How Much Information Should I Share?

 I have debated about this for several weeks.  I would like to share more about who I am and what I am going through.  I would prefer to share videos of my experience rather than write about them.  Unfortunately, doing so could potentially ruin my career.  Sharing who I am could jeopardize everything I have worked for, which is a shame.  I still have to wear a mask in a way.  I hate hiding who I am and my struggles with mental health.

 Talking openly about mental health is still taboo to an extent.  We read about athletes and celebrities sharing their struggles and they are lauded as heroes.  The common man can't really do that.  We aren't seen as heroes, we're seen as weak and a potential liability.  What company wants a potentially unstable person working for them?  Athletes are private contractors, I am not.  I can't decide to withdraw from a tournament and forgo a potential purse.  I can't go into my shell for several days and hope to still have a job.  Calling in sick is the last thing on my mind when I am battling through a depressive episode.

 I would like to believe that most people within my organization would be supportive.  I do fear the perception that I am unstable or I might "go off my meds".  I suppose both of these concerns are fair.  I am unstable when I am off my meds.  I am irritable, irrational in some instances, unpredictable, and sporadic in my behavior when I am not medicated.  That version of me is intolerable for some people.  That version of me makes some people uncomfortable.  The so called "new me" is still prone to outbursts of unpredictable behavior, but they are few and far between.

 I still miss the manic episodes.  They were a welcome distraction from reality.  A journey down the path of possibilities and impossible or improbable outcomes.  The manic episodes were some of the rare times that I was a dreamer instead of doer.  I wasn't an engineer for a few days and that was a relief.  I could process information in the abstract instead of confining myself to a binary decision making process.  The high I felt is not comparable to any other natural high I have ever experienced.  I truly felt like I was unstoppable.  I felt like I could stay awake for days and still function at a high level.  I felt like I was on a different level than other people.  Not superior, but operating at a higher level.  I could use 20+ hours of a 24 hour period.  At least, I thought I was using 20+ hours.  What's not to like about that?

 In addition to the many challenges I face with my mental health, I am also a recovering alcoholic.  The term "recovering" is unfortunate, but I suppose I'll always be recovering from that addiction.  I was recently invited to a wedding.  I was agitated the entire day.  I had this nagging feeling that I wanted a drink.  I knew the temptation would be all around me.  I also knew that Ming wouldn't let it happen, but alcoholics always find a way when there is a need.  I spotted the bar the moment we walked into the venue, but resisted the temptation and opportunity.  Then we sat down at the table and there was a champagne glass in front of me.  I kept nudging it further and further away from me, but didn't flip it upside down like I should have.  Partly because I still wanted the chance at a drink, but mostly because I didn't want to raise suspicion with Ming's parents at the table.  "So...your boyfriend is a recovering alcoholic...that's nice."  I nudged the glass further away after it was filled with champagne, but I didn't stop thinking about it the rest of the night.  When I told Ming about it later, she asked why I didn't tell her.  My rationale is simple.  She or someone else won't always be there to save me from myself.  Someone won't be there to rescue or protect me.  I have to be strong enough to do that on my own.

 I haven't historically been a believer in support systems.  I never thought they were necessary.  I still feel that way to a degree.  Once I have a handle on something, I move on.  I don't look to other people to keep me honest or keep me out of trouble.  The last 6-8 months have changed my view a little bit, but I know (or at least I think) I have things under control.  I don't know what happens now if I go off my meds.  I imagine there will be some residual still in my body so I wouldn't expect an immediate reaction.  There is a part of me that is tempted to go off of them just to see what happens.  There is also a part of me that fears the worst.  What if I immediately fall into depression and don't want to go back on my meds?  What if I have a manic episode and like it too much?  I won't test those waters for now, but there may come a day that I feel I have everything under control...until I don't.

What is "Normal"?

