Bipolar disorder, also known as manic-depressive illness, is a mental health disorder that is identified by the severe highs (known as mania) and lows (known as depression) in mood, affecting and causing changes in sleep, energy, cognition and thinking, and behaviour. There are two types of bipolar, type one and two, that are distinguished by the severity of the opposing moods. Those diagnosed with type two, like me, suffer only moderate highs called hypomania, though both mania and hypomania feature symptoms such as irritability, reckless behaviour(s), and risky, impulsive decision-making. Most people with bipolar disorder spend more time dealing with depressive moods than manic or hypomanic symptoms, but it can be debilitating when enduring symptoms of either of the two "poles". The time between the peaks in mood swings is relatively normal for those living with bipolar, which can lead others around the diagnosed to doubt or become frustrated with their seeming on-again-off-again attitude. There is no definitive cause for bipolar - though genes, stress, and brain changes are all considered factors. There is no limitation to those who may be and can be affected by it. Bipolar disorder is usually triggered in adolescence/young adulthood and can be hereditary in families. While both men and women are equally likely to become affected by it, women are more likely to experience rapid cycling (four or more mood episodes within a year) and also, on average, spend more time in depressive states than male counterparts. Many people with the condition abuse alcohol or other drugs when manic or depressed, though this is more prevalent with men, while others also have a significant change (either an increase or decrease) in their sex drive and sexual decisions overall. People with bipolar disorder are more likely to have seasonal depression, co-existing anxiety disorders, post-traumatic stress disorder, and obsessive-compulsive disorder.
I'm sitting on my bed, breathing in my last cigarette and all I can do while sitting there is count the stars.
His shirt smells of cheap cologne and his breath smells like beer – reeking of a bad idea – but when he turns to leer at you, you hold your breath and smile. You know what to do, the way to flick your hair and laugh even when he isn't funny, and he almost never is. He’s never really much of anything at all, and maybe that’s why you go to him, because you’re not really anything at all, either. You watch as his he shifts closer to you, reaches out towards you. In his hand is some fruity drink, more alcohol than juice, but instead of taking it, you lean in and kiss him.