At one point in my life, I was prescribed to twenty-eight medications a day. I’d seen this doctor and that, until, as a twenty-nine-year-old mother of four young children and two stepchildren, I received my diagnoses’ and two additional “second opinions.”
I was diagnosed with bipolar II axis disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, insomnia and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder now about 12 years ago.
I never “believed” in medication prior to that point, but I was desperate and felt completely helpless. I was on the “a’s”, Ambien, Adderall, Abilify, the “p’s,” Prozac, Plaquenil, Presitiq, the “l’s,” Lithium, Lexapro and Levothryoxin…and the list went on.
Perhaps I’d been in denial my whole life for all those years. Or maybe it was because at that time being diagnosed as “crazy” was still considered taboo. It’s been said mental illness is accepted, but in many instances, I’ve experienced where it’s still not. There are the whispers, the stares, the noticeable nervousness of the people around you. And you’re made to feel it is in your head.
I’d always thought I was just tightly wound as a child, hyper, perhaps. I was just “extreme”- either ‘extremely’ happy or ‘extremely’ sad or “flat.”
I remember, as though it were yesterday, being an eight-year-old, whose parents divorced. It was terrifying to me and made me feel scared, lonely and gave me very deep trust issues at a very young age. My mother and father both thought that therapy or my seeing a counselor would “heal” me, yet much to all our disappointment, the first one was not a “good fit.”
Yet I’d found myself a platform where I could deny the deep hurt inside of me. I could lie to her, not telling her I wasn’t crying myself to sleep nightly because I had the inherent fear of being alone…at eight years old. I could tell this therapist anything, and the more interesting, the better. It was a coping mechanism, I know now looking back, but I figured out how to be a very good storyteller. It wouldn’t be until many years later that I found how helpful having a trusted therapist was.
I went to live with my father six hours from my childhood home halfway through my junior year in high school. I feel that, specifically being the age that I was, the transition played a large role in how the rest of my life would pan out. I only lived with him for about six months, but then moved in with my high school boyfriend and the rest is history. We married and had two boys and lived the young adult’s life: worked hard, raised our boys and any time anything out of the ordinary happened, we’d just drink, or smoke weed about it and call it good. Even though I didn’t feel like it, I acted like I was “normal.” He couldn’t hold a job, so that forced me to balance not one, but two full-time jobs, as well as being the young mom of two very busy boys.
I think a lot of people blame their lives on their parents or what-not, but I do not. If I hadn’t have gone through everything I have through this very moment, I wouldn’t be who I am, and I finally like who I am.
After my first marriage ended, I moved my sons and I back North near my hometown and started my new life there. I, very soon thereafter, met a man who seemed safe and secure, and we married two years later.
I began to feel it in my own home, as my second husband didn’t “believe in” or acknowledge mental illness. Not only was I trying to figure out what was going on inside my own head, I was trying to put on a happy, fully- functional face in order to raise my family.
When I began having anxiety and panic attacks on a regular basis, it finally scared me enough to go in. I started spending money, ridiculously so. I would go grocery shopping in the middle of the night, not having one single memory of it, until he’d point out our full refrigerator and the receipt on the counter showing the time being the wee hours of the morning. No memory, just proof that it’d happened.
Educating yourself on the disease and getting information for others who may need it is most important, helping to end the stigma around it and encourage it to be talked about, because…
I had no idea. I didn’t know what was going on, I was in fairly good health at the time, educated, loved, outgoing, and enjoying life the fullest way I knew, so what was wrong with me?
So, I masked it, all of it. I began self-medicating and laughed when someone asked why I seemed “off.” “I’m fine” became my mantra, and my smile was plastic. Yet inside I was dying, and I didn’t know how to pull myself out of it.