 I get this question from people a lot.  I understand what they are asking, but I don't know how to answer the question.  I don't know what the baseline is and "normal" is very relative.  I got used to the way I behaved and just figured that was how everyone behaved.  I only recently discovered that most of my behavior and thought processes were abnormal and not generally acceptable.  I didn't think the way other people did.  I didn't act the way other people did.  I didn't see things the same way other people did.  I saw the world through a different lens.  I reached a point where I would just tell people to "take it or leave it" this is who I am.  I didn't realize there was something brewing in my brain.  I didn't know there was some sort of chemical imbalance.  I don't know why it took so long to finally manifest itself into a full blown depressive episode followed by a manic episode.

 I recently learned, inadvertently, that my highs are called manic or hypomanic episodes.  I also inadvertently discovered the difference between Bipolar 1 and Bipolar 2.  As I have stated previously, I intentionally avoided researching the disorder so my behaviors were authentic and not based on some preconceived notion.  I wanted to avoid behavior bias.

 I suppose it's fair to acknowledge when I was first exposed to BPD.  I was watching an episode of Shameless and I saw similarities between my behavior and that of two characters on the show.  I thought, "that must be miserable".  I mostly dismissed it as theatrical license.  I assumed at the time that it was dramatized for television/entertainment purposes, which it was compared to my experience (this is in hindsight).  I thought to myself, "I wonder what it's like to be around someone like that?".  Little did I know that I was that person.

 I dismissed what I had seen on Shameless until everything came to a head several months later.  I could see distinct and troubling behavior patterns that I no longer had control over.  I thought the highs were just me being super productive and having a lot of energy with hundreds of ideas about shit that was out of left field.  I would negotiate with myself during the lows and try to hide it from people.  I would brush it off as just being tired after a night of little sleep.  I never knew the cause of my poor sleep.  I just assumed it was not being comfortable or being too hot.  I felt the despair and hopelessness.  I felt the survival instincts kick in and the first thought of, "just make it through the day" enter my mind.  That was six months ago.  That episode lasted nearly two weeks.  Each day getting progressively harder to function.  Harder to even feel like I was human.  I had become feral in some ways, just relying on instinct.  I was very fortunate to not be working at the time.  I can't imagine what it would have been like to have work when I was barely holding on to reality.

 Depression doesn't work the way most people think it does.  People see a person that from all outside appearances, has it all.  I want for nothing, which is something I worked very hard to accomplish.  With depression, I am not just sad for a couple days.  I am literally telling myself to "just make it through the day."  There were a couple times that I thought, "just make it stop."  Make it go away.  I was tired of the constant struggle and fighting.  I was tired of negotiating with myself.  I was tired of the constant game going on in my head.  I couldn't see a purpose.  I kept asking myself, "why me?".  Hadn't I suffered enough?  Hadn't I already paid my dues?  Then, I realized nothing I had ever been through mattered at this moment.  "Why not me?" was a better question.  I have made it my mission to not only survive, but to thrive.  I am not my disorder.  I am not a victim.

 One of the more recent developments is the change in my emotional response to people.  I am mostly indifferent to people when I think about their death or not having them in my life.  I have no sense of loss or sadness when I think about most people.  They have become inconsequential.  I know in my gut and in my heart that I would be sad or otherwise mourn their loss, but my brain dismisses them as non-essential or unnecessary.  I shared this with Ming over the weekend and she was visibly upset.  She wouldn't admit it at first, but I picked up on the visual cue (which is abnormal for me) and persisted in asking her to communicate with me.  I knew what I said would upset her.  Frankly, it would upset most people to hear that I don't care if they live or die.  I know in my gut that is wrong, but my brain is indifferent.  There is still a disconnect there, which makes me believe the medication level isn't quite right yet.  I feel like I have leveled off just below the happy medium we have been working towards.  I will continue to document what is happening and let the week play out.

Finding the Right Dosage

 I increased the dosage from 50mg to 100mg last night.  I suspect it will be a couple days before I notice any appreciable changes.

