The Storm Swings Both Ways

“You don’t always see it coming.

You just wake up one day and realize it’s here — again.”

— Unknown

What Bipolar Disorder Actually Is

Bipolar disorder is a mood disorder that alters the way your brain regulates energy, sleep, emotion, and behavior. It’s not just “highs and lows.” It’s a neurological condition with deep roots in chemistry, trauma, and genetics — and it rarely looks the same from one person to the next.

There are several types, but the two most commonly diagnosed are Bipolar I and Bipolar II. I’ve lived with both.

Bipolar II: The Depression That Doesn’t End

Bipolar II is often missed or misdiagnosed as “just depression,” because that’s usually the loudest part.

It’s marked by:

• Long, debilitating depressive episodes

• Hypomania — a milder form of mania that doesn’t include psychosis

Hypomania can look like:

• A burst of energy after a depressive fog

• Talking more than usual, but not wildly

• A need to start a dozen projects

• Feeling social, confident, and clever

But here’s the catch: it’s not sustainable. And because it doesn’t get as destructive as full mania, it often gets brushed off as a “good day.”

Meanwhile, the depression that follows can be relentless.

For me, it looked like:

• Calling out of work repeatedly

• Not showering for days

• Ignoring messages, bills, responsibilities

• Feeling too heavy to stand up or feed myself

Bipolar I: The Crash After the Fire

Bipolar I is what people usually picture when they hear “bipolar.” It includes everything in Bipolar II — plus full manic episodes.

Mania is not fun. It’s not just hyper. It’s not quirky.

It can include:

• Insomnia for days — I once went five nights without a single hour of sleep

• Racing, disorganized thoughts

• Impulsivity — reckless spending, intense risk-taking, saying things you don’t mean

• Grandiosity — thinking you’re chosen, on a mission, somehow transcendent

• Psychosis — delusions or hallucinations during severe episodes

One of my worst manic episodes completely unraveled me.

I didn’t sleep for five days straight. Not even a nap.

My mind was moving at a speed I couldn’t control.

I was talking too fast, jumping from one thought to the next, unable to stop moving.

And then came the psychosis.

I started seeing shadows in the corners of rooms.

Not imagined — real to me.

They moved. They whispered.

I heard them talking to me, about me, like they knew things I didn’t.

It was terrifying and disorienting — and yet I didn’t know how to ask for help because I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

I had to be sedated just to sleep.

And when I came down?

I slept for four days.

Didn’t move. Barely ate. My mom came into my room more than once just to make sure I was still breathing.

That’s what mania can do.

It takes everything and burns it out.

And then it leaves you to sweep the ashes.

What Depression Looked Like Before That

Before mania showed up in my life, I lived inside depression.

For me, depression didn’t mean crying every day.

It meant going numb.

It meant not showering. Not answering the phone.

It meant calling out of work multiple days in a row because I simply could not get out of bed.

Not wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

My body felt like it was made of lead.

And my mind kept asking questions I couldn’t answer.

Why are you like this? Why can’t you just try? Why do you ruin everything?

It wasn’t sadness.

It was absence.

And that kind of void is terrifying — because no one else can see it,

but it swallows you whole from the inside out.

What It’s Done to My Relationships

Bipolar disorder has touched every relationship I’ve ever had — romantic, professional, and even parental.

When I’m stable, I’m vibrant, loving, creative, clear.

When I’m manic, I talk too fast, interrupt, start too many things, seem intense.

When I’m depressed, I disappear.

It’s hard to explain to someone that you’re not flaking —

you’re drowning.

It’s hard to explain that your silence isn’t indifference —

it’s paralysis.

And it’s hard to ask people to stay.

Especially when you can’t promise which version of you they’ll get on any given day.

What It’s Done to My Work

I’m proud of what I do. I’m good at it.

But bipolar disorder doesn’t care about schedules.

When I’m manic, I overperform.

I’ll knock out projects, take on too much, stay late, skip breaks,

and seem like a “superstar” to anyone watching.

When I’m depressed, I call out.

I avoid emails.

I get overwhelmed just looking at a task list.

And no one on the outside sees the full pattern —

just the inconsistency.

The high highs and the sudden drops.

What Treatment Can Look Like

There’s no one-size-fits-all answer for treating bipolar disorder. Some people take medication. Some don’t. Some find stability in strict routines, others in therapy, others in silence and solitude.

What I’ve learned is that it’s never just one thing.

Here are some of the many things people may try:

• Psychiatric care — mood stabilizers, antipsychotics, or sleep aids (for those who choose that route)

• Talk therapy — CBT, DBT, trauma-based support

• Sleep regulation — keeping wake/sleep cycles predictable

• Routine building — anchoring daily life to stability

• Tracking cycles — journaling or apps that help spot warning signs

• Grounding techniques — breath work, somatic tools, mindfulness

• Boundaries — with work, people, and your own expectations

And sometimes?

The only thing you can do is survive the week.

What Recovery Really Feels Like

I’m in recovery. But I don’t mean that in a glossy, inspirational way.

I mean I’m learning to work with my brain instead of against it.

I mean I’ve started noticing patterns.

I mean I can feel the storm forming sometimes — not always, but sometimes — and I’ve started building shelter before it hits.

But it still hits.

Bipolar doesn’t always announce itself.

Sometimes you’re just living your life and it slides up next to you like it never left.

No reason. No trigger. No logic.

And that’s part of the reality — the unfair, exhausting, terrifying reality.

You can be doing everything right, and it can still knock you flat.

Final Thoughts (No Silver Lining Required)

This isn’t a redemption arc.

It’s just my life.

I don’t need to wrap this up in a bow.

Bipolar disorder hasn’t made me better. It hasn’t made me worse.

It’s just part of who I am — and I’m figuring it out one wave at a time.

“Some days I am more chaos than calm,

but I am still whole.”

— Nikita Gill