The Hydra Beneath The Shell

It seems like the less work I have left on my desk when I leave work on Friday, the more work shows up over the weekend, so that on Monday my desk is a pile of things and I barely know where to start.

No, this isn't a bad thing - in fact, I love having this much stuff to do regularly (even as I blog on my lunch break). But it does occasionally lend itself to that thought of "Wait, what? Wasn't I done?" Usually I can shake that off, but I live with a little monkey on my back called bipolar disorder, and every now and then all the positive thinking in the world can't stop my mind from spiraling down into a depressive phase. Now that I think of it, its' more like a 2-headed hydra than a monkey. And it isn't on my back - I do my best to keep it hidden under a shell.

I can always tell when my mood shifts. The first time I notice myself wanting to curse at the cat rather than pet him when he rubs up against me is a good indicator. Also feeling overwhelmed by mundane, every-day things like cleaning my desk or doing dishes is a good signal that my mind has flip-flopped into it's negative counterpart. I have to guard against this! If I allow my negativity to overwhelm me in my day to day life, it will be even longer before I get that wonderful flip back to the positive side of my personality.

I'm lucky in that I sit on the positive side of my disorder for long periods - or I teeter on the edge between my negative and positive sides, and a tiny shove in either direction can send me into a depression spiral or a manic spike.

I've always been good at projecting an outer appearance of calm. To the point that when either of my disorder's ugly heads rear past that projected appearance, people around me are thrown off and shocked. See, my depressive side has a nasty temper. I've shouted things I didn't mean, attacked people who were only trying to help me, figuratively hit below the belt with things they've told me in confidence that I'm now throwing out into a public conversation specifically to hurt them. I become, to put it mildly, a serious bitch.

The other side of the coin can be just as bad, but in a different way. At the height of my manic phases, I find myself singing aloud while sitting at my desk at work, bouncing in my chair like a hyperactive five-year-old, greeting everyone who happens to so much as walk past me with an excited, "HI!", and perhaps the worst - being 100% completely blind to the emotional states of those around me. I'm so happy and up that how could they NOT be?! This has caused several arguments with coworkers - and I'll tell you, nothing will make my hydra's heads flip flop faster than an argument or a reprimand.

It may not be a physically manifesting disease, but bipolar is very real and just as much of a struggle as other illnesses. My aunt killed herself at the age of sixty-one. She was bipolar. The note she left indicated she believed herself not to be worth anything. At my worst, I've felt the stirrings of those kinds of feelings, and it frightened me. Bipolar can be a killer. Everyone with it must be vigilant at all times for what head is raised, and do their best to keep the monster beneath a shell of outward appearance when in work situations.

I use Rescue Remedy to calm myself when my depression spirals into anger or panic, and meditation to bring myself down from the high of a manic phase. Every day I walk the line, trying not to bounce too high or fall too low. But the reality is that no one can completely control their minds...and I do fail. And all I can do then is say, far too often...

I'm so sorry.