When I initially went inpatient, they had to strip me down to my core. I was on all sorts of medication, some prescribed, some not. My doctor had to take me off everything in order to see where I was at without it. It was hell. I heard the voices of the nurses, talking about me. I wanted to rip my flesh off. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stay awake. I was ill. Not the kind of sick like I’d ever been before, but like there was a violent beast inside of me, taking over my entire self. The doctors get you to where you’re the rawest, then the “real work” begins. And, if, just if, you’re lucky, your medical professional won’t lose funding and close their doors (yes, it happened).
I had to hit rock bottom before I could decide to change my life around. I lost everything. But more important than what I lost, was what I gained.
The experience of being locked up in a psychiatric facility rocked me to my core, having me beg for any type of relief that wouldn’t come until much, much later.
People go through life and their experiences help to shape who they are, what they believe and what they want out of this life. For me, I’ve never done anything the easy way. If there’s been a road less traveled, I’ve always taken it, looking for an adventurous challenge.
A few years ago, I had to grow up, and it sucked. I went from being a full-time married mother of four to a single mother without a dime to her name, and I’d gotten myself there. No one to blame but myself. Poor decisions, lack of better judgement and taking that “other” road had blown up in my face.
I began to think there was something wrong, as I would find myself awake for days on end, just like a motor inside of me, cranked. There were days I couldn’t get out of bed. And then were the darkest days I thought everyone would be better off without me.
I had to find myself again, but first had to admit I was lost. I got in with a counselor, a physician and a psychiatrist, all on the same page, and we came up with a “game plan.”
I began taking my regimen of medication for my bipolar disorder and maintained weekly appointments with my counselor. At first, I was just tired, just dragging. There were weeks when my counselor was the only one I saw. Four long years that lasted, until one day, I felt. And I felt better. Not a lot better, or extremely better, as would have signaled a manic episode, but gradually, steadily and evenly, better.
Bipolar disorder, depression and other mental illnesses are also associated with substance abuse, of which I was no exception. My “extremes” prevent me from participating in risky behavior. I don’t want to drink a little, I drink to excess. I don’t want to have sex with my husband for an hour, but for the weekend.
Suicide is not the answer for anyone. It may be the end to one’s suffering but is something that cannot be undone. There is no ability for explanation, no opportunity for forgiveness and no way to right what was wrong. Loved ones are left with questions and people have a very hard time finding closure when someone decides to take their own life, since the never-ending question is “why?”
If I were to end my life, what message would that send my children? Even of the ones that aren’t currently talking to me, it would not be a good one.
And what I felt even worse about was I’d made myself feel like the ultimate loser when I tried not once, not twice, but three times, unsuccessfully. As much as I’m glad to be rid of the individual who did this, I had an old acquaintance of mine who’d videotaped my stomach being pumped and my being treated, with the medical team in the emergency room almost needing to resort to having to use the paddles on me. I have not attempted suicide since.
Many inpatient stays in the “special” wards at various hospitals later, some very good and empathetic doctors helped me, but it didn’t take overnight.
They’d prescribe this medication for this, and then three others to counteract the side effects from the first. It was a roller coaster of emotions not only for myself, but especially for my children, family and friends. I have experienced too many failed relationships and strained relations with those that love(d) me the most. All because I was too proud to admit I wasn’t perfect and needed help. I was toxic to those around me and didn’t know what a drain I truly was…I didn’t seem to “know” anything.
Bipolar disorder creates very high ‘highs’ and very low ‘lows.’ It is not just being moody, it is having extreme, and often severe mood swings. There are two very different states of being when one suffers from bipolar disorder. There is the manic state, where people can often be driven to stay awake for days and appear to be very high functioning. Often associated with reckless behavior, anything from binge drinking, unsafe sexual activity, to reckless shopping sprees can occur. Many famous writers, entertainers and others who are in the limelight are often ‘caught in the act’ at this stage, because being manic can be exhilarating, privy to those whose life plays out in the media.
