August 2021

A few things about me to get you oriented: First and foremost, I am a 32-year-old cisgender female mental health professional living on the eastern shore of the United States. I am bisexual, but only came out a few months ago so am lacking in experience in that area of my life. I’m the oldest of four girls and am very close to my sisters; I have a dog and a cat who I love above all else. I am obsessed with music and was only recently convinced to purchase a music subscription service after over 15-years of buying individual songs on iTunes – just to give you an idea of my type of weird. I am new to writing blogs, but I am already imagining that I will be making a lot of references to songs and quoting music lyrics.

On that note (lol, get it?), let’s get things started. I was diagnosed with bipolar (also called “BD” from here on) at the age of 17 after years of struggling with on-again-off-again depression. My mom took me to a psychiatrist in November 2006 because I had allegedly let her know the depression had gotten out of hand, and I was diagnosed with depression after the psychiatrist spent a handful of minutes interviewing my parents and myself. I was prescribed anti-depressants. When I took that medication, I became psychotic. Most of what I remember is seeing people in colonial-style outfits wandering around my room which was full to the ceiling with water. Waking up to my mom (as I was a senior in high school), I think the first thing out of my mouth was something along the lines of “why are there people in my room?” I ceased that medication immediately and went back to the psychiatrist. Now she finally asked what I consider the important question: what was I like when I wasn’t depressed, before this most recent episode?

When I was in high school, I took nine Advanced Placement classes and was otherwise in all Honors. I wasn’t a straight A student, but I was pretty damn close. In addition to my high school diploma, I also worked on and received my vocational degree at our sister tech school. I took community college classes my senior year, was in the gifted art program on Saturdays, took private piano lessons weekly, had after school activities after school every day of the week throughout high school, worked 30 hours a week (the max I was allowed to work as a student), volunteered several hours each weekend for my church, was very involved in multiple aspects of my church (e.g., altar service, chorus). My weekday schedule looked something like this: VoTech class starting at 7:00 a.m.> some high school classes> community college class> after school activity> some homework while waiting for my shift to start> part-time work until late at night> home completing homeworking until 2:30 a.m.> get up and get ready at about 6:30 a.m.> REPEAT. Then, of course, there was no respite on the weekends due to my church involvement, piano, and art program. Maybe it doesn’t convey quite the same in writing, but this is usually the part where most people say “Woah, how did you do all that?” I’ll tell you my secret…I was manic. Or at least hypomanic. Most nights I didn’t sleep even when I could. I would go weeks before crashing in a deep depression. I was cycling at functional levels for at least a year before seeing the doctor.

So, when my psychiatrist asked me what I was like outside of the depression she learned a lot more and diagnosed me with BD. I tried tons of medications none of which were working out. When I had serious side effects and refused to take the ones that were finally working (now just post-graduation), my psychiatrist told me if I wouldn’t take my medication then she couldn’t work with me anymore. Now, allow me to pause and share that I have worked with at least a half dozen psychiatrists and this is the only one who I would say “failed me;” so don’t let this set an example of the profession for you.

I went to college in fall 2007. My program required working on projects for a week or two without sleep then a week off, crashing. That, coupled with my youngest sister having serious health complications, lead me to a deep depression. I had enrolled in university counseling when I got to college, but I was still unmedicated. Spring break 2008, I made my first suicide attempt. Fortunately, it was an impulsive decision so I hadn’t actually researched what I was doing and therefore did not cause serious harm to myself.

My counselor connected me with a new psychiatrist and I was prescribed Lamictal. This led to my second psychotic episode, and I made my second suicide attempt. My psychiatrist finally put me on Lithium, and it clicked! I was lucky. For years I was on varying levels of small dosages of Lithium. Did I continue to experience depression and hypomania? Hell yes! But was I more stable? Definitely.

When I was 26-years-old, I had giardia which gave me long-term stomach issues and often made me sick when I took my Lithium. With the help of my counselor, I weaned off the medication at the age of 27. I was doing great! Super active, well-balanced lifestyle, great coping strategies. Life was going well. I went two years without medication and nothing more than occasional mild depression.

Then my then-boyfriend, Matt, left me (long story, another post) and I started cycling again at the age of 29 (June 2018). Except this time was worse. I went without medication for another 5-months but started on Abilify not wanting to take Lithium again. After another 4-months I was the most suicidal I’d ever been in my life and asked my PRIMARY CARE PHYSICIAN (all caps, because please don’t do this) for Lithium again in April 2019. At that point I was rapid cycling between mania and mixed manic-depressive episodes every month or so. I was spending money like I never had to pay it back. I kept trying to get myself under control but was in a whirlwind of mania and deep suicidal ideation. By July 2019, my now ex-boyfriend, James, had had enough of our fighting and announced that he was breaking up with me, and my line was crossed. With plenty of thought of those I would hurt but no capacity to care anymore, I replied that I was done trying and was finally going kill myself. He immediately called and convinced me to get some help and to call my counselor. I called her and she told me that if I didn’t go to the hospital voluntarily, she would have the police take me. So, I went.

I will be dedicating a full post to the hospital so I won’t go into detail about it just yet.

The hospital helped a lot but here we are two years later and I’m still struggling (though not quite as bad). While I want to give people hope, I also want to be realistic. Bipolar is a hell of a disorder. Check out future posts on what it’s like to battle depression; staying in a psychiatric hospital; and the impact of mania, depression, and anxiety on relationships and choices.