Being bipolar when the world is upside-down

For those who don't know me, I'm a musician. Right now I'm also running a non-profit, and it's an amazing organization about which I'm loud and proud, but when someone asks me what I do, the first thing that springs into my mind is that I'm a musician. I studied at conservatories, I've practiced my flute more hours than I could ever begin to estimate, and the few times I've tried to quit I couldn't manage to keep it in my case for long. So I'm a musician, for better or worse.

I've always viewed my being quite sensitive as fairly normal, because aren't artists supposed to be dramatic? Aren't we supposed to brood over the weight of the world and then find that exultant space again through creating? But it turns out I'm not just a special artistic snowflake—I have Bipolar 2 Disorder, just like my dad, and at least one of my half-siblings, and who-knows-how-many-people on my dad's side of the family.

Bipolar 2 means I get depressed, sometimes for a good long while, and then a switch gets flipped back on and within a few days I am *fabulous*. My fabulousness is hypomania and not full-blown mania, though, so I can keep my shit together. (I must say, even when I'm depressed and can barely drag myself off the couch to eat, I do a pretty great job of keeping my shit together and finishing my ridiculous amount of work, a fact of which I'm quite proud.)

When I'm hypomanic I talk even more and have even more trouble not interrupting. I'm more social; I take on lots of projects. I also don't need as much sleep and can be a bit of an insomniac, because it feels like the internal clock that regulates the flow of my day shuts off and it's noon all the time. I'm brave, I'm impatient, and it feels like I'm going 45mph while the rest of the world is driving through a residential area. I sing heavy metal at karaoke bars, I make better eye contact, and I catch up on everything (like dentist appointments and meeting up with friends) that I let slide while in my off-work hours I was previously sad and binge-watching Netflix. Sound fun? Honestly, it is. Sometimes it just wears off and I'm normal. Sometimes the switch flips back off and I'm right back on the couch.

Why am I talking about this now? Well, one reason is because I feel pretty good right now and am well equipped to talk about it. I also really don't give a damn who knows; there's no sense being any more ashamed of this than I would be of my hair color or the sound of my own voice. I'm working hard to manage the brain I inherited as proactively as is humanly possible, and despite all of the hurdles I have to leap over that someone else might not, it also makes me creative and intuitive and awesome.

The other reason I'm mentioning this now is because this whole crazy time is extra crazy when your brain works like mine does. Do I just want to do everything in the world to contribute because I'm hypomanic? Or do we all need to be trying everything possible and this is how I should feel? Or should I be forcing myself not to do things because I'm supposed to be careful about pacing myself and maintaining a normal routine? Will I be able to live with myself later if I put self-care at the top of the list above stopping a fascist? In war-torn countries people don't get to take a day off from being bombed to go get a pedicure and listen to some Tycho, so where on that line are we right now? Not to mention I'm on new meds, and trying to nail down the right dosage while you spend your waking moments anxious that your country is collapsing in on itself is sort of a ridiculous task.

I don't think there are necessarily answers to those questions. But if I talk too fast or am being too loud or impatient, just tell me to take it down a notch and I'll know what you mean. If you want to help, I don't need chicken soup or a hug any more than I would on any other day, so maybe just call your senators and representatives and wear them down so they'll get rid of the bastard and we can all calm down together.

And in tangential good news, recent studies have shown a link between IBS and serotonin, and your gut is full of neurons and neurotransmitters. The combo of meds, calcium, vitamin D and fish oil that I'm taking to help my brain appears to be helping my inflamed guts, too, and I can now eat wheat for the first time in five years. So I'm bipolar but I can console myself with pasta and an olive loaf dipped in EVOO and balsamic. Hallelujah, and bring on the carbs.