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Reaching the end of a very long rope

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I am a very patient and controlled person. I don't really get angry, I don't lash out at people. I have learned a kind of "zen" in the last couple of years that helps me to allow the crap of the every day just kind of slide right off of me most of the time.  I gave up meds months and months ago and actually feel better for it.

Control is my key. Even when I first walked into a pdoc's office and told him I was BPII. He evaluated me, treated me and remarked I was the most controlled and functioning BP he had ever seen. Almost 40 (at the time) working multiple jobs, doing volunteer work and other things and walking in complaining of a little depression and fast talking.

Control. I don't let others opinions affect how I see myself. I don't let other people's need to argue become my own. If i begin to feel anger or rage, I stop and remind myself that these emotions are dangerous and non productive.

And in one day I feel like I could throw all of that away. So many ways to trigger me in just 24 hours. The return of some horrible thoughts that came so close to killing me not so long ago.


You know what? I can write. But what can I write? I can express hell on paper. I can take a person's deepest and intimate psychosis and turn it into a story. I can take your most disturbing nightmare and make it rhyme. I can make suicide seem like an artistic beautiful way to go.

I write. What I write I want to share. However, the people I may safely share it with will never understand and are scared. The people who understand may be endangered by the draw of it. There are times my words frighten me. I sometimes fear what they may do to others with less control than mine.

But control does not mean that I will never snap. It merely means that I will do so with planning and creativity. It does not mean that my passing will be spectacular or memorable. Quite the opposite. In order to keep from ruining anyone, my passing would be quiet and unobtrusive. Someday someone might lift there head and ask, " What happened to ????".  Then they will shrug and continue on.

I control myself into a robot. I take care of others feelings until no one knows I exist. I write despair personified.

The world is no longer a fit place for human beings. At least not the beautiful beings we dream ourselves to be. There are no more great prophets. We kill them before their wisdom can check our greed.

I wish to move on but I may not. A great songwriter once said, " Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." I have responsibility, therefore I am not free. I am not free to be free.

vent over


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Almost 40 (at the time) working multiple jobs, doing volunteer work and other things and walking in complaining of a little depression and fast talking.

Sounds manic to me!

Not really sure what to say, other than that there are some pretty strong suicidal feelings contained in your post.  There is another thread somewhere here about keeping your "sane face" on, and it sounds like you do that to the extreme (just my opinion of course).  I'm glad that you have your writing as an outlet, but sometimes that degree of introspection can be damaging.  Even your "rant", as you called it, just radiates excessive control.  It's almost healthier to go the route of fidget and throw a couch out the house - at least there's a physical, outward manifestation of that rage.  I'm tempted to encourage you to go to a primal scream workshop or something similar ;)   Seriously, I wish you well, and apologise for not having any grand words of wisdom.

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Indeed there are great prophets... there's just too dammed many people on this planet to weed out before you get to them.

I envy your ability to control.  I am your exact opposite... drugged to the gills and let every little cross-eyed look get to me to the point of severe self-hatred.  However, I must agree that your lifestyle seems extremely high functioning peppered with an undercurrent of rage.  How long can control hold it back before you blow?  Please tell me you don't work in a post office (sorry, bad joke).

The very word "control" frightens me a bit.  The Zen part, however, sounds very good, but is it part of the control bit?  Do you need to control other urges in order to stay Zen?

If not, I would certainly like a lesson from you in how to let others opinions and comments slide off me.

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Your post reminded me of my feelings when I'm manic.  It's a fine line between

total control and total chaos.  You really have a way with words Ciirrus.  Keep

writing if it helps, it can be very cathartic.  Take care of yourself!

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Cirrus welcome!

Your post has a very interesting perspective. I think a lot of us wish that we could will our behaviour and emotional side into control. I know I get into situations and my emotion just starts to carry away.  I think I can talk myself back to a calmer more reasonable demeanor, but it doesn't work.  sigh..

You've generated a bit of interest, and I think all the comments are meant in a helpful way.

Please feel free to post again, including your stories. If you want to start an extended personal thread (other than specifically on bipolar issues here) the Springer Board is the best place.

Cheers,  A.M.

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Thanks for the great replies.

My need to vent does not come often. I do not vent like many others. Even in my tirades I wish to make sense.

I have looked hard at my BP and found that it has barely affected my life or it has changed it completely. I am completely functional until I am triggered. However, once triggered I seem to plunge for awhile.

