It's another day and I am alive and (mostly) well. On good days, I find beauty in the ordinary-ness of the little things that make life "go 'round." Things I might have never have noticed if I hadn't lived with bipolar disorder. This disease has given me a perception all my own of life's small experiences.
In mixed episodes (dysphoric mania) I am acutely, and maddendingly, aware of minutia. The near silent tick-tock of someone else's wri****ch can push me beyond reason. I take batteries out of clocks and unplug appliances with their deafening hums. I can't be near electronic equipment and I will fly into a rage in a retail store environment - the hum of lights, the whirs of fans, the piercing high-pitched hum of the cash registers, overwhelming footsteps, the rustle of people clothes moving as they walk, and the chafing of air moving across my skin. When I can control my rage (agitated depression), I am overwhelmed with panic. It might be days, weeks, or months before I am able to perform the most mundane errands.
In a depressed state I am oblivious to the world around me. No alarm clock can wake me from nearly constant sleep. I lay in bed, only dully aware that life continues outside of my fluffy blanket cocoon. My fiance's voice is distant and unreal, I have difficulty grasping the words he speaks. And often, I lack the energy to speak and the cognition to form a simple statement. There are no little things, only a sinking sensation of lifelessness and the unending desire to end whatever life is in me.
In a hypomanic episode I relish every moment. As my eyes dilate, the world is bright, colorful, and intense. Even cloudy days are flooded with light. I am overwhelmed by a deep sense of well-being an security. No longer plagued with anxiety I enjoy absorbing the fullness of life, the silent smells that go ignored - the essense of life. As I rush through the joy of life, conquering challenges, I drink in the sensation of being completely alive. I cannot be bothered by eating or sleeping - there is too much to do, to many things to experience, and too much work to be done. I become temporaryily spaciously and bodily aware, my reflexes are ligthening, and I move with speed and effortless grace, dodging obstacles and completely chores in jaw-dropping speed. I cook meal after meal that I don't intend to eat, just to experience the earthy experience of cooking and the hypnotizing aromas or spices and searing meat. I sew, drinking up the scents of new fabric, the oil on my old machine, and feeling the roughness of soft fabric sliding under my fingertips. Shopping is a pleasure, bright colors flood my vision, and new items beg for me to take them home. I banter with employees and random strangers, and justify my purchases as "necessities." I have new vision, a gift for seeing and recording into carefully rendered artwork. Sex enters another world as my already-heightened senses meet physical arousal, I cannot get enough, I cannot be satisfied. My continues accelerating, trying to absorb the experience of life before inevitably falling back into numb depression.
The little things and I have a dysfunctional relationship. They refuse to stay "little" or they disappear entirely. A few morning moments when the little things are just that - little and mundane - is a precious gift.
That was great tortise, right on the money. I get lots of hypomania, but even that is a tempered form of mania which i used to create so much under the influence of. Now all i ever get is hypomanic, and that is fine. But still from time to time i do miss the ability to create like i used to before.
As allways a great contribution. Thanks for sharing.