do not metaphor me

Thirty-five years ago, when I was eighteen years old, I was diagnosed with rapid cycle bipolar disorder.  I don’t remember much about that time.  Maybe it was the cycling.  Maybe it has been simply because of the passage of time.  Nonetheless, there is little I can recall.

I can remember the relief I felt when the doctor said, “You have what is called bipolar disorder or manic depression.” 

Now, I had no idea what that meant or even that the main symptom was extreme mood swings.  Still, I sighed.  My problem has a name.  And a name means they know how to fix it.  What can I say?  I was young and naïve.  I had no idea I was being given a life sentence of taking medication and therapy.  Until, he said his next words or at least they were the words I heard because they weren’t very “doctory”.  He said, “You will be in and out of mental hospitals for the rest of your life.  Even if you do take your medication faithfully.  You will lose jobs, if you are lucky enough to actually get one.  Your family will have to take care of you for the rest of your life.”  Needless to say, the second emotion I felt was anger.

I’m a stubborn person and my next thoughts were a reflection of that fact.  And I remember them very clearly.  “How dare this man, who does not know me, tell me what my life is to be or who I am to be.  He doesn’t know me.  He has spent a week and a half with me.  What does he know?  Not me.  Saying my family will have to take care of me.  I will prove him wrong.”

For the most part I have proved him wrong.  But there has been one thing he was right about and that is the job part.  I have had some misfortunes in that area.

For many years after my diagnosis, I went unmedicated.  Because after my relief wore off the denial sunk in.  Not denial of my diagnosis.  No, I believed I was bipolar most of the time.  My denial was more about needing medicine to treat it.  I thought I could get by on my own. Mainly because of the oldest reason of practically every diagnosed person ever. I didn’t like the way the medication made me feel off.

That was until one day I went to a physiatrist to get medication for anxiety.  It did not go as planned.

“I’m not going to give you medication for anxiety because you are bipolar.  I’m going to give you medication for that.”  He said.

I said, “Oh, no.  I don’t need medication for that I have it under control.  But what I don’t have under control is my anxiety.”

“No.  You are in what is called an agitated state of mania.  And you don’t have it under control.”

And that’s when I started tuning him out.  What did he know?  He knew absolutely nothing.  And then my stubborn streak reared its head again and I said, “Okay I will take the medicine.”  Then I thought… and prove you wrong.

However, I conceded pretty quickly that he was right.  The main indicator was my kids.  They started talking to me more.  Staying around the house instead of going over to their friend’s houses.  Inviting friends over.  I couldn’t deny the change in them.  Which meant I couldn’t deny the change in me.  It also helped that the medicine didn’t make me feel off.

Still with all this acceptance and change there are things I truly can’t stand about being bipolar.  Things I wish I could change.  That is what my next few post are going to be about.  Things I hate about being bipolar.  Come back and find out what they are.