Allow me to draw you a picture of the inner workings of my emotional states as affected by Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar Disorder. This is a visual of what I have to deal with pretty much every day and definitely on a regular basis.
First, is equilibrium. Notice that I don’t say “happiness.” It wouldn’t be correct to say I never feel joy, but being truly “happy” for any extended period of time has always eluded me. I don’t know why and I’ve spent a lot of hours and a lot of money trying to find out, but so far, nothing. I can run through a gamut of emotions and some can last for days, but euphoria or happiness or pleasure don’t usually last longer than an hour or two. Big doses of Effexor EX, Wellbutrin XL, and Buspar help me maintain equilibrium but they can’t work miracles.
The next image is a representation of what happens when the little marble atop the balance inexplicably rolls to the “rage” cup. That’s when absolutely everything under the sun irritates the flesh from my bones. I feel like I’ve got ants crawling all over me. I just want to bang my head into a wall over and over. Run up on me in this shape and you’ll hear things like “I wish I could put my fist through a wall” or “I need to go pull a tree up out of the ground.”
Luckily for everyone around me, my irritations and rage very, very seldom gets directed outward. I’ve been pretty good over the years at pushing my temper inward. Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve put my face in a pillow and screamed until my throat hurt. Still, it’s better than getting mad at others. Unfortunately, when the “rage” light is on, I have no filter between my brain and my mouth. It’s in the rage mode that I am likely to reply to mass emails inappropriately and not hold my tongue when it would be the best idea for me to do so. Rage has equaled job loss on two occasions because, in the words of Ron White, “I had the right to remain silent, but I didn’t have the ability.”
Ah, sweet, sweet sorrow. When the little marble rolls to the sorrow bucket, I end up curled into the fetal position in a dark room often crying inconsolably. It’s not a bit fun. When the sorrow rolls in, rationality rolls right on out. I start contemplating sharp objects with renewed vigor. Gunpowder starts to smell enticing. High places become seriously attractive. I develop a taste for poison.
Sorrow makes everyone around me who is interested in my well being get on high alert. Once, sorrow led to a full on psychotic break and I ended up in a hospital. That was a load of fun. Rage scares Budge, but sorrow makes her lose sleep over me.
So, that’s your guided tour between my ears. Hope it helps you understand G. S. Feet a little better 🙂