No Rollercoaster

Posted on October 16, 2007 in Crosstalk Mania

Here’s a charming piece from McMan’s Depression and Bipolar Web about the real character of bipolar disorder:

The last roller coaster ride I was on, in fact every roller coaster ride I’ve been on, and there have been plenty, has been a blast! Clackety- clack on the big old fashioned wooden ones, round and round on loops, up the hills, down into the troughs with your stomach 100 yards behind you, through Space Mountain with R2D2 and C3PO, the whoosh of cool air and mechanical noises, up the Matterhorn in toboggans run by helpful lederhosened Disney employees, past the Yeti, round the bend where centrifugal force keeps you in the sled, then another whoosh! Down the mountain, through the water, and out. OUT. Controlled, hysterical fun, and then OUT.

Let’s look at it this way: If manic depressive illness were like a roller coaster ride, there would be people lined up around the block for it. They would spend a fortune trying to get it, rather than trying to get rid of it, and there would be an adorable kiosk on the corner selling ice cream and souvenirs rather than a pharmacy selling lithium. Manic depression being likened to a ride on a roller coaster is about as accurate as a heart attack being compared to heartburn.

I wonder to what degree has our perception/memory of our mania’s have been influenced by the common folk description. Many people have told me “oh I know how it must feel. It’s really good when you’re in mania, right?” No, it sucks in mania just as it does in depression but for different reasons. My mouth is flapping at a mile a minute, my body is shaking, and my temper is gunpowder spread on the floor of a smoking car of a railroad. I don’t like being manic because I know I will crash, repeatedly. The only thing to do is to hide in my room so that I don’t make a fool of myself, to pull all my energy together and act like a six foot four mouse who only squeaks in response to questions because he doesn’t want to appear insane.

Maybe some people feel the whoosh, but I am not one of them. As for the supposed crash of depression, I wouldn’t describe it as that at all. You just find yourself in it. It’s more like closing the blinds on acid-bright sunshine. You feel like your head has turned to jelly and it’s sticking and dragging on the floor.

The disease ain’t no theme park. It really is a sickness.