Spotlight on Symptoms: Trance Writing.

What I call trance writing has been one of the more unsettling symptoms of mania for me. My brain seems to shut off, but my hands continue scribbling, typing, texting. The writing makes no sense and does not seem connected to anything. My journal shows some struggles with trance writing and my trying to pull out of it but tripping again into nonsense.

It's okay in my journal. It's even a little interesting. But it started to appear in my teaching life. I'd have to cut (literally cut from paper) out essay comments that made no sense. I think one was about directions to McDonalds. I missed some, and my students were bewildered.

That's when I started to realize that I was getting too sick to work. I seemed to have no control over it. I had to check back over everything I wrote. Stress may be a major cause; I've rarely trance written since I stopped working. I have stress now but nothing like I had before. My brain just can't process stress normally.

I love writing. But I like to know what I'm doing.

A Changed Mind.

As a child, I could memorize easily. I learned every word to my favorite Broadway shows and my favorite movies.

As I grew up, little seemed beyond me. If I could manage my anxiety, I did fine in school. Math, chemistry, and geography challenged me. But when I put in the work, I still got A's and B's.

I rarely lost objects. I didn't forget assignments. I could bask in the glow of a crush without major academic setbacks.

When I underwent psychological testing a few years ago, the puzzles seemed foggy. According to my results, I was a person of average intelligence. What was I supposed to do with that?

Appointments began to disappear from my mind. Reading became slow and difficult. I lost things. I forgot important information. Hours and days disappeared from my memory. And my brain began showing me things that weren't real.

I could no longer trust my mind. It wasn't there to catch me anymore. I don't know what comes from bipolar disorder and what comes from medication. But I miss my sharper, stronger mind.

The Cost of Functioning.

At many points in my life, I think I have been both high-symptom and high-functioning. In my experience, this is a terrible combination. Most people assume that a high-functioning person needs little or no help.

As my illness becomes more and more apparent a few years ago, I was still going to work and trying to appear competent and present. I was well-groomed, fairly articulate, and mostly cheerful in appearance. I was functioning (according to others), but I was crumbling. Dissociation and hallucinations started. I started writing and saying things that made no sense, including grading comments to my students.

A few days ago, I chaperoned a field trip for Oliver's class. Driving to another city, parking, finding our way around, dealing with Oliver's mini meltdowns--it all felt completely beyond me. I did it, more or less, but the cost was great. I'm still feeling it.

Some days, even basic survival seems nearly impossible. I want people to know that though I show up and may appear well in a situation, it's possible and even likely that I'm sacrificing my sense of safety and my sanity for it.