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The World Is Flat October 17, 2010

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Bipolar Disorder, Medication, mental illness.
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5 comments

It’s an obvious point, but the point of mood stabilizers is to stabilize moods.

What’s not so obvious is the unintended consequences of mood stabilization.  When your mood is stabilized, it makes life flat. Nothing makes you sad, but nothing makes you happy either.  That fact hit me squarely in the face this week when we bought a new house.

While the purpose of the mood stabilizer is to avoid manic or depressive episodes that are so characteristic of bipolar disorder, there is a down side to the medication.

When you get ready to purchase an object of the magnitude of a new home, a normal person goes through various stages of emotion.  The process of finding a home should  be filled with excitement, both good and bad.  Excitement at finding that perfect place to live. Excitement at seeing that perfect house for the first time in person.  Excitement at going through that perfect house for the very first time. Excitement at making the offer, then getting the offer accepted by the seller.  All of these processes elicit a roller-coaster of emotion in the normal person.

But in the medicated, stabilized bipolar person, these emotions are missing. Where there should be trepidation at undertaking such an enormous obligation as a house payment, there is an absence of fear.  There is no thrill of getting a good deal, of finding the perfect place to live. There’s just nothing there. It’s flat.  Neither up nor down.

In the old days before my illness, I would have taken a great amount of interest in the whole house-hunting process. The thought of spending that much money would have sped me into action, to make sure that we got a good deal for our money, to make sure I wanted the house.  But this absence of emotion has had a profound effect on the degree of my involvement in the whole house-hunting process.

When I can’t get excited about the house-hunting process, I can’t get emotionally involved in it either.  I stand apart, waiting for my husband to make all the moves, all the decisions, in this major undertaking.  I watch, like a spectator, rather than as a partner, as he signs us up to the bottom line of a major monetary commitment. It simply doesn’t matter any more.

I miss the old days, when I had the rush of excitement of the hunt.  Looking for the perfect house, excitement at finding a possibility. The thrill of stepping over the threshold of what might prove to be our next home.  Will this be someplace I would want to live? Do I like the house? Love it? Or hate it? How do I feel about it?  How do I feel about the entire process of house-hunting?  About committing the money to purchasing it?

The answer to these questions is: nothing. I have no feelings about any of it.

While the mood stabilizer keeps me on an even keel, able to avoid manic and depressive episodes, it also keeps my life flat.

 

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