I write an obscene amount. Here, plus my blog plus I write for other blogs and do technical articles. Oh, and I’m working on a book.
This is very difficult though as I’ve found that a highly symptomatic bipolar brain turns into something more akin to a bipolar rock.
Thinking and Bipolar Disorder
Bipolar disorder is funny. I often have too many thoughts. Or all the wrong thoughts. Or no thoughts at all. Rarely do I actually have a stream of coherent, “normal person” type thoughts. At least not naturally. Naturally my brain is prone to flights of ridiculousness and lack of completion when hypomanic, and obsession over death and pain when depressed. And then when anxious or overwhelmed, which is a lot of the time, often no thoughts of any sort come out of my brain. It just kind of sits there. Nothing in, nothing out. A folded stone.
I Don’t Think There Are Really No Thoughts
But I don’t think it’s really as useless and igneous as it appears. I think what’s happening is my brain is busy chunking out crazy in the background and then I’m trying to ignore the crazy, and between those two things, there’s no space left for anything else.
An Example of a Crazy Brain
An example. Recently I was rejected by a beautiful, young, talented, intelligent creature. Not really the end of life as we know it. However, being rejected feeds into my depression nicely. It proves how awful a human being I am and how no one will ever love me. A jump you say? Of course it’s a jump. Depression lives on illogical, jumping lies. It’s just what it does.
And myself, knowing the falsehood of the thought pattern, I work hard to ignore it. “Yes brain,” I say, “I know you’re thinking about my existence as a failure but I’m not listening.”
Or, like a four-year-old sticking her fingers in her ears and saying, “la-la-la-la-la.”
Crazy Brains are High-Maintenance
See, that’s all quite a lot of work for me. The crazy and the ignoring the crazy. But it must be done. The crazy exists no matter what and the ignoring has to be done so as not to be sucked in beyond the event horizon. No real option there.
And so I sit and feel like my brain is doing nothing. Thoughts do not materialize. Words do not flow from my fingers. Cognition doesn’t take place.
And yet somehow words magically appear on the screen. I’m not sure how I do it except to say that it only happens in the 1% of my brain that isn’t already busy. And I can tell you that getting the words onto the screen feels something akin to being trapped inside an iron maiden.
Sometimes I weep thinking about what I could do if I had access to the other 99%.