However, there is then the depression that sets in. The depression associated with bipolar disorder has been well-documented as being nothing less than devastating. Getting out of bed can present a daily challenge, and the lows can cause people to do things that they wouldn’t normally do. Showering, self-care, ostracizing themselves from friends and loved ones can seem acceptable. Being in either the manic or the depressed state can often cause people to commit suicide and can be equally dangerous.
Being bipolar does not make you disabled, yet it can have very debilitating results. It will affect a person’s personality, often showing a completely different side to who they normally are. For loved ones, providing acceptance and understanding are key.
Yet here I am, over ten years later, on less medications, each one always a trial, but I feel very even, very regulated and almost “normal.” If I can do it, anyone can.
Many people find ways to self-medicate, in order to dull their pain, even though there are many medications available for people, and have proven to have quite beneficial results. With the right mix of appropriate medication and therapy, people with various mental illnesses have been known to become and remain very stable.
In the rural area where I live, there is an extreme shortage of licensed professional counselors, psychologists or treatment facilities available to anyone suffering from mental illness. Apparently, this is a country-wide epidemic, not just where I happen to live.
If you believe that you need services, there is help available, so do not think that you must suffer alone. Allow others (especially loved ones) to help you, and do not give up until you receive the help you need. Do not be ashamed if you feel you need to ask for help, that is what it is there for. If you’ve tried getting help in the past and have been unsuccessful, try, try again. The key is in finding a mental health professional that you feel comfortable with and knowing there are options out there for you.
A lot of people I’ve spoken with have said they “don’t do therapy and meds,” but that isn’t necessarily the end-all solution. Just like a pair of shoes, one pair doesn’t fit everyone. Find your passion ~ I live by music, but must keep my listening in “tune” with my ever-changing moods. Certain days it’s some country “boot-stomping”, others it’s love ballads that make me look deep into myself, other days I dance from the time I wake up until the time I drop. Other days, most days I’d say, rock and roll are the only notes to control my soul. I choose my music first for the lyrics, then for the rhythm & beat. I don’t know if that’s the right way to do it, but it’s the way that works best for me.
Writing. That is my artistic outlet, sometimes messy while other times polished to perfection. Whether it’s journaling, jotting down notes, whatever it takes, I must do it.
Please remember this as your take-away, if nothing else: your life doesn’t have to be defined, or worse yet, end, with death. Find out what you can about bipolar disorder, stay informed, take your prescribed meds and your appointments.
If you, or anyone that you know is suffering, reach out. Call a family member or friend, and don’t feel bad about it. What makes family and friends is the ability to always be able to count on someone, and for them to count on you during a time of need.
I decided to return to college and obtained my associate degree through a community college. School was a blessing for me, as I had to learn how to be somewhere again. It forced me to focus on something positive, which is so healthy. I then transferred to the university over an hour away, packed up what I could, and I did it: I earned my bachelor’s degree, just before my thirty-ninth birthday.
I still must take my medications every day. Mental illness does not take vacation days, so neither can I, I must take my prescribed medication daily, as stability is also key with bipolar (and other mental) diseases.
Bipolar disorder is still with me, from the time I wake up until the day is done, some days are just better than others. The seasons affect it, while the weather can, too. I feel stable, which is extremely important. I’ve established care with another great medical team here and know that my counselor is only a phone call away if I need him. I can be seen at the earliest possible time, because they know how serious I am about my continued success in living and functioning with a mental illness.
It’s important for people around me to know, to understand mental illness is like a physical illness in that, since I’ve chosen to go the medication route, I must take prescribed medication as directed for it to work to its fullest potential. My husband, my family and friends know when I need to go in. You typically must threaten self-harm or abuse, but, in my experience of when having to be hospitalized, I don’t feel anything at all, I am “crashing.”
I’m lucky that I have a strong support system, and although it is essential to have positive and encouraging people around you, it is also rewarding to know that you have it in you to do it for yourself. Please, if you or someone you know may be suffering from mental illness, seek help. The only thing wrong with getting help is not getting it.
