Living with bipolar is a real roller coaster, especially when I start talking about it and see how people react. So, let’s take a look at my life leading up to the diagnosis of bipolar I affective disorder, predominantly manic features with psychosis, which I got in 2020—yeah, it’s a bit of a mouthful!
I was diagnosed in 2020, but it all began much earlier. As a teenager, I was first diagnosed with standard depression. Then in my early 20s, the doctors thought maybe I had cyclothymia (or “baby bipolar,” as I like to call it). By 26, the idea of me having bipolar II came up, but I didn’t get any kind of treatment until I was officially diagnosed with bipolar I in 2020.
It’s wild to think that it took nearly 10 years after my very first manic episode to get that diagnosis. I was 35 when it finally happened, and while it shocked a lot of people around me, I kind of suspected I had bipolar by that time. My life was really spiraling due to substance misuse and mental health issues. Once I stepped away from addiction, I began to better understand my mental health. So when the diagnosis finally came, I wasn’t really surprised.
However, a lot of people around me were taken aback. There’s a massive misunderstanding about what bipolar actually is. Society often has this warped view, assuming someone with bipolar is just “crazy” and not functioning, which isn’t true at all. Sure, I admit I can be a bit wild sometimes, and I’m okay with that, but it’s different from the stereotypical image people have. Some folks even think anyone with bipolar should be locked away—which is just plain wrong.
It’s frustrating because when people hear about my diagnosis, it’s almost like they think I’m less worthy or something. I remember telling a close family member about my diagnosis, and their response was, “No, you don’t.” I mean, really? I’m not sure where they earned their psychiatry degree! That’s just one example of the stigma surrounding bipolar disorder.
People see me laughing, chatting, and functioning well, so they can’t seem to grasp the diagnosis. I wasn’t even working at the time, but I was still capable. I don’t look like the typical “basket case” people expect someone with bipolar to be.
The reason I really wanted to discuss bipolar is because it’s a huge source of stigma in my life. I’ve dealt with judgment about it, but oddly enough, it’s also what leads people to reach out to me in private. They think they might have it, or they know they do, or they sense a manic episode approaching and come to me for advice. I’m not a doctor, but I can share my lived experience, which might help others understand what a depressive episode looks like, for instance. That’s why I’m eager to talk about this—I want people to know what bipolar really is.
As for my daily life—it honestly starts at night when I take my medication and then go to sleep. Most days, I wake up feeling stable, and that stability can last for months at a time.
Imagine a straight line representing “normal.” Someone without a mood disorder stays pretty close to that line. For me, with treated bipolar, it’s like a wave that goes up and down along that line. I still experience episodes of mania, hypomania, and depression, but they’re not nearly as severe as when I’m not medicated.
I’ve picked up a way to explain bipolar that I totally stole from a comedian on TikTok (sorry to that guy, I can’t remember his name!). He describes it perfectly: “You either want to die, but you can’t be bothered, or you think you can’t die—you’re invincible.” That really captures the difference between depression and mania for me.
In my experience, I stay pretty level for about 70% of the time, maybe even more when things are going nicely. But there are definitely triggers that can set off my bipolar, especially unexpected changes or high-stress situations. Stress is probably my biggest trigger, and it’s not good for me at all. So, I make an effort to avoid anything that causes stress or makes me feel insecure. When I start feeling uneasy, that stress can send me toward mania.
Now, mania can actually feel fun for a while—at least at first. I start with a bit of hypomania, but it gets tricky. I have both ADHD and bipolar, which means I’m already pretty hyperactive. My partner Bree and I even have a daily hyperactivity scale to keep track of things. It’s a 1-10 scale: on a normal day with my ADHD, I’m at a 5 out of 10. If I hit hypomania, I’m up to a 7 or 8, and once full-blown mania sets in, I’m skyrocketing to a 10 to 15.
When I’m hypomanic, everything seems amazing. Bree could be wearing that same hoodie she’s had for ages, and suddenly, I think she looks incredible in it. The grass outside? Stunning! Life feels perfect, and I’m convinced that nothing is wrong.
