The Problem of Being Manic

The problem of being manic is something I have to deal with from time to time. My current episode has left me exhausted and in "Madonna Overdrive." I mean I have the intention of a saint, but I'm driven to the point of bad behavior.

I have deluged my friends and family with news articles, video clips, and political cartoons to the point of being terribly intrusive. Even rude. I wouldn't feel so awful about it if they had done the same to me, but they've been politely quiet. I guess they understand and have indulged me. It's not comfortable knowing you've been a pain in the butt, however I believe in being honest with myself. That's just what I have been. An apology is in order, but I don't know how to excuse myself. How can they excuse me? I've lost my manners.

When this happens, I start projects I can't possibly finish or follow up on. I forget about my limitations and charge full force into the impossible. Then I come down into complete surrender to a down time. It is impossible in those cycles to get out of bed or take good care of my everyday life. Both those extremes used to frighten me. Now I know it's just part of my life. I have an illness that is difficult to manage well. I do my best. However hard I try, I can't escape what is. What it is makes me humble.

I know what most people don't know. We are not always in charge of our own destiny. We make our choices informed by what we know and what we intend to be, sometimes falling short of our intentions. It happens to everybody. I disappoint myself. I would be a better person if I knew how. I wouldn't make mistakes.

All I can do is tell my psychiatrist the medication I am taking isn't working as well as I want it to. All I can do is hope she can help me. It may not be possible, and I and those I care about will have to live with my symptoms. I have to accept that and hope someday we'll laugh about it. I am grateful my friends and family are generous and patient. It's not likely they understand how hard it is for me to live up to my own expectations of myself.

Oh well. This too shall pass. Sometimes I hit a stable middle ground. I just enjoy it always knowing it won't last. Nothing really lasts. Our lives are only moments. This entry is a snap shot of how things are right now. Now moves like a slide show and though I would be in a hurry to have this moment pass, I know there is no hurrying it. This mania will last as long as it will.

Resisting only makes it worse. I learned in childbirth it hurts more if you scream - better to become a vessel for pain. Better to be still and endure it. I try not to weary or complain. I wouldn't inflict a running story of my symptoms on anybody. Why complain? Why cry about it? The truth is I only suffer when my ability to accept myself and the fact that I am sick eludes e. Acceptance from other people is just a preference.

Beyond food and shelter, everything is a preference. And there have been times in my life food and shelter were only preferences. The hardest lessons teach the most. I know what I am made of - strong stuff. It is a consolation to know that. Being tested to the limits of what I can endure have taught me well "That which does not kill me, only makes me stronger." I never pray anymore for God to make me strong (just as some Jews pray not to be so "chosen."

I started out my life wanting to be strong. Be careful what you wish for. And so it goes. There is a reason this is called "Madonna Overdrive." It was a well chosen title. It should be apparent to the reader how apropos.