Capitalism and bipolar disorder

My illness relates to many many factors. It is my upbringing and my biology. It is society, it might even be fate.

My illness maybe relates the most to a lifestyle, no; to a mode of being that I am not the only one to have created but surely had to abide to. My illness is so common you would be surprised. My illness is “in” these days. My illness is a mutation, a mistake if you would like. My illness is a blessing as much as it is a curse.

I get to the downs of the deep blue and sometimes I stay afloat. Sometimes I even catch a boat, a sailboat- nothing too fast. I wonder and I ponder about my existence and yours. I shed a few tears and even pop a few pills.

I always end up where I started with mixed feelings about everything. Nothing is my favorite as how should I know? My illness changes my mind as I grow.

Something is constant amidst this storm. I know there is a malfunction, that much is true. Why does it relate to inequality go ahead and ask me. All is a competition, life has become a race. We run around all day seeking a bigger dream. I don’t get there and you don’t either, but why does she? Born in here, studied in there, oh that is her family? Where is my choice in all of this? Where is this leading me? Achieve and fail and fail to achieve. I ask myself why I stopped dreaming. Those images were not mine but yours, so why keep them in the first place? Illusion, delusion, materialistic being. This is not whom I should be. Why wake up and swirl like a mouse? That’s when I decided not to leave the house. I felt immense fear from life; how on earth can I win this race? Exclusion, demotion, gender roles or nationality?


Call for interviews

As part of a bigger life project, I am conducting (anonymous) interviews on how to live/cope with bipolar disorder. Send me a message here or through my Facebook page if you are interested in participating.


Solace, where are you?

I would like to shed my skin like a snake…

I would like to change colors like a chameleon…

I know that personal growth is not always linear.

I know also that sometimes you keep on suffering until you learn the lesson.

Things are more bearable during the day. Yet, when the sun sets, and as the sky becomes darker, there is little left to be done. The few chores of the day end one by one.

I sneak back to my corner in bed. I hold my phone and do nonsense. Minute after minute, tic toc. It is past midnight already. I count the hours I have left in bed, and dread facing the next morning. I will myself to sleep but know to well that this is not how it works.

Someone else got into the control center in my head and took over. I am equally lost between trying to fight and surrendering. They are the same.

I’d do anything if I could. Like walking on shifting sand I lie on this side then on that side seeking comfort.

I finally fall asleep but my dreams are no solace. Of course they are vivid. I stopped trying to know what is true and what is not. They are as real as it gets, and also as fake as it gets.

I usually fixate on things in my dreams. Small details, they keep on coming back. I wake up without any memory of what happened. Just a feeling of weirdness and abnormality. Too much brain activity or too little. All the same.

I find small feet cuddling next to mine. They are seeking comfort and safety in me. In me…

I wake up to the sound of the alarm and hit snooze. I wish I could escape from the responsibility of being me.

I wish I could let go.

I worry about my family and how they will react – again. Pity, love, empathy, boredom, anger, what again will they feel.

I can see my temporary paralysis turning beautifully into a handicap. Will I need to be taken care of again? Till when I wonder… Will I ever be an adult?

I don’t know what to do with every single second of my day. I listen to this song then forward to another. I watch this show and then another. I go out for a smoke then decide it is too cold. I want cookies and cheese at the same time. What the hell is going on.

You know I wish I had a timeshare at a mental clinic. How cool would that be? Hello yes, this is client 44087. I am calling for room 13. Yes, is it time already. Is it empty today? Sure, like last time yes. I would like to start with the locked up package first. And I insist, don’t let me out even if I beg you too. That’s it then. See you later. Oh yes, I know the drill. No sharp objects of belts. Thank you.

Perfect customer service.

A few weeks after, my skin would have shed. Yes I am a reptile after all. Why? Oh am also a chameleon and I change colors all the time. Only difference is this is not for adaptation like reptiles. It is a malfunction, a mutation if you prefer.

At the end of the day, survival is for the fittest…



After my master psychiatrist left me, I have been feeling angry ever since.

I am so angry that I cannot even write. I am visiting now a new psychiatrist who seems nice enough. He did not diagnose me yet l, which is good enough. Yet this means that he probes me with all kind of questions.

He challenges my answers too, which pisses me off to an unimaginable degree.

I do not want to recite my whole story again. It is so painful. I feel sometimes that I am speaking in the third person. Her mother died in a car accident, for example.

I just wanted to share my anger that is ever so growing by the second. I am trying to tame the monster but I am getting weaker and weaker.


When good things are stressful

Inside this bubble of depression, inside this cloud of anxiety, with all decisions even the smallest ones seeming like an insurmountable mountain, I cannot deal with good or bad news…

When going on a trip to a beautiful place fills me with dread as if I am to jump off a cliff, I wonder how I will ever get back to myself…

Life is the sum of all the details. When the details are dreadful what do you do with your life?

I don’t want to end anything but my depression. I want to look forward to things, I want to stop fearing social situations. I want to stop wearing my facial mask when I meet people trying hard to say I am normal – whatever that means…

All I want is to be left alone. I don’t want any responsibility. I don’t want any tasks. I often even don’t want to talk when I am talked to…

Everything shall pass. Those are symptoms. Put them in a box says my beautiful therapist. I will try dear, though I cannot find the difference between my symptoms and everything else…


When the medication kicks in





the state of being objective or aloof.

“he felt a sense of detachment from what was going on”

synonyms: objectivity, dispassion, dispassionateness, disinterest, indifference, aloofness, remoteness, distance, open-mindedness, neutrality, lack of bias, lack of prejudice, impartiality, fairness, fair-mindedness, equitability, even-handedness, unselfishness

“as an anthropologist you look on everything with detachment”

I am taking my meds religiously. I look at the pills and think they have salvation inside. As if that one pill at a time will erase my sadness and fill me with light instead; little by little. 
I never liked drugs or wished to try them. I am a control freak and with antidepressants and anti anxiety drugs you lose control. I don’t feel the light I imagined, but maybe it is just too early. 

I live in my body but it is like a machine. I do chores with an empty mind. I am neither hungry nor thirsty most of the time. I just want to sleep. 

When I do I enjoy it so much. It is like being on a boat trip with the sea singing a lullaby to take me deeper and deeper in this state of drowsiness. I wake up reluctantly wishing it could last some more. One more minute of total detachment, forgetfulness, un-feeling; one more moment of being happily depressed. 

More to follow