Personal Stories


If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health, suicide or substance use crisis or emotional distress, reach out 24/7 to the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (formerly known as the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline) by dialing or texting 988 or using chat services at suicidepreventionlifeline.org to connect to a trained crisis counselor. You can also get crisis text support via the Crisis Text Line by texting NAMI to 741741.



Bipolar Brain

I walk, I fall, I stumble, I crawl and I fly; yes I fly. I am tormented by overthinking everything until my brain bleeds. Sometimes I can’t silence the chatter in my head; the noise that renders me breathless because I can’t keep up. I speak far too quickly in fragmented sentences that make perfect sense to me; word salad is rather exhausting. I want everyone to keep up the pace. When the storm comes, beware; irritability leads to angry outbursts and words that have the power cut anyone to the bone. Things get shattered in bedlam. I’ve lost years of my life because I fell so far down into the “rabbit hole;” my reality faded away. The mood swings I’ve experienced over the years have come at a huge price. Mania, mixed states, rapid cycling and depression have just about done me in countless times. Sometimes I just want a disconnect switch.

Hypomania is the devil in disguise. Seemingly I’m well, all smiles and life is good. Most people don’t realize a definite difference of your “normality.” I have pure confidence that I’m perfectly fine and making good choices. The world is my oyster. I feel more deeply than anyone and I develop an empathy disorder. I can fix anything and everyone! Poor decisions I’ve made while hypomanic have been costly. It’s a chemical induced realm of no consequences, marathon phone calls, quick wit and charm and impulsive spending that leave credit cards melting and bill collectors calling. My vision of what’s right and logical is a grand illusion and complete magical thinking. If you tell me I’m wrong, beware. My irritability stings like an angry wasp.

Mania has a scandalous design. It comes wrapped up like a glittering box of Christmas candy. It tastes so yummy! You can’t stop eating and all the while you’re on the way to becoming quite ill; you’re stoned on sugar. It’s just a flat out uncontrollable hunger that ends up poisoning you. I am ever so busy and can’t slow things down. When I’m online, I have way too many tabs open to comprehend, yet I can, I think I can! I’m an award winning multitasking queen! I sometimes hunger for it because my brain becomes alive and creativity ignites. I feel like I can accomplish anything. Hours tick by and the next day comes without me even realizing it. Night and day become confused with rapid thoughts and disorganized cleaning sessions. The ability to focus is shattered. Mania is by far, incredibly destructive and leads to much darker places. Depression rapes and violates your entire being. It’s quicksand; it’s a killer and a time stealer. I lost a decade of my life to lingering on end in my bedroom sheltered in decaying blankets stained with the beverage du jour squinting at a dimly lit TV baptized in nicotine; just because it was there. My husband has had to beg me to let him help me shower and brush my teeth. I’ve hoarded my meds, made plans to end the torture and have written countless suicide notes along with detailed plans for my funeral. I am a suicide survivor. 

I have undergone ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy) during four of my hospitalizations because I am unable to take antidepressants; I am deemed “brittle.” I have been a “guest” in the psych ward more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. My old psychiatrist of 13 years told me once I was one of the most compliant patients he had ever followed. And why was I so compliant? I wanted to “feel” and feel better. Feel anything, feel even. Scary as it may seem, ECT gave me a reset that medications had failed to. This was my only option and a decision I would willingly make again. Having a very supportive psychologist for many years also helped the process. Something has changed within me. 

Perhaps, at this moment, my chemistry is friendly and I have begun to put a standstill to the never ending loop of inner demons that haunt me. I didn’t have the perfect childhood, set of parents, or relationships I would have liked. I have suffered in silence for years due to sexual abuse as a child. Thank you to that vile deviant neighbor and to the seemingly funny family “friend.” You both have caused me great pain and damage, but I don’t hear you loudly anymore. I’ve never publicly spoken of this, but I want others to know they are not alone, and that hope is a bridge you can cross; you must cross. Stuffing things that plague your soul is paralyzing. 

I always felt like the throwaway child; the difficult girl, an embarrassment. Second guessing myself and never feeling good enough created a loop of self-defeat. Nothing was ever easy for me. I struggled in school and barely made it through. My college and career aspirations were robbed from me because of the decay in my brain. I never felt like anyone was ever proud of me except for my amazing husband Greg. Often times, he was the glue that put me back together. 

I’ve lost a lifetime to “baggage” and regret, to the “would haves,” “should haves,” and “could haves.” Those thoughts have no escape hatches. This is a lesson I have learned the hard way. I’m trying to stop playing the bad in my head and let the guilt go. I’ve cried far too many tears. I will not let this illness define me. I have been a prisoner for far too long now. Bipolar disorder does not own me. 

I have days where I tell myself there are more sunrises in my life, doors to walk through and windows to view out of. Today I can rediscover myself; the Juliet, who loves photography; loves to laugh, draw, write poetry and listen to music. Some days I can actually focus on a good movie and get through the whole thing! I take all the good that I can inhale.

I will no longer be silent. I will no longer hide in the closet. My shame is over! If you like me knowing I have diabetes, why won’t you like me when you know I have bipolar disorder? This is a disease like any other. The stigma has got to stop! Some people who suffer from a mental illness silence themselves because of stigma and swallow their pain, making reaching out for help all the more difficult. How “healthy” is that? Why should bipolar disorder, depression, anxiety disorder, etc be kept in secret and in shadows? I’d like to see someone who has a cardiac arrest remain soundless! I encourage others who may be curious about mental illness to read about it, educate yourself and engage in the conversation. Change attitudes!

 


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