Bipolar II disorder is a bipolar spectrum disorder characterized by at least one episode of hypomania lasting a minimum one week, and at least one episode of major depression lasting three months or more. Like our unique finger prints and eye colors, our brains are all different. No one will fit all of the exact diagnostic text book criteria.
There are 3 voices in my head; the dark emptiness, the hopeful euphoria, and mine. Sometimes we can work together, but most times we are trying to destroy one another. The emptiness is only satisfied when I'm triggered and on the verge of suicide or in a constant lust for death and destruction. The hopeful euphoria is never satisfied always wanting more, never feeling fulfilled. She constantly searches for opportunities to exploit, control, or manipulate others for my "benefit." As for me, I'm driven by these two forces. Only seeking to find some sort of balance between my highs and lows; focusing on achieving my personal goals, dreams, and the person I aspire to be.
It starts with a sleepless night. I roll out of bed several hours too early to a world still sound asleep. I start the coffee pot and pretend that it's not 3am. I wait several hours to go to school and pass the time by listening to music. Something is different. The music feels like honey to my ears. I can't get enough of it. I'm dancing around my kitchen and laughing hysterically at nothing in particular. Life could not be more satisfying. I pass many days like this, sleep slowly becoming more foreign to me. Euphoria becomes the only thing I feel. My desires for everything are so high, as are my senses. I crave beauty and must have it. Beautiful clothes, beautiful shoes, and beautiful men. I feel sexy and intelligent and I know anything I want I can have. The world becomes my playground. Weeks fly by and now I'm sleeping maybe two hours per night. The hallucinations begin. At first they are nothing, fleeting objects out of the corner of my eye. But rather quickly my brain starts to bring to life a personal hell. Men with knifes around every corner, polar bears in my yard and the ground slithers beneath my feet like snakes. I hear running water and bangs and pops that never happen. The world that was so intoxicating a few days ago is now hell on earth. I haven't slept in four days and I know they are coming for me. They aren't my real family, they are imposters!
Signs of depression according to WebMD:
I was in my forties before I was diagnosed bipolar. I didn't really know what that term meant, and I didn't care as long as the craziness stopped.
Depression. It climbs on top of me with an agenda: suffocate and deplete.
The table was grimy, covered in years of spilled coffee and cigarette ash, the hand-made doilies my stepmother had laid out making the edges between clean and filth stand out garishly. It was late, but summer in Norway means that there was light coming into the windows even at half-past two in the morning. Across from me was a chain-smoking man with my nose and dark hair, slack faced and glazed over with either fatigue or nicotine; it didn't seem possible to tell which. My stepmother hovered just outside the door to the area that served as dining, living, and occasional guest room in the tiny European house and my half-brother who was just a few months past seven years old was asleep upstairs. As my father smoked one cigarette after another, sometimes lighting the next before the first was fully finished, I tried to find my words, to put what had happened into the air between us.
The Greek god Hermes was a trickster. He stole his half-brother Apollo’s beautiful herd of cows on the day of his birth after sprinting away from his mother Maia who had turned her back for less than an instant.