I Didn't Hang Up, I'm Just Feeling Disconnected
by Storm

It took quite sometime for me to accept the fact that being Bipolar meant living the rest of my life on medication that leaves me feeling somewhat ďstonedĒ or disconnected 24 hours a day.  Some people would consider this to be a plus, a bonus, if you will. Well trust me, it isnít. Feeling stoned can be a good thing, when you choose to feel that way. But to have to feel that way 24 hours a day is not a ďgood thingĒ. Itís difficult to maintain a job, study for school, and driving? Donít ask.


Just carrying on a somewhat normal conversation with friends and family can become quite the ordeal. Without being on medication itís an ordeal. With the medication it becomes an ordeal of a different color. Before meds, it was generally a manic foot race that made no sense whatsoever. Nobody could keep up with me as I flitted from one topic to another in a mad dash to a never appearing finish line. Now with the medication, I slur my way towards the same unseen finish line, like a drunk stumbles to the unseen doorway to sobriety.


Unlike the drunk who doesnít feel or sense their slurring of words and lack of composure, I feel each slurred word, I know exactly when Iím not making sense, and I feel my eyes half closed, glassy and red. I know for a fact I look stoned. I know for a fact people are thinking to themselves that this girl must be ďon somethingĒ. I want to scream in their faces ďyeah Iím ON something, but its prescribed by a physician because I have a friggin mental disorder and I have to be on all these damn pills so I can think clearly and not act and sound like a maniac okay?Ē


Oh sure, that would make them feel much more comfortable, wouldnít it?


Damned if I do, condemned if I donít. 


And so it goes. The game that I play. The risks I take. Driving and trying to remain focused throughout the day. Trying to put on a straight face, make polite conversation with strangers and keep my warped sense of humor to myself. God forbid they hear what Iím really thinking because they would more than likely think Iím completely daft. My sense of humor has always made people look at me as if Iíd grown another head and now with my glassy eyed appearance, they would surely think Iíd gone completely over the edge.


Funny as it may sound, the meds now give me the opportunity to put all of my thousands of fleeting thoughts into somewhat of a sense of order.  And what is worse for my unintentional audience, I now have even more to say!  Only thing is, instead of spitting my thoughts out in rapid speech, Iím spewing them out in my slurred, rambling cadence. Peppered with fits of unending giggles to boot. No wonder nobody takes me serious, regardless of how well I may base my case to support my theories.  Thank God Iím not an attorney.  My clients would all end up in the slammer for life.


Actually, I feel my thoughts are still fleeting, its just that the medication buffers them to the point where my mind just doesnít recognize them as fleeting and only allows a few to seep through the filters. The rest are still there, only recognized as muffled background noise now. After all, everyone has ďmind chatterĒ, nothing wrong with that. Whereas we Bipolars have so much difficulty because our fleeting thoughts are so loud that they all are in constant battle with each other, screaming at us for individual attention and we cant separate them like non-Bipolars can.


Being disconnected means Iím still a rambling sort of gal. My mind still wanders, lack of focus. Have always had difficulty in that area. It isnít that I donít ďcareĒ; I simply cannot focus for very long periods of time.  My attention span has got to be at most, a nano-second. As I am sure my writing will attest, I go from topic to topic and back again. Editors frown on this  (smiles). 


But hey, just bear with me and eventually Iíll swing back around and get back on track sooner or later. Just have to sidestep with me and pick some flowers off the beaten path for a few minutes before I get back on track.


Feeling disconnected can be a good thing at times. Terrible news or tragedies donít tend to stick with me as long as they do others. I deal with them and then viola, I move on. Itís not that I donít care, they just donít linger. But at the same time, happiness doesnít stick around long either. I suppose one could say that I spend a lot of time in limbo. Neither happy nor sad, just ďhereĒ. Numb.disconnected. Itís really not such a bad place to be.


Not as good as being happy, but not as bad as being sad or mad. A bit like contentment. Not quite purgatory but a nice middle of the road sort of place.  Not as tiring as mania, not as tiring as depression. Just...nice, simple, and easy. But boring.


The really bizarre thing about this disconnection thing is that there are days, usually about every third day when I get insomnia and cant sleep a wink. This will last anywhere from 2-3 days. So my Pdoc has had to put me back on Ambien to take as ďneededĒ.  So strange to be sedated most of the time yet still have the occasional manic insomnia and be so tired and not able to sleep. Thank God for the Internet and other insomniacs who need to talk.




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