2026-02-19
Over the last day or so, I've noticed a major increase in my mood. Most would interpret that to mean I’m feeling happier, but for me, it’s a different sensation. Instead of using more abstract descriptors like “happy” or “sad,” I find a more accurate way to describe my mood is this:
A speedometer.
To me, mood dictates the speed of my thoughts. When my mood is high, the needle on the speedometer rises. When my mood is low, the needle falls. When that speedometer runs high, it’s a symphony of connection. My thoughts run so quickly that it’s easier to freely associate stimuli and go down whatever rabbit hole I want. I get into dialogues with myself about a vast array of topics. I replay old conversations, simulate new ones, and let whatever stimuli I’m exposed to inform all of it.
Of course, this can have a snowball effect when not kept in check. The faster my thoughts go, the deeper down the rabbit hole I get. Next thing I know, I can’t find my way back up. Mania is tough to check, and it’s something I have to remain constantly vigilant toward. The main symptomatic indicator for both it and depression is sleep. People have come to understand that bipolar disorder is a circadian disorder. For me, if I sleep less—and find myself needing less sleep to get through the day—that can indicate mania. If I find myself oversleeping, that can indicate depression.
Historically, a lack of sleep compounds mania drastically for me. The further I go with reduced sleep—or worse, no sleep at all—the more it exacerbates manic symptoms. The exacerbated symptoms feed on each other and push me further from sanity: heightened impulsivity leads to dangerous decisions that, in turn, lead to even more extreme decisions. This has typically manifested as substance abuse; the drugs make it even worse. In the past, I would chalk it up to a sort of lust for life. I didn’t want to confront the idea that I was hurting myself.
More than that, I was ignorant of the damage I was doing anyway.
I’ve had a handful of experiences where, no matter what I did, there was no way I could sleep. I’d pull all-nighters like they were nothing. The succeeding days would inevitably lead to further descension into the rabbit hole: I’d read cognitively harmful material like obscure esoteric books, paranormal imageboards, and social media discourse. That would further compound even more dangerous symptoms like paranoia and, at its worst, auditory and visual hallucinations. Soon enough, I would be in a full state of psychosis, where reality completely melted away and I had no metaphysical grounding.
I’d hear whispers in a language that didn’t exist and see writing on walls in what appeared to be that same language. To this day, I still can’t fully wrap my head around that. To me, demons are not theoretical but very real, materially and spiritually. After going through my psychotic experiences, I want nothing more than to feel real, normal, and safe. No matter what I do, there is a large portion of the day when I feel on edge. My heart beats fast, I sweat and shake, and I’m always looking over my shoulder.
My whole life over the past six years has revolved around quelling these feelings and the trauma associated with them. It’s not fun losing your mind. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. However, I know I’ve built an important repository of tools and methodologies to keep myself sane. At the end of the day, nothing else matters to me. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing; all I want is to keep my head screwed on. Worldly things have no importance to me anymore because I know it’s all an illusion. I’ve been unplugged, and I never want that to happen again.
So as I continue to check in with myself and continue using my tools and systems to maintain sanity, I know that the most important thing I can do is ask Christ for His mercy. I’ve been through a lot. I’ll go through even more. With that, I want to make sure that as I keep moving forward in life, He’s by my side, walking with me. Even with my overclocked brain, I know that I’ve barely walked through a single grain of sand on the beach of the universe. If I had it my way, I’d be looking down at my own two feet forever.
But I know I have to look up.
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