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Chapter 3: In which the author boxes with a kangaroo
I wonder why it is that higher intelligence and creativity seem to correlate strongly with mental illness?
As you may or may not know, I am a Bipolar Type II fast cycling depressive. When I'm unmedicated, I experience periods of what I call "high saturation" that last between 4-10 weeks at a time. During these periods, my default mood is mild depression and hopelessness, and I suffer from extreme and sudden mood swings. Although I tend much more strongly towards the severe depression side of the equation, I have gone from near suicidal to hypermanic in less than a minute. And by hypermanic, I mean reckless, impulsive, "twitchy", irritable, and restless. My family has told me that I'm, quite frankly, frightening while I'm like that, because I'm highly unpredictable and liable to do stupidly dangerous things like attempt to go 80 MPH through moderate-to-heavy traffic on the highway. And when I'm in a down-phase, I'm not any better. I'm listless, dull, and reclusive. Frankly, the only reasons that I never killed myself are that often I didn't have enough energy to try, and when I did, I was able to remember what it felt like when a friend attempted in high school.
Thankfully, I'm properly medicated now, and sane for the first time in at least 10 years, possibly ever. I know how extreme that sounds, but it's true. My actions, thoughts, and thought processes during that decade were not those of a sane person. There are no adequate analogies to convey the difference to those who have never suffered from long-term depression, and the best I can come up with is that it's like... like... like being color-blind, tone-deaf, touch-insensitive, nose-blind, and only able to taste you rown bittersalt tears, then waking up one morning to a world of color and scent, music and texture and flavor. The difference is indescribable to those who haven't experienced the change themselves.
Anyway, I started thinking about all this because I was recently examining some of my emotional filters. (Ah, the joys of being smart and introspective...) During my decade of depression, I created some rather impressive emotional management tools that allowed me to function more or less normally. I have much less need of them now, but they're still there and it's become habit to turn to them. For example, I don't allow anger. I have a much higher tolerance for anger-inducing situations than normal, and if I finally do get angry, I automatically let it pass through me like a summer thunderstorm: terrible but quick. I can be upset or bothered, but I rarely stay angry for longer than a few seconds. I obviously couldn't avoid my sadness and depression, but I learned how to temporarily put it aside. For a time, lasting from a few minutes to a few days, I can shunt aside my feelings about anything. The downside (aside from being more or less emotionless during that time) is that when I let go, it all hits at once. This can be useful, however, as when my grandfather died last May. I was able to almost totally contain my raging grief the day of his funeral until my family had returned to the safety of our motel room. I've learned to do the same thing, although to a lesser extent, with mild-to-moderate physical pain. I'm still aware of the pain, but I can keep it at a remove where it won't interfere with whatever I'm doing.
The only emotions that I never really developed management tools for were happiness or joy, because they were so rare, and shame or embarrassment, because they are so unexpected. Embarrassment and its big brother Shame are the worst. For some reason, I'm hyper-sensitive to embarrassment, including that of others. There are some TV shows that I can't watch because the embarrassing situations the characters endure are actually painful to me. And personal history is no better. I'm still occasionally caught off guard and affected by the memory of something that happened while I was in elementary school.
I garnered a new embarrassing memory last night. A side effect of my meds is that it affects my sleep patterns. I stay awake longer and tend to have slightly less restful sleep. Unfortunately, this means that if I'm sitting motionless and passive, say at a schooldesk, for more than 15 minutes or so, I tend to nod off. I did this last night in my Circuit Analysis class. In the front row. Twice. And I snore.
After class, the guy sitting behind me told me that the prof had actually commented on "the noises [I] was making". ... Okay, I'm back from my fetal curl. No, that's not an exageration; I cringe hard and tight when the embarrassment and shame kick in.
Of course, I'm sure that at least some of you are wondering what the hell I'm doing effectively telling the world about this if it bothers me so much. Well, I think this is how I need to deal with embarrassment. It's always been an...intensely personal experience, but I think that by sharing, I can lessen the shame these kinds of memories evoke in me. It may or may not work, but I certainly hope that it does.
As you may or may not know, I am a Bipolar Type II fast cycling depressive. When I'm unmedicated, I experience periods of what I call "high saturation" that last between 4-10 weeks at a time. During these periods, my default mood is mild depression and hopelessness, and I suffer from extreme and sudden mood swings. Although I tend much more strongly towards the severe depression side of the equation, I have gone from near suicidal to hypermanic in less than a minute. And by hypermanic, I mean reckless, impulsive, "twitchy", irritable, and restless. My family has told me that I'm, quite frankly, frightening while I'm like that, because I'm highly unpredictable and liable to do stupidly dangerous things like attempt to go 80 MPH through moderate-to-heavy traffic on the highway. And when I'm in a down-phase, I'm not any better. I'm listless, dull, and reclusive. Frankly, the only reasons that I never killed myself are that often I didn't have enough energy to try, and when I did, I was able to remember what it felt like when a friend attempted in high school.
