A little backstory: I was diagnosed with bipolar type II disorder in January and started taking medication then. I am still on the original medication I started with, because it seems to work well for me, and have since added a second medication to the mix to help keep me even more stable. I have experienced one depressive episode since my diagnosis due to forgetting to pack my meds when I went on a weekend trip. But other than that brief hiccup in the spring, I have been more stable for the past ten months than I have been in a very long time.
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Five years and five months ago I heard the word “bipolar” for the very first time. Honestly, I did not know what it meant nor what it would come to mean to me and my life. I learned pretty quickly that it meant I was very sick and that I was self-medicating an illness I had no idea I had and that unless I sought and accepted treatment, my life would not be as happy and productive as I had planned or dreamt it would be. I also learned very quickly that bipolar disorder was not an “acceptable” illness to have … and soon found myself alone, deserted by my family, my friend
I’ve had episodes of depression throughout my life, but it was only seventeen years ago that I realized I had a mental illness. Up until that time, I blamed the episodes on circumstances of my life like being away from home my first time, escaping from Vietnam in ’75, my husband becoming seriously ill, him dying, my daughters going off to college, etc. Some of the episodes were so severe that I seriously considered suicide, but I still didn’t think I had a mental illness.
When I’m high, I can fly. When I’m low, I sink into the deepest, darkest place. I keep wishing I could change this.
One of my medications in particular gets me through the day. It’s actually supposed to help with anxiety, but it sort of has the opposite effect on me. I’ve realized that without it, I am worthless. Less than worthless. I just want to sit there. To merely exist. I don’t want to rely on pills to get me through life, but I know I have to. I know because I’ve gone off my meds. Many times. I felt better, so I thought I didn’t need pills.
Several women sat in straight rows at the church waiting for the meeting to begin. My friend, Joann, introduced me, “We just had to ask Patricia to come and speak with us tonight because she is so experienced in depression.” This brought a chuckle to the group as I stood to share my story.
Barry Shainbaum is an icon of survival and success. Today, he is a renowned public speaker, broadcaster and celebrated photographer, acclaimed for documenting some of the world's most famous and heroic individuals.
Bipolar and Recovery. Two words that don’t normally go together in many circles. But, new research has determined that “recovery” is attainable for those with Bipolar and possibly other mental illnesses.
What does it take? Is there a magic pill? Why haven’t we heard of this before?
It’s hard work, dedication, and mental and physical health management.