PDA

View Full Version : Of mania and starvation: my week


Akatosh
February 12th, 2015, 03:17 PM
I didn't eat for three days. It wasn't to be skinny; I was having a hypomanic episode and forgot. At that point I was pushing full blown mania and, though I remembered to eat, a voice in my head told me not to for... some reason. (Not a literal voice, I'm not schizophrenic.)

I ended up making myself eat upon becoming aware of my increasingly delusional mindset, after which the thoughts mostly went away, but I can't stop thinking about that shift. I could feel the exact moment that I entered mania, I remember exactly where I was. I was walking down the sidewalk downtown and thinking about my knees. They were shaking. Was it hunger? I wasn't sure. "Oh," I thought, "I should eat. It'll feel gross, but I should."

"No," said my delusional brain. "Don't eat. If you eat things will be bad."

"Why?"

"It will be bad. If you just don't eat, people will believe you. You will be authentically mentally ill. The people at the hospital will be concerned by the physical manifestation of your mind."

"But I want to be a self-sufficient adult. If they keep me in the hospital, I won't be able to do my schoolwork. That's a stupid idea. There are literally no upsides to not eating."

And thus my internal dialogue continued for a good ten minutes. My brain was slowly but surely replaced with this other. It went from justifying my plan to starve until I collapsed to simply repeating it. I wanted to see what would happen. So I stood there, standing like an idiot in the freezing cold of February, wearing just a dress and some nylons, incapable of movement. I could do anything if I didn't eat. I could write a memoir. I'd be more creative. Somehow, starving myself until collapsing and being rushed to the hospital was going to make me a bona fide visionary.

In that ten minutes, I pondered a lot of other things. Taking up heroin, stabbing myself in the arm, running away with a backpack filled with survival gear and hanging out in the woods for a while.

But somehow I wrested control of my body for long enough to march myself into a cafe and have a burger patty with some soup. I forced it down despite my protesting stomach. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to be hospitalized, and I was back to my schoolwork and hypomanic optimism. I spent $200 on books I'm never going to read and headed on home.

Oh, bipolar. Oh, mania. Oh, food. What the shit.