Thankfully, I'm properly medicated now, and sane for the first time in at least 10 years, possibly ever. I know how extreme that sounds, but it's true. My actions, thoughts, and thought processes during that decade were not those of a sane person. There are no adequate analogies to convey the difference to those who have never suffered from long-term depression, and the best I can come up with is that it's like... like... like being color-blind, tone-deaf, touch-insensitive, nose-blind, and only able to taste you rown bittersalt tears, then waking up one morning to a world of color and scent, music and texture and flavor. The difference is indescribable to those who haven't experienced the change themselves.
Anyway, I started thinking about all this because I was recently examining some of my emotional filters. (Ah, the joys of being smart and introspective...) During my decade of depression, I created some rather impressive emotional management tools that allowed me to function more or less normally. I have much less need of them now, but they're still there and it's become habit to turn to them. For example, I don't allow anger. I have a much higher tolerance for anger-inducing situations than normal, and if I finally do get angry, I automatically let it pass through me like a summer thunderstorm: terrible but quick. I can be upset or bothered, but I rarely stay angry for longer than a few seconds. I obviously couldn't avoid my sadness and depression, but I learned how to temporarily put it aside. For a time, lasting from a few minutes to a few days, I can shunt aside my feelings about anything. The downside (aside from being more or less emotionless during that time) is that when I let go, it all hits at once. This can be useful, however, as when my grandfather died last May. I was able to almost totally contain my raging grief the day of his funeral until my family had returned to the safety of our motel room. I've learned to do the same thing, although to a lesser extent, with mild-to-moderate physical pain. I'm still aware of the pain, but I can keep it at a remove where it won't interfere with whatever I'm doing.
The only emotions that I never really developed management tools for were happiness or joy, because they were so rare, and shame or embarrassment, because they are so unexpected. Embarrassment and its big brother Shame are the worst. For some reason, I'm hyper-sensitive to embarrassment, including that of others. There are some TV shows that I can't watch because the embarrassing situations the characters endure are actually painful to me. And personal history is no better. I'm still occasionally caught off guard and affected by the memory of something that happened while I was in elementary school.
I garnered a new embarrassing memory last night. A side effect of my meds is that it affects my sleep patterns. I stay awake longer and tend to have slightly less restful sleep. Unfortunately, this means that if I'm sitting motionless and passive, say at a schooldesk, for more than 15 minutes or so, I tend to nod off. I did this last night in my Circuit Analysis class. In the front row. Twice. And I snore.
After class, the guy sitting behind me told me that the prof had actually commented on "the noises [I] was making". ... Okay, I'm back from my fetal curl. No, that's not an exageration; I cringe hard and tight when the embarrassment and shame kick in.
Of course, I'm sure that at least some of you are wondering what the hell I'm doing effectively telling the world about this if it bothers me so much. Well, I think this is how I need to deal with embarrassment. It's always been an...intensely personal experience, but I think that by sharing, I can lessen the shame these kinds of memories evoke in me. It may or may not work, but I certainly hope that it does.
no subject
Van,
He also pointed out this study:
As do I.
Some other descriptive images that come to mind: Thoughts, creative processes, get trapped in a gooey tarpit and can't seem to make it up to the cerebellum to be expressed. Sensation HURTS -- David is likely to come up and rub his hand across my back in a gesture of love. I have to remind him: Touch, DON'T RUB. Rubbing triggers all those nerves hiding below at the hair follicle creating a cascade of feeling that just painfully overloads the brain's ability to process. Self-destructive behavior often manifests out of the need to feel what life feels like.
"I wonder why it is that higher intelligence and creativity seem to correlate strongly with mental illness?"
Lord, ain't that the truth. And for what reason is it that the more one is gifted, the more he is crippled by mental illness, usually a form of depression? Are the two that inextricably linked in neurochemistry? You may wish to friend this group of artistic Toronto bears - there are some great thinkers there and they tend to share our common malady.
no subject
The best explanation I can come up with is that it's a variation of Sangamon's Rule. The more complex something is, the more ways there are for it to break. Frankly, intelligence is odd from a evolutionary viewpoint. It only offers a marginally greater chance of survival on an individual basis, although it does greatly help the species survive. Unfortunately, it seems that we advance in a series of stattaco spurts as one or two geniuses drag humanity kicking and screaming up to the next level. *sigh*
Hiya
Re: Hiya
I got a reccomendation for a good psychiatrist (the ones who can prescribe meds) from a family member's psychologist, and was lucky enough to become part of a 3-month study of a relatively new antidepressant. GlaxoSmithKline markets it under the name Lamictal, and it was/is primarily an anti-epilepsy drug that they accidentally found works very well at treating bipolar depression. They've no idea why it works, but it does. Aside from the mild sleep problems I mentioned above, I haven't had any side effects at all. (or at least, none that I've noticed)
BTW, how'd you find my journal? I'm always curious when a new reader comes around.
Re: Hiya
Thanks for posting this. It's good just to know I'm not alone in this weirdly rocking boat.
Re: Hiya