What It Really Feels Like to Live With Bipolar Disorder

There are a lot of misconceptions about bipolar disorder. Many believe this condition—which is marked by extreme mood shifts—is nothing more than a character trait. It is the sign of someone who is volatile and temperamental. Who is just plain moody.

Many assume bipolar disorder and, particularly, mania is exciting. It is glamorized in the media. Some movies and television programs show this episodic event as fun and fast-paced. Creative, provocative, and appealing. And many assume bipolar disorder is a “crazy” person’s disorder. Those living with this condition cannot possibly be functional.

But I can tell you that the stereotypes about bipolar disorder are false. Why? Because I live with bipolar disorder—and have for more than 10 years. And because of this, I have come to understand the condition intimately.

Of course, before I tell you what it’s like to live with bipolar disorder, I should tell you what bipolar disorder is. Bipolar disorder is a mood disorder. People living with it may cycle between periods of mania and periods of depression, though they can also live in stasis—meaning they do not need to be at one extreme or the other.

In fact, most individuals living with bipolar disorder are not “in crisis,” at least when they are in treatment. Instead, they live relatively “normal” lives. Most of my days look status quo. However, when I am experiencing an episode—be it a manic or depressive one—things change.

My Experience with Mania

The first time I was manic I didn’t know I was experiencing an episode. When I was 17, I was diagnosed with depression. When I was 19, anxiety was added to the mix. But bipolar disorder? That diagnosis wouldn’t come about for years—until I was nearly 30. So my first bout of mania was unrecognized, unmedicated, and unmanaged. It also nearly took my life.

I was a 20-year-old college dropout stripping for a living. (Yes, both of these decisions transpired during a short period of time—and were part of a manic mind.) I was abusing alcohol, drinking heavily every night. I was hypersexual. I would engage in said acts frequently and in very public ways. And while I was on top of the world in some ways, or so I thought, my life was spiraling. I was spiraling. 

Things came to a head one night in my husband’s dormitory when I made a decision to try to kill myself. In a manic fury, I tried to take my life. The next day would be the first time I would hear the words “bipolar disorder.” My (then) psychiatrist suggested the diagnosis. But I scoffed at it. Bipolar was something I wasn’t, I thought. I was just anxious. I was just depressed.

I stopped going to that doctor for those wondering—hence why a proper diagnosis took so long. Today, though, I embrace my diagnosis because with it comes treatment. With it, comes a plan. And with it, comes help. Embracing my diagnosis has also allowed me to understand my condition better.

For example, these days my experience with mania is much more agitated in nature. I am on edge and irritable. My temper is short. My mind races, a flurry of thoughts and ideas. I struggle to concentrate. To sit and be still. I am hypersensitive to things like lights and sounds. They become bigger, brighter, and more intense.

My speech is pressured. I talk rapidly, though I do not always make sense, and while I do experience bursts of creative energy—like many living with bipolar disorder, there is productivity during my manic phases—the dangers far outweigh the risks. I am often suicidal.

My Experience with Depression

My condition is also characterized by periods of depression. While many people know what depression is—they have seen black-and-white commercials depicting it, commercials which involve closed doors and rain; there is always rain—explaining depression isn’t as simple. Because depression isn’t just sadness. It isn’t just feeling forlorn and being withdrawn.

Depression is a sink full of unwashed dishes—or piles and piles of laundry. Depression is greasy hair and unbrushed teeth. Depression is headaches, stomachaches, backaches, and other bodily aches. It is physical and nestled deep in your bones. Depression is chronic pain. Depression is sleep-filled days and sleepless nights, and it is binge-eating or avoiding food at all costs.

Depression is feeling utterly helpless and hopeless. Even when you have everything going for you. Even when, on paper, you are on top of the world. Depression is feeling completely and totally alone. Even with your loved ones. Even in a crowded room. Depression robs you of purpose. Of passion. You lose interest in the things which once captivated you. Pleasure is all but gone. 

My Challenges

Now I should say I am fortunate. My condition is well-managed. I take medication daily and see my psychiatrist regularly. I work with my therapist frequently. We meet every week, sometimes more, and I have a solid treatment plan. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still have challenges. 

It took me more than 10 years and (nearly) as many doctors to arrive at a bipolar diagnosis—due, in part, to my initial reluctance but also due to several misdiagnoses. It took me many medications to find ones that “worked.” Full disclosure: I am still working with my psychiatrist to find the proper regimen. To get the scripts and dosing just right.

I have had multiple setbacks in the last few years, thanks to a series of unfortunate events—which also happen to be triggers for bipolar mania and depression. I find I am very sensitive to stress; sleep disturbances; blowout or blowup fights, particularly with loved ones—with close family members and friends—and other similar pressures, including those at work.

Even “good” stress can set me on a manic course, i.e. I once won a prestigious award for my writing but the level of stimulation sent my mind and body into overdrive. I quickly became overwhelmed.

How I Stay Safe and Well

The good news is I keep up with my diet and exercise, two things which—in addition to my medication–are essential to keeping me balanced.

Running, in particular, helps regulate my mood and keep me stable. I sleep eight to nine hours a night, provided I am not in the midst of a manic episode. Maintaining a regular schedule is important for those with bipolar disorder.

I stay in close contact with friends and family, checking in often and letting them know how I am really doing. I use the grounding tools I learned (and continue to learn) in therapy. Sometimes I practice mindful breathing. Other times I grab and hold onto ice. And, most importantly, I have a safety plan—one I can implement if and when things go awry.

Final Thoughts

These things are not foolproof, of course. I have had breakthrough episodes—one this year—and external stressors and pressures, including the death of several family members have challenged me.

Before treatment, my moods would swing wildly—from one extreme to the other. Before treatment, I struggled: with friendships, relationships, my educational career, and jobs. And before treatment, I felt hopeless. I was drowning, literally and figuratively—in booze, bathtubs, and my own mind. As I mentioned, I am a college dropout. I also failed to hold down retail jobs, waitressing jobs, and office jobs. There was no balance. I was incapable of caring for myself.  

So while getting a bipolar diagnosis may be scary, know it is not the end of the world. Rather, it is just the beginning. Because with a diagnosis comes promise. With a diagnosis, comes potential. And with a diagnosis, comes help and hope.