In Between Euphoria and Melancholy

It was in the second year of college when I first started to realize that something was wrong. For some period of time, I stopped going to my classes altogether and just lost interest in all kinds of activities. For days I stayed in my room, blinds closed, with only one night lamp on. I slept all day, cried all night. I saw no point in living, despite going to the best university in the country and getting almost straight A's. No, I saw no point in all of that. I never felt more alone in my life, and I was helpless, and everything seemed bleak. The proximity of death was inexplicable. When I finally decided to go to classes, something happened. It was like my blood in every vein in my body was sucked down into the earth by heavy gravity, and I would start losing my breath. I would fall down on to the floor and would lay down there for at least a few minutes, then stood up again, only to wonder where the hell I was, when in fact I hadn't left my room for days. I was lost, I had no idea what was happening. Then later on, I found out that it was derealization caused by panic attacks -- or repeated ones, to be exact. When things started to feel better, and blinds were finally opened, I decided to see a gp. She listened but didn't speak a word and prescribed me antidepressants, which later resulted in the worst mania I have ever experienced in my life. Just two days after I started taking them, I was enraged. I had all this energy, but I was so angry. It was just plain rage. I didn't know why I was raging about, or what or whom am I so mad at. I started throwing things, including phones, plates, just everything in sight. Instinctively, I stopped taking the medication and swore that I would never see any gp again. But later on, I realized that she only saw the depression, and it was not her fault because I hadn't experienced my mania until a few weeks later when I was on my break in jakarta. In Jakarta, I had nothing to do, yet I had all this energy that I just had to channel. I needed some kind of stimulation. I started going out more, and not long after, I self-medicated. Parties were great, I made a lot of friends. For most days, I was happy. I loved Jakarta, it never felt more like home like it ever was. My self confidence was over the top. Holiday flings felt fulfilling, though I knew I was never in love with any of them. In short, life had never felt better, and that was the best holiday feeling I could recall. Until one day, my energy level was still high. I threw plates against the wall. I was frustrated, I didn't know what to do. I was so angry with everything, I felt it raging inside me. I started crying and shouting. Out of frustration, I took out a knife from the kitchen drawer and that moment became my first attempt. Then one my cats approached me, and laid down on top of my feet. Then I saw my mother standing not very far from where I was standing. She didn't speak a word, tears were running down her face, her gaze was fixed. Then she asked me, "what do you want? You want to die? Is that what you want?". I realized then I needed help. I didn't really want to die, but I didn't know how else to stop feeling what I was feeling. That was when the journey began. The journey of cocktails of medications, which resulted in weight gain, failed relationships, harsh social consequences, bad reputation -- betrayal by the people whom I considered as friends due to my addiction, misunderstandings, and so on. To date, I am still struggling with it and I don't think I have come to terms with it. But I'm trying my best, I haven't given up just yet. I have made very bad decisions, and I am constantly asking whether my leaps of judgment were biological in nature or if they are just a matter of make-believe. The social consequences were hard. Sometimes, I would meet people who understand, who understand what it feels like to be misunderstood, who have the condition or dealt with a person with that condition. I thank God I met them. I thank God that in the midst of all this madness, sanity is indeed relative, and that I am not the only person who is at war because everybody is fighting their own battle. But you, you always understand. During my ‘closet’ moments, miles away, you would always pick up my call. During my most vulnerable moments, you were always there and said all the right things, even if I didn’t want to hear it. It’s because of people like you, like Mom, like the best friends I’ve made, I held back the urge to end it all, again and again. Sometimes I wonder if I will survive long enough to have a family of my own. As I said, the proximity of death can be very inexplicable. I can still recall the attempts I have made, although I don't expect you to understand my state of mind at the time. The bleakness, the feeling of helplessness, the disappointment, basically just all the sadness bottled up into one moment. Many have died from Bipolar Disorder, but I am thrived to not become one of its victims.