Everyone has regrets. Mine are about the “simple” things I couldn't do when I was depressed and worse the destructive things I said when I was manic.
Regret is a part of life but it's hard to move forward if we're always rehashing our regrets. Les bipolar are not lacking in the rule, especially since we sometimes no longer really are ourselves at times if I dare say so. Here is the story of a bipolar man who explains his story to us.
Regrets. My head is full of them. They pop up from time to time. Old regrets are like old friends, familiar, comfortable, irritating, and sometimes awkward. These regrets tend to wear off quickly.
The newer ones are harder for me. With them, I linger. I am reliving the experience. They evoke emotions — sometimes embarrassment, sometimes anxiety, sometimes anger.
Regrets about my depressions are regrets about loss. Lost opportunities and things I didn't do. Things I couldn't do. These regrets make me sad when I think about them. The memories of my “lost years” and the times when I couldn't be there for my kids. That's when tears welled up in my eyes.
Regrets about my manic periods are accompanied by anxiety and discomfort. Sometimes these regrets make me shudder. Unlike the regrets of depression that make me regret not having done something, the regrets of mania are about the actions. Sometimes I can't believe what I did.
When dealing with depression, I am not myself. I regret letting others down because of what I didn't do during my depression.
There was this good friend who I played soccer with and who I really liked. He offered me to be friends beyond sport. I liked the idea and wanted to spend more time with him. He was funny and smart. He called me and set up an appointment.
So what happened?
The day we ate lunch, I was in a terrible depression. My mind was numb, my voice was monotone, my energy was low.
I cancelled lunch.
I had to do it. I could not go there. I couldn't go anywhere.
We rescheduled for two days later.
Two days later I couldn't get out of bed.
At the last moment, I put a rabbit down for him.
I tried to call him but it was too late. I wanted to... but I couldn't. I felt guilty. I felt like a failure because I couldn't do such a “simple” thing. And I sank even deeper into depression.
I never called him back again.
Another time, while I was still able to work, depression hit me. When I think about that time now, I feel disappointed and regretful.
I was 22 and working in a convenience store. All the time I worked there, I was depressed.
While working, I felt lazy, ashamed, and guilty. All for no good reason.
Gradually, guilt, shame, and negative self-talk got worse.
One day I left without warning. I did not check if the store had staff. When I left, there was no one there to take my place.
I regret this behavior because that's not how I was raised.
I barely made it home that day. When I did, I went straight to bed. It added to the guilt and shame. I knew it was wrong. I let people down.
When this memory comes back now, I regret not having given notice. Even a few days in advance. Even for an hour.
It seems to be a small thing. It's one of the many “little” things that build up, one after the other, until it's too much.
I have an unlimited reservoir of regrets for things I didn't do.
“We've all made bad decisions in the past. However, we have to accept them and learn from our mistakes to become a better version of ourselves.”
With mania, my regrets are linked to things I did.
Some of my manic regrets come from feelings of grandiosity. Like the time I was in my late 20s and had a great job that I loved.
One day my boss, my colleagues and I went for lunch.
I thought I was the smartest person in the room. I was manic and talked constantly, expressing opinions about work, current events, and life in general.
My boss asked me a question, and I gave a casual comment in response. This comment was completely untrue.
The conversation stopped and people looked at me.
I knew I had made a mistake... But I couldn't stop talking.
A few years later I was fired from that job.
One of the reasons my boss gave for this decision was this lunch — this conversation and my cocky comment.
Sometimes I think about that lunch time. I know I was a maniac. My behavior, thoughts, and words were so different from the healthy self. It was a mistake.
Such a simple thing. Such a “small” thing.
But that was the wrong thing. And it was one of the maniacal things that cost me the job that I loved so much.
The memory makes me sad, and I feel a powerful sense of loss when I think about it. I feel embarrassed and guilty for letting my family down by losing my job because of this.
That one comment, at that luncheon, changed my life.
Sometimes when I think about what could have been, that memory comes to mind.
Then, sometimes, I think back to another time when I embarrassed myself — and embarrassed my wife by being cocky and pretentious and thinking I was the smartest and funniest person in the room.
It was a time when mania had altered my judgment, and I told a horrible and inappropriate joke at a dinner party with friends.
When I think about it, I wince.
It was a bad joke. An old joke that I heard once. When I heard myself say it, I had the impression of leaving my body: Did I just say that? How? Why? Where does that come from? It's not me.
We lost friends because of this joke. I shiver when I think about it.
Again, it was such a “simple thing.” A thought that came out of nowhere put into words. A thought that, if I had spread it to the world via social media, would have continued to represent me as who I am not.
Then there are the more important regrets. Shameful and embarrassing things that I did when I was a maniac. As with depression, I also have a reservoir of manic regrets.
Some are about spending money. I feel guilty about them, but mostly I feel like an idiot.
There was the car we couldn't afford and that I bought in cash. There were vacations that we couldn't afford.
But the things I said when I was manic, when I felt “stoned” and great, these are things that stick around. These are things that destroy a person's character. These are things that last.
Everyone says things that they regret. I too have said things that I regret even when I was stable. But these are not big events that change my life. I can live with these missteps.
But what I said when I was a maniac... those quick comments changed my life.
Sometimes I still have a hypomanic. But the difference between hypomania and mania is that I don't think I'm the smartest person in the room. I don't think I'm the funniest person in the room.
These days, I don't create life-changing regrets that haunt me in my quiet moments.
