"How many klonopins did you take?"
"I don't know, the whole bottle"
"How many were in there?"
"It was a new prescription, a little under 30, maybe 25?"
"Were you trying to kill yourself? Ma'am? Ma'am?"
I was already asleep by that time. I had swallowed roughly 30 1mg Klonopin, a benzodiazepine much like Xanax. I don't know if I was trying to kill myself. I don't think I was. I planned on just laying down and dying, but my dog looked at me, and asked for a belly rub. I couldn't let her live the rest of her life not knowing where I was. So I called 911 and told them I ws trying to overdose.
I actually don't know if 30 mgs of Klonopin will kill you. I know I mixed it with an entire bottle of wine, so that definitely didn't help. But at the time, I was depressed and the only thing I could think about was fucking dying.
Very contrary to the week before, when I was on top of the fucking world. At 18, I was diagnosed with Rapid Cycle Bipolar 2. To break that down; rapid cycle means that I have more than four episodes a year. I personally tend to have about 4 a month, often more. And Bipolar 2, means that it's not as extreme as Bipolar 1, which is like, really fucking bad. Honestly, the signs that I had this disorder were always there. I was hypersexual, even a very young age, outburst of emotions, and overly sensitive.
The week before my suicide attempt I remember being manic, talking fast, not sleeping going out every night and having reckless sex. I remember wearing a tank top in 20 degree weather and genuinely not being cold. Mania is defined as a period of great excitement or euphoria, delusions, and overactivity. People think mania is this fun time, where I'm happy and free and loving life. But its honestly just as dark as the depression. I seek thrills during my elevated states. I would go to a bar, all by myself, and get completely blacked out drunk. I would go home with the first guy who approached me, or just let him fuck me in the bathroom. They're were countless nights were I would wake up drunk in a strange place having no recollection of the night before. I would get dressed, fix my makeup and get drunk at brunch, also by myself. I would find parties to go to, drugs to do, or simply spend money I didn't have. I was the queen of Tinder and would meet up with any guy, fucking a different one every night. I was running on no sleep, as I normally do during these states and just out and about, looking for trouble. The worst part about mania is when it ends, and you hate yourself for all the things you did.
Depression phases are the worst. Mania can at least sometimes be fun. At least while its happening you don't even give a fuck that you're ruining your life. But depression is just a constant battle of deciding if you should kill yourself. I really don't like talking about, it seriously triggers me, so I'll keep this short.
I have made suicide notes, suicide videos, suicide attempts, pros and cons regarding my very own existence, and given my dog a final pet goodbye. I don't get out of bed for days, I eat way too much and cry. It's more than just a numb feeling, although sometimes it is. It's an active sadness. I's extremely present. I haven't had a suicide attempt in a very long time, although I've had days were I need to be on "suicide watch". I will no-shame call someone to come over and hang out with me and just make sure I don't kill myself. I've learned how to deal with myself and unfortunately, some people have to deal with it too. Which will always be the hardest part of this disorder.
It's not the constant mood shifts, its watching your family and friends deal with it. Watching your dogs deal with it is the hardest, cause they don't know whats going on. Dobbie doesn't know why I can't get out of bed and take him on a walk, and Khloe doesn't know that I'm manic and high-strung and thats why I'm yelling at her for no fucking reason. Your friends think you're a drama queen for acting out but you really can't fucking help it. And my parents of course, who have only helped and loved me the whole fucking time, even when I'm a raging cunt.
Currently, I'm in a love affair with my mood stabilizer, which has helped immensely, although my memory is fucked because of it. I need to write every single thing down because I will completely forget in the next two minutes. I forget stories I've told people, if I fed my animals, and lately I've been forgetting peoples phone numbers, which has always been my forte. I have everyones number memorized. It's actually really cool, but even that is fleeing. I'm so fucking scared these effects are long term and it makes me sad to think that having this disorder makes me have to chose. So, I have no memory, and my sense of reality is slightly altered, but shit, at least I'm not fucking insane. When I got prescribed my meds I asked my psychiatrist, "so, like, how long do I have to be on these?" and she looked at me kinda puzzled, as if it was a stupid question and said "oh, for the rest of your life." That shit hit pretty hard. I'm terrified of having kids cause like, what if I'm too depressed one day to play with them? Even with my meds I have some bad day. Or what if theyre in the car with me and I'm driving too fast and we get into a car accident? What if no one wants to fucking be with me cause it's really fucking hard to date someone with this disorder? So, what is it actually like being bipolar? It fucking sucks, but I'll try to end this with some silver lining. I have wonderful friends and family who love me and are always there for me. This disorder make my brain work a little different and I've been able to see things from a unique perspective. All of the decisions I've made, even the reckless ones have somehow led me to where I am today, and I very much like where I am.