Dear Mrs. Martin:
I was insecure when entering your College Prep English class in the year of 1989. I worked really hard and earned an “A” each quarter. You fostered my love of writing, one that I never had nurtured.
We had a huge research paper due the final quarter, the one where I analyzed Anne Frank’s work. During that time, I became angry, argumentative, and eventually manic.
I have been on medications for bipolar disorder my entire adult life. The prescriptions and I have an avid love/hate relationship.
I need medications to function with the most amount of mental clarity. I resent my medications and am treatment resistant. Medication has allowed me to live a fulfilling life. Psychiatric drugs are slowly killing me in other ways.
When I experienced my first manic episode at eighteen, my family was oblivious to my struggle. My mother stated that I had done something to bring the illness onto myself. She expressed that she believed that the trigger was that I had previously drank alcohol as a minor. She even sought out a minister to see if I had become possessed.
After a serious depression, I was declared to be legally disabled and experienced extreme social phobia. I was rarely able to go in public, except in the middle of the night. I was afraid that I would be seen by people that I had known in my career and I was immobilized by fear in the thought of seeing them. The chances of running into those people that worked the day shift was unlikely. However, the sense of community that I developed through a local church helped me overcome many of my fears.
In my experience, I have found there to be a direct correlation between food and bipolar disorder.