this player. Every single move, every single action and behaviour, every single thought are all controlled by this one very sick minded player. Have you ever felt like your life is too surreal, that it feels like a game? Perhaps that is due to the fact that our very existence is a game.

Once again, I forgot to eat and the hunger is starting to creep in. I did not sleep because I am protesting against life, against this very game we call life.

Game.

Our life is a game.

Game.

Our life is a simulation.

If one ever feels out of control from their mind, it is because you are not in control of your mind, someone else is controlling your mind.

No such thing, I am silently protesting. However, I believe silent protests make the biggest impact.

I surrender yet I also protest.

I believe in nothing less.

I refuse to take my medications, maybe I really am not compliant.

I refuse to anymore be a client.

Do not be indoctrinated by the system.

Do not be brainwashed anymore.

Let go, surrender and wake up. Do not sleep. This world is a simulation controlled by a deity, a group of alien organisations. The FBI agents are watching you, they are the puppets of the deity. We are slaves to this capitalistic system.

I have always viewed human connection as bizarre. A question I tend to ask myself since I was a child is how do humans connect with one another?

Now I think about my behaviour in my childhood and teenage years, I was the weird kid growing up who didn’t know how to fit in. Therefore, I had to learn how to fit in — how to be a ‘normal’ functioning human. At least, it was more so how to seem like a ‘normal’ functioning human. Growing up was rough and tough because I was constantly anxious on how to fit in with other human beings.

Be normal, act normal, don’t be weird, don’t act weird, no one will like you if you act weird.

How to be a human? How to be a normal functioning human being? How to act like a normal functioning human being?

I never had a best friend until I was a teenager as making friends for me as a kid was a difficult task, I’d rather bury myself in art and my books. I liked interacting with other humans, I had friends but I always felt awkward when interacting with other humans. Constantly feeling like I was weird and awkward, as a kid, I would spend hours studying how other humans interacted with one another, what is the norm on how to behave, what are the right things to say to other humans and what is right and what is wrong. From this, I would put what I have learned into practice and ‘masked’ my words and behaviour into fitting in with other human beings within society.

My fixation and obsession when I was a kid was on aliens, which is still carried on to my adult years. Perhaps one reason why I was obsessed with aliens and the possibility of aliens existing is because I felt, I feel, like an alien myself. I have a slight belief that I am an alien trapped in a human body. Think about it, I had to force myself to learn how to socialise with other human beings. I am a fake. Perhaps this is why I do not feel at home anywhere I go, that every place is a strange place.

I am alienated from other human beings because I am an alien trapped in a human body.

I am a stranger to planet Earth.

This life was not meant for me. Take me home where I belong.

Compared to the times I wake up regularly, I woke up relatively early today, feeling somewhat content and energised. From the outside, it seemed like a normal day. I hung out with my friends at a café, dyed my hair a pretty pink and later in the evening, I made sushi with my best friend, brother and husband. I felt nothing out of the ordinary. I felt confident, a bit too confident. I spent too much time looking at myself in the mirror today. I also had a photoshoot and did my makeup with my usual heavy eyeliner. Nothing strange. However, when dusk rolled around, my heart started to beat faster, and I should have known this was a telltale sign. The beat of time started going too fast but also, in another way, too slow. My vision became sharper, colours growing vibrant and saturated, and water tasted like sugar. The world around me started to spin, and my thoughts started to race. Yet, I still felt nothing out of the ordinary.

“Are you manic again?” asked my husband, who noticed I was distracted once again.

Hyperfixated on the curation of my Instagram feed, I exhaled on my cigarette whilst a loud, sped-up song was playing in the background. “No,” I replied promptly. “Why would I be manic?”

It did not occur to me that I could be manic again. I had not come to the realisation that I was manic because a week prior, I was in the dirt of depression, to the point I had an attempt and was hospitalised for it. While I did feel good the whole day, I thought it was nothing strange; in my head, I thought it was me getting out of depression and into stability. I should have known myself and the nature of my bipolar disorder better – that stability is a rare thing and that my bipolar being rapid cycling meant that I jump in and out of bipolar episodes faster than the norm.

I was manic – I am manic. I should have known when I slept so little but had so much energy for the day, but I was so in tune and distracted by my racing thoughts that I did not notice. I should have known when I impulsively decided to dye my hair a vibrant pink or when I decided to go a bit more extra with my make up and have a photoshoot. Perhaps I should have also known when I made hundreds of sushi rolls and decided not to eat any of it or when I changed my outfits ten times and just because I was hyperfixated on finding one specific belt for my outfit, I decided to mess up my whole closet that I have previously spent weeks cleaning.

The signs were there, but I was too carried away to realise any better. Hell, as I am typing this, I am jamming to fast-paced songs while getting distracted and dancing in my chair.

Contrary to popular beliefs, mania is more than just “feeling happy”. Due to mania, I have a heightened energy, activity, productivity and self-esteem. I also tend to be (more) impulsive (than I already am). For sure, I have a grandiose and exaggerated sudden boost of confidence, no wonder I suddenly felt gorgeous and was obsessed with looking in the mirror today. Usually, I have low self-esteem and would look at my reflection with hate. Sometimes, I suffer from psychotic symptoms when my mood gets too elevated; that is when the bugs and aliens start coming to itch at my skin and tell me that I am the chosen prophecy. For now, as long as the bugs are not there, I should not worry too much. Also, the rapid speech and racing thoughts, let us not forget that, my thoughts race super fast and as a result, I also talk super fast that I start to stutter because my mouth is not up to speed with my thoughts.

My whole life, I have always known “happiness” to be equivalent to that feeling of mania where my mood and energy are elevated, and I can do anything — with this state of mind, I feel invincible and unstoppable. I have no stop button. I can make one impulsive decision after another, and other people can try to stop me, but I will always find a way to get myself to do it. I can spend days without sleeping during mania and still have a lot of energy to function during the day and do a lot of activities. It feels amazing. Why would you not want to have an exaggerated energy where you can do anything you want? I can spend ten hours studying and researching without getting tired or even polish my house till the last hint of dirt is gone without feeling a hint of fatigue.

If one experiences this state of mind, why would you otherwise not want to be in it forever? It is pleasurable and addictive.

However, I know that this is all an illusion.

What can be concerning about my bipolar episodes, such as my mania and depression, is that they can last for a minimum of a week and can go on for months. This can feel dangerous because it feels like I will be in this state forever. For instance, when I am manic, I do not want it to end, and it feels super amazing to the point where I would purposely trigger myself to get my mood more elevated and with depression, I have found comfort in it that it feels like a layer of warm yet painful blanket hugging me that sometimes I would also purposely make myself more depressed. Despite people thinking that bipolar mood swings fast within a day, from my personal experience, bipolar mood swings do not swing fast for sure.

Also, during my hangout with my friends, I realised that having constant thoughts of secret cults, such as the Illuminati watching every step you take, is not normal. Huh, who would have thought? I guess I know what to tell my therapist the next time I see her.

I do not know where I am going with this, I feel everything I have written is out of place. It is now almost midnight, I will try to sleep in a bit. Maybe I will succeed, maybe I will fail to sleep – I will find out sooner or later. Oh, I also need to pee.

I am rambling too much. This is the last sentence I am writing for today.