How mania helped me survive grad school.
Sometimes, I miss my mania.
I have type two bipolar disorder, or bipolar ii, which means my manic phases are actually hypomanic. I feel elated, I have tons of creative ideas, my synapses fire brightly, and the glorious world spins with me. I don’t worry about hallucinations and grandiose thinking, and I don’t spend my family into thousands of dollars’ worth of debt. Twenties of dollars’ worth of debt is my M.O. Bipolar ii means my depressed states are deeper than traditional bipolar, however, so there’s an unfortunate trade off. But hypomania can be a literal joy... until the crash.
I started grad school the year before diagnosis, and I was still in school when everything fell apart, which might surprise some of the people who knew me then. Well, I stood and yelled at a classmate because we disagreed strongly over Oprah’s influence on poetry, but that was a one-time thing. I wrapped my identity in being a student, and I struggled to keep myself together enough to attend classes. I refused to let anyone, including bipolar disorder, take school from me to my own detriment.
Perversely, bipolar disorder helped me survive grad school. I worked as a research assistant twenty hours a week, I carried a full credit load, I had a family to care for, and one year in, I started teaching. All filled long days, but instead of collapsing from exhaustion each night, I’d sit at the computer, energized, composing mania-driven essays. I’d work until 2:00 AM trying to capture the ideas buzzing in my head. In the morning, I’d look over the previous night’s work and revise until everything made sense. Other times, I’d trust the process and submit my first draft.
School wasn’t easy, but I thrived with mania’s rush. My creative, manic-fueled ideas were rewarded with a great g.p.a., and really intelligent people whom I admire said nice things about me and my work. I know I’m smart and creative outside my disorder, and I know I couldn’t have fooled my perceptive and experienced instructors, but I believed mania made me better.
It was a lie.
Mania is not always colorful and lively. Instead, it manifests in irritation and anger, where I yell over the littlest or imagined infraction. Other times, I experience sensory overload. Life becomes too bright, loud, and fast. Anyone who gets in my way or touches me sets me off. Imagine three young boys who run and jump and yell and want to hug their manic momma, only to have her scream at them. It took a lot of talking with JC and praying before I could release that guilt.
Mania also looks like irresponsible behavior, such as promiscuity. I haven’t had problems with that, thank God, but it damages many who suffer from bipolar. Drug and alcohol abuse are common. Due to my family history, I already have a predisposition towards drug and alcohol addiction. I’ve always avoided illegal drugs, and medication and alcohol are unmixy things anyway.
Even with the negative effects, mania continues to allure me. When I get lost in this dangerous thinking, JC reminds me how my untreated manic phases led to suicidal thoughts. I don’t skip med doses to induce mania, and I try to protect myself against its appearance, knowing depression will follow. Thankfully, JC has a better barometer for my phases when I can’t see outside of myself.
But the temptation exists, and I fight, sometimes daily, against it.