Is it true? (The part about me having no friends.) Let’s see. I went to a party last night. I’m having dinner with a girlfriend tonight. I have a boyfriend, and I’d consider him my best friend. Lest you consider those things boasting on my part, don’t get me wrong: I feel terrible right now. I feel hypercritical about my life. Last night, at this party, all I could think about was how I had nothing to say, really, which of course hindered my ability to have anything interesting to say, and about how no one was really interested in talking to me.

Today, all I’ve focused on is how, lately, I’m the one who initiates contact with my friends. This must be indicative of the fact that no one really likes me. Naturally.

And the thing is this: I know the thoughts are ridiculous. I really do. But I feel them nonetheless. It’s a sadness that weighs me down. All I can do is tell myself that the negativity is induced by chemicals, by the bad weather, by god knows what else, and remember how truly grateful I am for my friends and for my family.

Even if I can’t–or don’t–experience gratitude as fully as I would like to all the time.

That said, I spend a lot of time by myself. It’s sacred time, and I worry a bit about losing it. When I was a kid, my mother used to describe me as “independent,” because I liked to be in my room, by myself: reading, playing, organizing my drawers. In the reassuring quiet of no television, no computer, no music, no phone, I feel calm. And I need these moments free from all of the stimulation to really wind down my brain. My boyfriend understands this, and he and I have similar values (i.e. no television in the bedroom… seems like a small thing, but I can’t do TV in bed, unless it’s a special hotel treat!) regarding technology in our relationship. I know people who are constantly tweeting, blogging, facebooking. Of course, there are days–mostly more hypomanic ones–when I get wrapped up in all of that, and then, like a ticking twitter feed, just as my mind can’t focus on any given thought, more and more tabs pop up on my browser.

Thoreau said, “Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify, simplify.” That’s easier said than done in this age of the internet, but it’s a noble pursuit. The moments we will most remember will be human moments, not cyber moments.

What this all has to do with bipolar disorder? Who knows. But it’s on my bipolar mind today.

I am simply content.

It’s something to note, and to work on, I guess.  I wonder if other people have this same experience?

And, since it’s on my mind, I should note here how grateful I am to have a job, especially in light of the incredible OWS movement shedding light on all of the people willing to take a stand against our broken system. Talk about focused energy. While the internet has helped magnify and enable this protest, nothing can replace people taking over a physical space. It means coming out from behind the matrix of these monitors and actually doing something. I know that we do get something accomplished here on the internet, but sometimes it does feel like it’s essential to step away from the pixels before you can really make a point.

But I think it’s more complicated than that. There’s also a stigma attached to depression, but people talk about depression. There’s a stigma attached to therapy, but people talk about therapy too. The problem with bipolar disorder, I think, is that it is so often associated with extremes: suicide, insanity, the complete inability to function. Those of us who have found our way and learned to manage the disease have little in common with the misinformed image that ‘she’s bipolar’ conjures in people’s mind. We have jobs. We have families. We have friends who know we’re bipolar and have said to us something like, “I would have never thought  YOU were bipolar.” That’s because a bipolar person rarely resembles the bipolar portrait painted by the media or our collective consciousness. Unfortunately, none of us singlehandedly has the ammunition to attempt to defeat that misperception unless we are so established in our careers that we don’t have to worry about misperceptions pigeon-holing us at work or in our communities.

That said, I admire anyone who has “come out of the bipolar closet.” I so worship Carrie Fischer and any other blogger or activist who has taken the leap to tell the world he/she is bipolar. But it’s rare.

I was so excited, for this reason, to click on what I thought was a video of actress Debi Mazer talking about her bipolar disorder. Instead, the actress is talking about the plight of a family member. While I admire Mazer’s good intentions, what I dislike about this set up is the faceless family-member-off-camera seemingly bat shit crazy and not as successful as her actress relative. It perpetuates the myth that we are people who should stay quiet and off camera. In trying to raise consciousness about bipolar disorder, I think Mazer and other non-bipolar celebrities like her perpetuate a stereotype of the burdened family who must take care of the mentally ill. Even if, at rock bottom, a bipolar patient does need to be cared for–is this not true of a cancer patient? Or a diabetes patient? The more strong, powerful voices we have of people who, like me, live healthy lives with bipolar disorder, the more hope we give to those just receiving a diagnosis, and the more we diffuse the stereotypes that perpetuate false stigmas.

I do know what I need to do to control it: do not, under any circumstances, go into a store.  Before I arrived at Club Monaco today, I convinced myself I was just going to browse.  But hypomanic me does not browse.  She buys.

When I feel depressed, I have an overwhelming sensation that I just don’t matter.  I can’t believe that I’m in my 30s and I’ve ‘done nothing’ with my life. Today is one of those days. Other days, I know, I will feel as if I did accomplish something with getting a graduate degree and with other successes in my life/career, no matter how relatively small they may be. But today, all I can think about is the things I haven’t done. The stories I haven’t finished writing. The photos I haven’t taken.  I start to feel sorry for myself and then angry with myself.

I was so depressed November/December. Before that I was hypomanic. A few weeks ago, I thought I was getting hypomanic again, but now this.  Going off the Seroquel last week was maybe a bad idea.  My doctor let me, but she also said it probably wasn’t the best time to rock the boat when I was doing so well. Now, as I sit here feeling so stupidly sorry for myself, I think I agree with her.

If you take good care of yourself, then you will be able to manage your medications and your moods. It may get tough–very tough–at times. But contrary to some of the articles I see published time and again about bipolar folks and suicide, it is possible to live a normal, healthy life with this disease.  I am living proof of this, and I know I’m not the only person walking around who can say, “I have bipolar disorder but I’m also healthy.”

However, I have had some doctors who have been entirely unsympathetic to my desire to not gain weight from my medications. One doctor actually said to me, “I would like to see you ten pounds heavier,” as if his opinion about my body were relevant to the conversation.

Other doctors–my current doctor included–have realized that weight gain does is not inevitable for everyone.  I have managed to adjust my medication, taking 100 mg of Topomax, to counteract the Depakote weight gain (something that works for me… not for everyone!)

My point here is: it’s important for doctors to help us mitigate side effects as much as possible.  It’s bad enough to know that we will need to take medication, most likely, for life.  We need to therefore know that our doctors are working with us to find meds that have the fewest side effects possible.

Some antispychotics, like Zyprexa, have actually led to diabetes, and thankfully, law suits that have brought the issue to light. Medication should not cause illness.

My whole life, I have struggled with the mornings.  But I do think that even this small a dosage of Seroquel induces a little Seroquel-hangover in me.  So I am going to not take it tonight and see what happens.

Note: I realize that this post contradicts a post I wrote a few posts ago that embraced sleep as medicine. I do believe this to be true. But I also am a victim of societal pressures, still.  I don’t want to sleep so much that I feel lazy.  If I could get just 9 hours and not OVER 9 hours (I slept 9 hours and 45 minutes last night!!), I think I would be OK with myself.