One of the few bright spots in my post-diagnosis life has been the pleasure and the promise of meeting others with bipolar disorder through the wonders of the internet. It's been a pleasure to know that there are others out there with whom I can freely share something so intensely personal and significant. I hate the saying that "misery loves company", but there is comfort in knowing that you are not alone. As well-meaning as my *real world* friends try to be, there's something that is so special, and so affirming, about discussing the thoughts, hopes, symptoms and fears of living with bipolar disorder with others who've been there. Therein also lies the promise... There is absolutely no substitute for the sense of connection born of the sharing of experiences and feelings that you thought no one else on earth would understand.
I had one such "Ah Ha" moment earlier today when reading Susan's post about rentering life after an extended bout of depression. Susan writes that "When I'm interested in spending time with people again--other than my husband, son, and mother--oddly enough, I'm less interested in seeing people I know than total strangers. Why? Because with strangers, I can enjoy the social interaction without explanation. I don't have to account for my period of hibernation. I don't have to apologize for what I've missed in their lives. I don't have to share what's been going on in my life for the last four to six months or ask what's going on in theirs."
When I read Susan's words, the proverbial light bulb exploded in my head. This is exactly how I feel, but have never been able to understand or articulate. I can even take this concept further by saying that in the past, not only have I had little inclination to pick up with old friends, but I've actually moved - usually to another city. I was vaguely aware of my belief that moving to another city (usually under the guise of a new job opportunity) was a way to reinvent myself. In a new town, I could be a new person, and no one would have to know of the mistakes or missteps of my past. Sadly, this also applied to some friendships that were casualties along the way. In retrospect, I believe it was much more exciting, and much less stressful or painful, to start fresh - new job, new home, new friends - than to try to pick up the pieces of my scattered life after coming out of either a depressive or a hypomanic episode. I'll say it again... what I didn't realize was that no matter where I go, I'm always still there, and so is the bipolar disorder.
Susan is so right... it's really hard reestablishing contact with old friends after you've been away for a while. It's hard knowing how to answer the well-meaning, but nonetheless prying questions about where I've been and why I've been absent. Then there are the subtle and not-so-subtle jabs that place blame and cause feelings of guilt for having not kept in touch. Then there are those who don't know the extent of my "issues" who tell me how concerned they were that I was "not acting like myself" and they're glad "I'm back". If they only knew that both sides of that coin are who I really am, just at different times.
I've tried to explain, without going into the sordid details, why I've disappeared, sometimes for months at a time. Rarely do I get a sense that people understand or empathize. So, instead of trying to go back and repair the damage that my absence has caused, I usually let the friendships fade to black and I start with a fresh canvas when I'm feeling better again.
It'll be interesting to see how things are different now that I've been diagnosed. My guess is that I'll be much less likely to develop close personal relationships in the first place - much less baggage to have to attend to during and after future episodes. Does that mean that I don't want to interact with other people? No. Just that I want to pick and chose very carefully, and I need to maintain a healthy (for me) distance so as not to set myself up for more relational failure.
Thanks again Susan for sharing!
P.S. Susan has subsequently written a sequel to her original post referenced above, largely in response, I think, to this one. As I would not want anyone to misinterpret Susan's intent by reading my reflections on her original post, I would encourage you to read her subsequent post.
I had one such "Ah Ha" moment earlier today when reading Susan's post about rentering life after an extended bout of depression. Susan writes that "When I'm interested in spending time with people again--other than my husband, son, and mother--oddly enough, I'm less interested in seeing people I know than total strangers. Why? Because with strangers, I can enjoy the social interaction without explanation. I don't have to account for my period of hibernation. I don't have to apologize for what I've missed in their lives. I don't have to share what's been going on in my life for the last four to six months or ask what's going on in theirs."
When I read Susan's words, the proverbial light bulb exploded in my head. This is exactly how I feel, but have never been able to understand or articulate. I can even take this concept further by saying that in the past, not only have I had little inclination to pick up with old friends, but I've actually moved - usually to another city. I was vaguely aware of my belief that moving to another city (usually under the guise of a new job opportunity) was a way to reinvent myself. In a new town, I could be a new person, and no one would have to know of the mistakes or missteps of my past. Sadly, this also applied to some friendships that were casualties along the way. In retrospect, I believe it was much more exciting, and much less stressful or painful, to start fresh - new job, new home, new friends - than to try to pick up the pieces of my scattered life after coming out of either a depressive or a hypomanic episode. I'll say it again... what I didn't realize was that no matter where I go, I'm always still there, and so is the bipolar disorder.
Susan is so right... it's really hard reestablishing contact with old friends after you've been away for a while. It's hard knowing how to answer the well-meaning, but nonetheless prying questions about where I've been and why I've been absent. Then there are the subtle and not-so-subtle jabs that place blame and cause feelings of guilt for having not kept in touch. Then there are those who don't know the extent of my "issues" who tell me how concerned they were that I was "not acting like myself" and they're glad "I'm back". If they only knew that both sides of that coin are who I really am, just at different times.
I've tried to explain, without going into the sordid details, why I've disappeared, sometimes for months at a time. Rarely do I get a sense that people understand or empathize. So, instead of trying to go back and repair the damage that my absence has caused, I usually let the friendships fade to black and I start with a fresh canvas when I'm feeling better again.
It'll be interesting to see how things are different now that I've been diagnosed. My guess is that I'll be much less likely to develop close personal relationships in the first place - much less baggage to have to attend to during and after future episodes. Does that mean that I don't want to interact with other people? No. Just that I want to pick and chose very carefully, and I need to maintain a healthy (for me) distance so as not to set myself up for more relational failure.
Thanks again Susan for sharing!
P.S. Susan has subsequently written a sequel to her original post referenced above, largely in response, I think, to this one. As I would not want anyone to misinterpret Susan's intent by reading my reflections on her original post, I would encourage you to read her subsequent post.
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