But here’s the catch—when I start to hit that hypomanic phase, I begin stimming. This is Bree’s first clue that I’m heading toward hypomania. Stimming can look different for everyone. For me, it starts when I’m around a 5 to 7 on the hyperactivity scale. I’ll begin humming, swallowing loudly, or clearing my throat—it’s just repetitive sounds that can drive Bree batty. It’s not a melody, just my body’s way of releasing energy. I also sniff a lot, which annoys her too, but I genuinely can’t help it during that phase.
This stimming is one of the first signs that my mood is shifting.
So when I’m humming and making those repetitive noises, Bree knows something’s up. She’s become my canary in the coal mine. As soon as I start stimming, she’ll say, “Honey, you’re hitting a seven. Maybe we should chill out a bit, take some meds, or just breathe.”
The tricky part is catching it before it escalates into full-blown mania. If I miss that window, things can get out of control fast. We’re talking no sleep for three or four nights. And when I say no sleep, I mean zero sleep. It’s like I’m running on a never-ending battery. Bree will wake up, and I’ll have already done all the laundry, cleaned the kitchen, read a stack of research papers, or even started a side business—this has actually happened multiple times!
While hypomania can feel amazing—like I’m invincible and everything is perfect—it’s a dangerous tightrope. If I don’t manage it, it easily spirals into full-blown mania, which isn’t as great as it sounds. Balance is key—knowing when to ride the wave and when to step back. It’s an insane ride, but hey, it’s my ride, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Looking back, I realize I was stuck in a cycle where the highs of mania and the euphoric highs from substances fed into each other, creating a whirlwind that was tough to escape. During those manic episodes, my judgment was clouded, and I was blind to the long-term consequences of my actions. I lived in the moment, chasing that high without thinking about the toll it would take on my life and relationships.
Over time, my manic episodes really ramped up, and the fallout was pretty harsh. I’d hit these grand highs, thinking I could conquer the world, but then I’d make some impulsive choices that I’d kick myself for later. And man, those crashes? They were rough, dragging me down into deep depressions where finding hope or purpose felt like a total struggle.
It took a lot of soul-searching and getting some professional help to finally get a handle on the patterns and triggers tied to my bipolar disorder. With therapy and a solid support system from my loved ones, I started to see how important it was to manage my condition and pick up better coping mechanisms. It turned into this whole journey of trying to balance the highs and lows, hunting for some stability amid all the chaos, and rebuilding my life with a fresh outlook and acceptance of the mental health bumps along the road.
Dealing with bipolar disorder is like riding a wild rollercoaster—you go from the crazy highs of mania straight down to the lows of depression. As my meds got adjusted, I noticed some changes. At first, the higher dose of antidepressants helped smooth things out during my down phases, making the daily grind a bit easier. But those manic phases? Still kept me guessing; they were intense and unpredictable.
When I was in those manic spells, my behavior would go totally haywire. I’d find myself acting on impulse, making these huge plans, jumping into projects with all this excitement, only to ditch them just as fast. There were also some bizarre situations I’d stumble into that were just hard to explain once the mania subsided. It felt like I was on this never-ending hyperdrive, only to crash and feel completely wiped out.
To gain some control, I started seeking support from different places. Therapy became my lifesaver, a safe space to process everything and fine-tune my coping skills. I also dove into learning about bipolar disorder—realized it was just part of who I am, something that deserved my attention and care.
Even with all the craziness, I found solace in those little victories—like on days when I felt more balanced or in moments when I could actually engage with life without the looming cloud of mania or depression. I figured out how crucial it was to reach out to my support crew: friends and family who help keep me grounded when things get tough. This journey has been anything but easy, but I’m choosing to hold onto hope, focusing more on progress than chasing after perfection.
Managing bipolar disorder is no joke, especially with those wild swings from mania to depression. It takes a ton of vigilance and a solid support network to keep things in check. Yeah, meds play a key role in softening those mood swings, but they aren’t the be-all and end-all. That sudden drop from feeling invincible to hitting rock bottom? It can really throw you for a loop.
Having a support network is super important, like someone understanding like Bree, who can swoop in when things get dicey. Keep chatting with your docs, too, to tweak treatment plans as needed. While meds might feel kind of boring, they’re an essential piece of the puzzle for managing everything.
Getting into regular therapy and piling up on coping strategies? Game-changer, for sure. Life loves throwing those curveballs, but with the right tools and support, it’s way easier to handle. And hey, remember it’s totally cool to ask for help and lean on those around you—mental health is all about the journey, not just a destination.
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