Yes, all of the nonsense in that title will end up in an illustration. It is a very difficult thing to explain, this disease. Illustrations help, but they can't really pinpoint the feelings.
You can explain to someone what it feels like to ride a rollercoaster, but you can't actually convey how the fear of the climb up the first hill whips into elation when you come hurtling back down (hopefully still in the coaster car), or that lift and fall in your stomach. It just has to be experienced. I'm a coaster junkie, in case it wasn't clear. I live 45 minutes from Cedar Point. Haha! Your envy, though understandable, is not very attractive. All splayed out all over your face like that. Making you all redfaced and jealous. Hehe.
Likewise with describing the feeling of putting the sweetspot on the ball and launching it over the fence for a homerun. Or sex...I'm not. Not going beyond that. People who know me'n Lydia (and have read my romance) know I should stop now. But it's true. You cannot accurately convey the surge of endorphins or the...
The dirtiest part of that sentence was the ellipsis. I deleted about six lines there, so be thankful.
*Rambling ends and post begins here.
Anyway. Most of the actual feelings that bipolar induces are the same way. Though not to the same extent, people get depressed and can understand the sadness aspect of it. People get anxiety. People feel that certain situations are hopeless. People feel really happy and confident.
The best way I can explain people, and how we see them, is to reference "regular" depression. I've often said that there are times where I view the world through a museum case; the world has a literal glossy veneer over it, and people are just kind of moving around in it. That is largely controlled now by all the meds I'm on. But people still are kind of not real to me.
It's like when a relative dies. You're sad. You're numb. Angry. Hurt. The people you pass on the highway aren't real. You flow amongst the traffic, merging, keeping speed. You still have to drive, to function, but you don't notice individual cars or the people within. Even how they're driving.
Your coworkers aren't really there. The woman at the store. Friends who come by to visit--they're all kind of swallowed in this numbing sadness.
Sure you function and interact, but it's all perfunctory. People say things, you respond. Phone rings, you pick it up. Get hungry, you eat. But there's little emotion over that when hammered into a deep depression. If you can get into public to interact at all.
Conversely, being manic is like that last week of school. Or 30 minutes to getting off work for the weekend. You're nice to people you normally aren't, not much bothers you, and the pile of work can wait until Monday. Your responses are chipper and sarcastic, joking. Again, people aren't really distinct entities. More like objects and responses and conversations overshadowed by the happiness of going home.
Even now with the medications, I feel like one or the other--depending on my mood--about people nearly all the time. I'm pretty much devoid of anger or empathy or compassion or even recognition of the people around me, except family. And even they slip in and out of real.
We all feel like that from time to time, but my body won't let me feel otherwise.
Did any of that make sense?
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It made sense to me. At least somewhat. I couldn't ever understand from the inside, but that helps to have an idea of what goes on inside the head of someone with bipolar and a better idea of someone with severe depression.
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