Personal Stories

I saw my first psychologist at age five. I was decided to be “gifted” at age eight. At about fourteen I began experiencing the first symptoms of bipolar disorder. I tried to hide it from my parents, but it didn’t work. When I was depressed, I cried for hours in the bathroom at night for absolutely no reason at all. When I was manic, I dressed promiscuously and stayed up for days at a time. I believed I could do anything, I was invincible. At fifteen I was diagnosed bipolar. I began taking medication. At seventeen I decided marijuana was a better way to medicate my mental illness, combined with the partying of senior year. The effects wore off quickly and I began my downward spiral into alcoholism and drug addiction. I picked up the added symptom of paranoia. For twelve years I used heroin, the last four I mixed it with large amounts of vodka. I had given up hope. There wasn’t help for someone with my mental problems. It just wasn’t possible, I thought.

And then after four failed suicide attempts, I hit my bottom and I surrendered. I decided to let others run my life for five months. It was my only chance.

I have been sober and stable on medication for my bipolar since June 2012. Some days are great and some days are an uphill battle just to eat and leave the house. Especially since getting sober, I’ve been introduced to my eating disorder and minor obsessive compulsive tendencies as well. Today I know there’s always a better tomorrow and to be grateful for the little things in life.

I have a two year old who is my world. I work, I’m in school, I take care of my home. I’m an active member of AA. All this I do the best I can, always knowing this life I have is a gift, I’m a strong woman and recovery is possible. I still struggle talking about my bipolar, because medicated and sober I am able to hide it quite well. It makes it hard to ask for help. Last week was the lowest I’ve felt in four years and I didn’t want to tell anyone. Let’s erase the stigma. Have hope. Ask for help.

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