I often wonder how I survived my teen years. Life was one constant trigger back then. A couple of points in my early twenties I can now look back on and see the cycles. The end of my marriage sent me into a decade long plunge. I literally lost my thirties with that one.

And the last one almost killed me. I remember the shock I felt  (trigger for SI, skip if you can) when I found myself bleeding from self administered wounds a couple of years ago.

I thought I had not done that since I was a teenager, but the more I thought about it I realized I had done some of the same when I knew my wife would be leaving me.  There was also that time I spent homeless on the streets when I did not have to. I believe that was much the same thing.

Still, this last trigger and the cycling that came with it nearly killed me. I can remember having to fight my own thoughts to stay alive. I knew then that I was in trouble. Went to the doctor. She gave me Paxil. It felt wrong and I quit it. Thank goodness. Finally figured it out on my own and started meds. (Lamictal and eventually Welbutrin).

In some ways they helped and in others they made me worse. One ambulance called, 3 hours in emergency and another six in psych ward.

I began to feel better with a last med adjustment but also told my trigger to go to hell at the same time. Spent months wondering if it was the meds or the loss of trigger. Due to side effects bothering me, I quit meds. Found out it must have been the loss of trigger that made me feel better.

Now I am in control. I have to be. I live and care for another MI who is in much worse shape than I ever was. She cannot work and I do not mind that. It just means that there is never any money. She finally found a good tdoc, and we cannot afford for her to go. 

I am in a situation where I am technically MI but may not lose it. I cannot plunge into depression, I cannot fly away manic. I am depended on. I may not even complain or I may trigger my love into a deep depression or send her flying.

Therefore, this control that I have learned is something I may not let go of.

There are two different ideas at work here. The zen part has to do with knowing that I am only answerable to myself for the things I choose to do and the ways I act. If what I do in acceptable to me, then no one elses opinion can carry any weight. That is a state of mind. The control part is something different. This is not doing things I think are perfectly acceptable because they may affect someone else negatively.

I do not care what they think of me but I do care how they may act because of me.

Sounds complicated but in practice is really pretty simple. Sometimes I wish to scream and yell and cry and claw and pound at the dirt. Because of what that could do to someone else, I may not. She may tell me I do not care and I can assure her it is not true. ZEN. I do not scream and tell her she is nuts to think such things of someone who is always here for her. CONTROL.

The thing to remember that it is the practice of these two ideas that does the most to keep me alive.

I wrote this down just to write it. Sometimes it feels good just to remind myself what the results of the choices I have made are.  And it is a choice. I can choose to be an ass or I can choose to try to be a good person. I can choose to give in to the thoughts in my head or choose to sort them out and throw away the bad.

As long as I can choose, I will not be truly crazy.

That should finish my evening of self serving crap sounding like I am somehow superior. You might be surprised to learn that I would gladly give up my life to help almost anyone on this planet. To me I am a waste of space who cannot even provide happiness to others by giving all I have.

I once asked a question here. "Does anyone here know me?"

It was not a philosophical question. I met my current partner on a board much like this one and have spent time on others. Because I now live with her, I may not vent on that board because I may upset her with something I say. I asked the question because I had to know if anyone knew me from other places well enough to bother my girlfriend with something I may have written.

For now, I think I may vent here. She knows of this board but I do not think she looks in here. On the same note, she belongs to a board to which I was invited. I declined so that she could have a place to post without wondering if I was reading over her shoulder.


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I know how difficult it can be living with someone who is also MI.  My dh is

currently depressed, aggitated and anxious.  I often feel like if I let him know how

I felt he would literally fall apart.  It used to be the other way around where he was

my rock.  Now I know the enourmous amount of pressure he was under caring for

me in my darkest hours.  I've made a lot of progress in knowing myself and the

things I am capable of.  I've had to dig deep to find parts of my being that I never

knew existed.  It's been quite a journey, to say the least.  If only this disorder

could be totally controlled by willpower...

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very nice expansion on the thought.  You more than most have actually thought through the fact that although the illness affects us greatly, we are still responsible for how we act. And that how we think, influences the illness.

A pattern that I see repeated over again, is the importance of having someone or something to live for.  Whether is family, SO, a dog, pet fish, it gives us a reason to carry on, and take care of ourselves for others sake.



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