The following is a story of one of my readers. I am hoping to post more stories of readers soon. If you would like to share your story with me, so that I can in turn share it with my readers please e-mail me at KissingStigmaGoodbye@gmail.com! Your story will be posted completely anonymously. I look forward to hearing from you! -Sara-
I was 19 years old when I
first began to experience symptoms of bipolar.
I knew something was wrong with me at the time but didn’t want to
believe it. When I would cycle out of a
hypomanic state into depression I called it the “slump”. My hypomanic phases would last months and l absolutely
loved them. I was making all A’s in
college, excelling at work and having a blast in my personal life. Then depression would strike and my
depression wasn’t like a sad depression where I cried or felt sad. I just became very unsocial, my grades would
suffer and work became extremely difficult.
It was more of a cognitive thing like memorization, understanding and
processing information suddenly became a challenge. I saw a few doctors and they all said the
same thing- sounds like you might have bipolar.
I was definitely not prepared to accept that as an answer to my “slump”
so I continued living in hypomania and depression for 7 years until I had my
first psychotic break.
I
only remember bits and
pieces from my first full blown manic episode.
I thought the radio was personally talking to me. I had extreme
religious delusions. I thought all my friends and even people on
TV were my brothers and sisters and my Dad had fathered all these
illegitimate
children. I thought my cell phone was
tapped. I thought I was being stalked by
one of my customers at work and had called 911 several times. 911
finally sent cops out to my house and
they could immediately see that I hadn’t slept in days and knew I had a
chemical imbalance. They told my Mom I
could go to the hospital or jail. Since
I was super paranoid I went with option a, to the hospital I went. From
there I was transported to the first
psychiatric hospital who had an open bed.
My first night at the hospital I was sedated and finally got some sleep
after days of no rest. For the third or
fourth time I heard those dreadful words from the psychiatrist at the
hospital,
I had bipolar. I guess this time there
was no running from my diagnosis, it was time to get help.
The next year I fell into
a deep depression. I couldn’t come to
terms with my diagnosis. I didn’t want
to believe I needed a pill to live for the rest of my life. I began to see a social worker and psychiatrist
on a regular basis. Every few months my
meds would change and I’d experience horrible side effects. Nothing seemed to help. There was no digging me out of this hole I
was in. The time when most of my friends
were getting married, having kids and getting promotions- my life came to a
complete stop. I was unemployed and
living back at home.
3 years and one more
hospitalization later at the age of 30 I’ve finally found a combination of meds
that seem to work for me. I feel they
could use a little fine-tuning, but overall I’m doing much better. I know this is an everyday battle and one I
could not fight without the support of my friends and family, especially my
Mom. I’m still a work in progress since
I do not have a job and still do not socialize as much as I’d like to. The difference now versus 3 years ago is I’m
no longer embarrassed I have bipolar. I
found a NAMI support group in my area and my first meeting is next
Tuesday. I’m excited to see what that
can bring to the table. I look forward
to the day where I can work again, socialize and live life more fully and am
very optimistic that is in the near future.
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