I had a horrible visit at the psychiatric doctor one Friday morning. I was there for my bipolar medication check-up. Things went completely wrong from the very beginning, I slipped into one of my impulsive episodes within an hour of being in his office to leaving. I was aware I was angry, It was becoming full case of rage, I could feel myself disappear. By the time I got home I was fully overwhelmed with how terrible I thought the appointment went.

I abruptly, and quite impulsivly started with the computer. Deleting all my networking sites. My Facebook, digg, Google Reader, Blogged, Friend Feed, all of them. I can't explain or give any romantic reason why I was erasing myself from the Internet and all my friends. I can barely remember doing it. But I do remember I felt I was outside my body watching myself destroy my internet life. One little tap at a time.

That is how quickly a bipolar disorder episode can manifest itself. Having just one little trigger turns your emotions into a raging river. Episodes like these are the ones I am NEVER prepared for. They devour every part of my soul. It compares to being in a drunken blackout. It is over by the time you realize what you have done. Going from one thing to the next, throwing away whatever reminds you of something you hate. Which is yourself. So pretty much everything in my path was not safe. Things were torn, shredded, dragged away or broken into small bits. The old sofa was a challenge, but I succeeded if you want to call it that.

It started when my psychiatric doctor basically told me he didn't know what to do to help me feel better. I had been having severe psychotic mania with a little bit of depression then right back into mixed/rapid cycling. I won't even mention the Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. But yeah that too. I was a dog on a leash that didn't want to be tied down. He handed me a DVD on the affects of Clozaril. That being the last step if the 160mgs of Geodon, and 900mgs of Seroquel didn't help. He wants to do it in a hospital setting, I however do not!

I am running out of options, and for him to tell me that was daunting and sad. So his last resort is Clozaril and ECT treatments. I of course refused such a thing. My mother had them when she was younger, and I don't relish the idea of my brains being scrambled eggs and pancakes. There is always another way. There is always another medication. Bipolar Disorder is not the end of the world. Or is it?

To the people who don't have a clue, I am just some crazy chick acting like a spoiled brat. If only! I could explain being a snot nosed spoiled rotten brat, but to explain something so dark and twisted going on in my head is not so easy. With this behavior we are nuts to the outside looking in. We scare them, they believe we are hopeless fruitcakes. No matter how many times I say stop to myself I keep going, just like one of those other people looking in.

I became so enraged, I didn't know what else to do, I was exhausted from the rampage my apartment just took. So I took some ativan, shut the phone off and locked the door. Stayed in my bed for two days. Angry sleep is never a good thing. I hurt everywhere on my body and suffered a massive headache. I got depressed for 5 minutes and am right back in a mixed/rapid cycling nightmare. I am sick of craziness, I am tired of pulling around a wagon full of chaos.

I want to live, not bipolar's life. Not ocd's life. I thought I was past all this, but apparently I am not. I can't write because I can't think, and this is where my anger appears to be coming from. My bipolar rage resides squarely out front for all to see. A sad side-note: My eleven year-old nephew made me a sign, Do Not Disturb, my thirteen year old niece said: "Life's not fair, but it's all good. I wish it was good for you". I need to empty my chaos wagon. I need to find a way to chastise that rage.

It's not like I can just BUY a new couch, dishes, books, DVDs and other stuff I am going to miss not having. For children to empathize this, is beyond their years. To understand my pain and embrace that to make me feel better. They didn't have to do anything, but they did. They didn't SEE me that way, they just knew I was having a bipolar episode. Sleeping two days, not answering the phone, not calling anyone, they understand what is happening when I disappear.

I wish more people knew what these kids knew. The compassion, the empathy to want to do something to help. Instead they just share their love and hope that's enough. Bipolar Disorder is an evil soul slayer. You become unknown to yourself. You pretend to be normal so the fruitcake sign on your back doesn't mean anything. And then you wait, for that episode to go away, and you wait again, for one to come and devour you. Give me acting like a spoiled rotten child, it wouldn't hurt as much.