 I noticed some changes after I increased the dosage from 25mg to 50mg, but that took about a week.  Coincidentally, that is about the time I started to spiral down for 5 days before slowly recovering.  I was functional at the lowest point, but just barely.  My brain started to suggest destructive behavior and it took every ounce of self control to resist those suggestions.  I was a bit relieved to find I still had some control.  I called these suggestions "mean" because they were mean things to do to myself and indirectly to others.  As a recovering alcoholic, there is always a risk of returning to that destructive behavior.  That seed was planted decades ago and my brain seems to prey on that addiction.

 My brain suggests going back to drinking and weekend long benders as a way to forget about my struggles.  I know in my gut that this is the wrong path.  Instinctively, I know where that would lead.  Unfortunately, my brain knows and doesn't care.  It sees relief and there is a part of me that wants that.  There is a part of me that wants to drown out what my brain is telling me.  A part of me that despises my brain for being such an asshole.

 I shared these mean thoughts with Ming and she was understandably upset.  She apologized for crying and expressing her emotions.  I assured her there was no reason to apologize.  She should never feel guilty about expressing herself, but I understand she is coming from a relationship that didn't permit such behavior.  Her response upset me in that I hated the fact she had to hide how she felt in the past.  That is something we are working on as partners.  I am very open and she isn't used to that from her partner, which is shameful.  Being more open is one of the many things I learned from my marriage.  I restrained myself because I didn't think my ex-wife could handle the raw truth of my upbringing and my thought process.  I didn't think she could handle the instability of who I am.  I'll never know if that is true or not, which is one of the many failures on my part.

 I still felt low at 50mg.  In fact, I had a depressive episode that lasted about five days.  At the peak, I was terrified of the potential interaction with people.  Days like that are difficult to navigate.  I have to go to work, but that's where the commitments end.  After that, I owe nothing to anyone.  I was hopeful that 100mg would help bring some relief because I was running out of options in my head.  Of course, my brain being the asshole that it is, had solutions for me.  It doesn't care about the long term damage those solutions could lead to.  Maybe I am expecting some sort of panacea at 100mg.  Maybe I am expecting too much from myself and the medication.  Every day feels like a multiple choice test.  Will I or won't I sink into depression?  That is my only concern now.  The highs are long gone, which is somewhat unfortunate.

 I started 100mg last Tuesday.  I didn't notice much difference for a couple days, but I can feel the difference now after four days.  Despite not sleeping well for a couple days, I am still mellow, calm, and measured.  I am not animated.  I am not agitated.  I wouldn't say I am necessarily happy, but I am not unhappy.  I am not anxious.  I am not on edge.  I am less unpredictable.  My response to people is more in the realm of social acceptability.  One notable exception to that is my willingness to walk away from people mid-sentence or mid-conversation without warning.  I walk away as soon as I lose interest.  This is a bit socially awkward for people, but I guess it's the new normal for me.  It will hurt some people, but I guess they should be more interesting and I wouldn't walk away.

 I met with my doctor yesterday and he wants me to stay at 100mg for now.  He can't say for sure if we have found the right amount, that depends mostly on me.  There isn't some sort of test we can run to figure out if I am in the middle of the curve or more to one side of that curve.  I don't like the prospect of having to be medicated forever, but I also don't like the idea that the next low could be the last low.  We frequently think we are in control until we're not.  That is my fear.  I am worried that I think I am okay until I'm not.  I worry that the line won't be as blurry as I think it is.  That I won't teeter on some imaginary boundary between life or death.  I worry that the line will be clearly defined and finite.  That my brain will be more decisive and seek finality.

 My brain has become a weapon of sorts.  It is armed with too much information and time.  It is nefarious and cruel.  It is also kind and gentle.  It is intelligent and affectionate, if only just a little.  It is capable of many great things and destructive things at the same time.  I want to think that it only wants to help me, but I know better by now.  It has its own plans and thoughts that I know nothing about.  It often does its own thing even when it knows better.  My brain has become more like a second person to me.  A person that needs to be properly supervised and guided.  I find it unsettling that part of me is unpredictable.  I am optimistic that this will change as my brain chemistry changes.  I hope that the two finally merge into one cohesive person.