Those Episodes

When A Severe Breakdown Occurs

I had been absent from work since Monday of last week, lasting till today.

And still, I am not fine.

It’s been two months since I have blogged, written down all my thoughts. Now I feel like I need to update since I’ve stalled this thing for quite some time already; although, if I should say it, my sort-of comeback brings about some bad news as well regarding how I am faring.

I had a bipolar breakdown, or more correctly, HAD BEEN having bipolar BREAKDOWNS since last, last week.

It all started Thursday morning, while at work: I was feeling so numb that I’d end up staring blankly into space. I would sleep as well, and I could not focus. The spiel subsided after my working hours and I felt I could go home freely. Friday came, I was fine. Saturday, I had a doctor’s visit and was fine as well. But on Sunday evening, I got triggered by something quite oblivious to myself; and like a switch, everything began changing course. My mind bogged down.

Despite that I was meaning to go to work on Monday, my body was so heavy and tired. I could not think straight, I was a bit fearful of things, that I felt like deciding against going to my workplace because of random impulses that might make me jump outside our building’s window. Tuesday came, it was the same thing. All I could do was sleep, with the routine lasting for hours on end. The exhaustion was unbearable that I could only get up during meal times. I was out of sync with myself—all things were hazy, my mind discombobulated in a sense. I would answer questions with a succinct “I don’t know” (for it was just plain and simple as that, I don’t actually know what people are talking about) and that I would eventually fall back into my own dreamy state.

My refuge was sleep in all its august machinations.

Wednesday came around, and I woke up early to go to work. Yet, while in the shower, I sensed as though the walls were caving in, that my whole environs seemed to be choking me in both sides. Everything appeared as though whirling past me, and I could feel pained whenever water would touch my body. There was then this pendulum-like inclination deep within myself that I drown or jump down something, but the sensation or tendency was meagre. It wasn’t that pronounced. I shuffled out of the shower and wept. Just wept. Then I began to panic, with my anxiety escalating in some way.

So I did not go to work. My aunt talked me into going to another hospital to find another doctor as soon as possible and I complied. There was no other way. So, in the afternoon, I was accompanied to another medical institution and looked for doctors who, as it turned out, only accepted appointments. Luckily enough we chanced upon one who could see me on Thursday, the next day. I had myself scheduled, of course in my constant robotic maneuverings (I could not feel anything that’s why).

Thursday came, and I was supposed to be back to work; but the grogginess as well as the malaise haven’t left me so my aunt and I just went to the doctor. After the interview, it was found out that my symptoms were getting severe, what with the suicidal ideations and “audible thoughts” ramping up within my head. Consequently, I was told that I be hospitalized since I was not so responsive to my other medications anymore; but as budgetary concerns need to be considered as well, we had to bargain that the doctor see me every week instead. Thus I will have another doctor’s consultation on Thursday by 1 PM. I was also recommended to take a leave from work and have a different concoction of medications as it seemed that I was not  responding any further to the previous ones.

What about the breakdown that rendered me almost immobile! I tell you, it is not really easy, since what I need to do is take things in strides. My depression is not a piece of cake as that of trying to snap out of things or think that I have a purpose or that I have more to contribute to the world. No. Being bipolar leaning mostly towards into the depressive side can be debilitating in many aspects, sometimes rendering oneself expendable. It’s like my mind trying to throw out of a window everything that means a lot to myself as a person, or to erase everything that gives me a sense of  direction. As of now it’s really difficult to assert how I can be productive, and please don’t blame me for being weak or slothful. It’s just that: I have had a major attack in years and I could not just keep everything together for now. I can’t be forced to work, much less think and I know it’s that grave. Much as I would like to view that everything is my fault and that I am putting everything on the line (especially my job), I need to take care of myself and convince myself that I am not, in any way, responsible for this mental ruckus. Instead, this thing is wired into me and I have to deal with it. However, for the meantime, let me just stay within the sphere of convalescence. I am still sick—I know it, but it would not be for long.

Choleric-melancholic, blogger, teacher, mental health advocate, book lover.

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