I used to feel like there was a revolving door in my emotional guesthouse. A joyless, listless version of me wandered in like a vagrant, stayed a while and left.
There was enough time to tidy up my mess and have some peace before a charming, risk-taking bad boy version burst through the door.
These bipolar guests took control, ran the show, and they all had bad manners. Without psychiatric and therapeutic support to manage my extreme highs and lows, every depressive episode cycled to a hypomanic episode.Read more on themighty.com