I first started to suspect there was something more seriously amiss about 2009- I realised I had recurrent periods of fairly severe depression, which seemed to appear with little 'cause' every 9-18months. In between these periods, I was totally well; indeed sometimes, hyper-productive. With hindsight, my psych and I reckon these were periods of hypomania given they seemed to appear just before I got depressed. I'd also realised that taking prednisolone had a really bad effect on me-I was high for at least a week after it, something that's recognised as a known risk for people with bipolar. Things came to a head last summer, when I pretty comprehensively went off the rails. and I got my diagnosis.
My highs are, well, tragic but also quite amusing, at least initially. Even when I'm well, my DP describes me as the human equivalent of a border collie... imagine what I'm like with even more boundless energy, drive and enthusiasm than normal! As I said already, I'm creative, witty, outgoing, just generally fun to be with. I'm able to do so, so much more than usual- see my previous comments about housework! This bit, I have to admit, feels good. More than good actually, it feels amazing. Imagine the best day of your life, then add in bucketfulls of exhilaration. All my senses are heightened- colours are much more vivid, like the contrast has been turned up. The world seems to 'zing' more. I'm acutely aware of touch, sounds- everything.
And then it all gets too much, I don't sit still; if you tied me down I would still be buzzing and squirming! I don't sleep- at all. Actually, this is one of the first warning signs something is not right. This lack of sleep progresses to the extent that even z-class sedatives have no effect, when normally even antihistamines knock me out cold for hours. I crash and burn, as theycallmemrsboombastic said. It feels like being on the very top of a rollercoaster, just before it plunges down; utterly terrifying and out of control. In many ways this is the hardest point for me, as I recognise just how ill I am. Up until that point, I don't feel ill at all; in many ways I feel 'better', and normal. My speech is affected at this point too- I struggle to understand what is being said to me, and find it really hard to actually get words out. My concentration is shot to pieces.
What I've written is a full blown episode, which thank god doesn't happen very often anymore. More usually, I have a 'blip' when I get the feeling of hyperactivity and super happiness, but I have some control over it. I have strategies that massively reduce the impact of these blips, namely meditation and forcing myself to go slow, which means that I can maintain a normal life. DP can tell I'm cycling somewhat, because he knows me so well, but most people wouldn't. I can't help but feel I have a love affair for my meds- they have quite literally given me my life back!
In terms of how best to support, I can only tell you what works for me. I consider myself amazingly lucky- DP is the most amazing man who understands that when I'm really ill, I can't help my behaviour, because I genuinely don't recognise it. I have no comprehension something's wrong, or my behaviour isn't normal. He's sees it for what it is, a symptom of my illness, and I can no more help it than you would be able to not have a runny nose if you had a heavy cold. Of course, when I'm no longer manic, I'm mortified. At that point he holds me, comforts me, and tells me it was ok, and that I didn't do anything really bad. He'll also look after me physically when I'm depressed, when I retreat from the world at best, and sometimes become catatonic. That really sucks...
When I was well, fairly early on, we had a big discussion on how best to deal with it- we wrote a care plan, in effect. Hence we have to agreement that he'll take care of my cards, and give me cash to minimise my overspending. He also has all the numbers of the local crisis team, and my total permission to call in the professionals at any point if he thinks I need it. He sees that I take meds, and will sedate me if he thinks I need it. This applies even if I'm arguing at the time. He's quite inventive in making a medicated smoothie! The important thing here is that he has my written consent to do all this- an advance directive in effect, because both of us realise that I don't also have the capacity to make the best decision myself. And it works because he knows me so well, he can spot the warning signs a mile away. I trust him implicitly, and know that he would never abuse this.
Lordy, this is long- again. You guys will get so bored of me wittering on...