I can't recall when my first manic episode was because I've always the "hyper" type. I do remember randomly wanting to go cruising with my best friend at the wheel while I hung out the car window yelling at unsuspecting people on the street. I remember being to riled up on the inside. Like I was just waiting to burst into pieces if I didn't start yelling at people. My friends thought nothing of it. I was always weird. I remember having so much energy I would decide to gear up and just run around my block a few dozen times. The neighborhood kids never thought twice.
I remember all too well my depressive episodes. I remember being 16 and at home and wanting to hurt myself. I took the blade out of my razor. I cut my wrist. I watched the blood pour out and just sat there waiting fir my blood to clot. Once it did, I wrapped it up and carried on as usual. The next time wasn't so neat. A few weeks later I took the same razor and began slashing away at my left forearm. Borderline Personality much? I was tired. My whole world felt as though it was crumbling into little pieces and I was trying so hard to keep it together. I had no reason to be depressed, but I wanted it to end.
The next day, first thing in the morning, I showed two friends. They didn't hesitate to take me to the counselor. My counselor called my mom. My mom took me to a therapist. My therapist mentioned something about manic depression. I remember crying a lot and then being dead silent towards him. Therapy lasted a few months and that was all that was done. I began self medicating with weed. If I was high, I was allowed to feel happy, or at least not sad.
I wasn't feeling so depressed anymore. Matter of fact, I was feeling exuberant! At school especially. I was back to bouncing off walls and going to bed late and waking up early. Sleep shmeep! Other times, I kept to myself. That was the cycle at school and life. When I was manic, others just saw me as being hyper; when I was depressed, I just kept to myself.
I remember all too well my depressive episodes. I remember being 16 and at home and wanting to hurt myself. I took the blade out of my razor. I cut my wrist. I watched the blood pour out and just sat there waiting fir my blood to clot. Once it did, I wrapped it up and carried on as usual. The next time wasn't so neat. A few weeks later I took the same razor and began slashing away at my left forearm. Borderline Personality much? I was tired. My whole world felt as though it was crumbling into little pieces and I was trying so hard to keep it together. I had no reason to be depressed, but I wanted it to end.
The next day, first thing in the morning, I showed two friends. They didn't hesitate to take me to the counselor. My counselor called my mom. My mom took me to a therapist. My therapist mentioned something about manic depression. I remember crying a lot and then being dead silent towards him. Therapy lasted a few months and that was all that was done. I began self medicating with weed. If I was high, I was allowed to feel happy, or at least not sad.
I wasn't feeling so depressed anymore. Matter of fact, I was feeling exuberant! At school especially. I was back to bouncing off walls and going to bed late and waking up early. Sleep shmeep! Other times, I kept to myself. That was the cycle at school and life. When I was manic, others just saw me as being hyper; when I was depressed, I just kept to myself.
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