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Hello, Bipolar Disorder

It sucks to have a reaction to a medication, whether it be for a medical or psychiatric issue. It also sucks when that reaction leads to a new psychiatric diagnosis. I now carry the diagnosis of Bipolar II Disorder. These are some of the symptoms I have experienced since December 2019: insomnia, extremely restless, euphoric, agitated, unusually talkative, racing thoughts, low appetite, hopeless, helpless, sad, empty. Those are not all of the feelings and experiences I have had over the past months but are the majority.

I’ve always been the “depressed” one, the one who can be sensitive but smart. The one who became severely depressed in 2013 and had to have many invasive treatments including hospitalizations. I’ve always been that person, yet now, I am not. I have been hovering between two worlds: that of being depressed and that of being hypomanic. It is possible to feel sad and laugh at the same time. It is possible to feel very happy but cry at the same time. I have experienced this and I will tell you, it feels strange when I am aware of it. This is called a mixed episode where I feel hyped up and an hour later I am despairing on my couch. It can be within minutes. It can be taking a walk on a sunny 60-degree day and feeling powerful and euphoric to then feeling like I can’t believe what a failure I am.

It is utterly exhausting and I continue to contend with it while my psychiatrist keeps prescribing medication to alleviate these symptoms. It’s as if he is running a non-stop chemistry experiment with me and I am grateful to him and his experience. I ended up not doing well with the most well- known mood stabilizer, due to many negative side effects. I am now in an “in-between” phase where we will introduce a new mood stabilizer in a few days. I try not to think of the medication difficulties but I have endured them for years. My body is very selective in terms of what medications it will accept.

Honestly, it was important to be given the diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. As a clinical social worker, I know the focus should always be on the symptoms and that diagnoses are for insurance companies, but I needed it. I needed it as validation of years of wondering, of being given so many other diagnoses that basically equal Bipolar Disorder. Even though the illness lives at a higher pitch than what I experienced before, I had to hear it and see it. I need to own my reality, as my blog states. While I wish the past months were different, in terms of my mental health, I can only move on from here, meet it head-on and do my best work with my treatment team (including my husband, family and friends) and move forward. This is not easy but it is the only choice I have and want. So…

Hello, Bipolar Disorder

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The Wrong Door

It started and I kept going along, ignoring yet feeling it. It came on more slowly than before which fooled me into believing it would come and move on its way. Then, things piled up…symptoms piled up: irritability, trouble sleeping, severe anxiety, fatigue, difficulty feeling connected to others, decrease in appetite…I wanted to keep ignoring it and only described my symptoms to my therapist but never used the word “depression.” My therapist did and questioned if I was falling back but I told her I wasn’t, that I wasn’t totally under water and could still be around people. That held true but not for long and then I could no longer ignore it. I could not say the word out loud though. I emailed my therapist and simply said, “I am depressed.” Of course when we saw each other next, the word was voiced and owned by me.
In the past, my depressive episodes would come on very quickly, sometimes within days from 0-100. Feeling the symptoms pile on one another so quickly is terrifying and does not allow you any time to breathe. This episode is different, certainly not better, but different.
This feels as if I walked through a door and realized it was the wrong one to go through but once I turned around the door was gone and I was stuck in the wrong place. I entered the wrong door to the wrong time to the wrong place with no way out. I walked into utter darkness and even though I can’t see anything, this isn’t the only phenomenon that scares me. It’s not just about being alone in the darkness, but feeling alone. I cannot conjure up feelings, thoughts and memories of those I love very often and hold onto them. The frustration of that only leads to more fear of being and believing that feeling alone is my destiny.
This door has led me to the wrong world and I am seeking an exit. This world is vast, empty and scary. Not only is it desolate but it is not allowing me any comfort. It is not allowing my brain to think clearly and to picture my loves, hold on to them and use those images and visualizations in my head to calm me.
This fucking sucks. I’m anxious with no precipitant. I am numb. I am sad. I am scared. I am irritable. I am so very tired. I feel so alone. I feel I am a burden. My inner dialogue is terribly rude and offensive toward myself (and these are only a few examples): I’m stupid, a bad person, a bad wife, a bad mother and this reel goes on and on in my head throughout the day and now feels normal. My body is in the world but I am not. Life is happening around me but I don’t feel I am a participant.

As I work with my therapist on talking through the many aspects of my current experience, I am also working with my psychiatrist on a medication increase. There is no easy fix and it can take 3-4 weeks to begin to feel a positive effect from this increase which is not easy to tolerate when I feel so stuck.

I didn’t mean to walk through this door into this world. I simply didn’t know. The writer, Dejan Stojanovica, wrote, He tries to find the exit from himself but there is no door. I think I walked through that door because I believed it would rid me of my inner pain, that I could “exit” my self but once through that door, it turned out to simply be a mirage. It wasn’t real. There never was a door to walk through in order to leave my self. This world that feels wrong is actually my world. It wasn’t a mistake, I was merely taking the next step that I had to take as it was the only way to go. I, somehow, need to keep walking though, not to find an exit, but to find an entrance.
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Welcome Home! You’re All Better?

I have been home from the psychiatric hospital for a week now and, at times, I am overwhelmed by very small things. It is a wonderful thing to be discharged from the hospital particularly when there is a good plan in place and one feels safe. That was certainly my experience. To be honest, though, it is not easy. One may think being back in the comfort of one’s home would feel soothing and relaxing but for me, I have not consistently felt that. I certainly sleep better in my bed with my life partner by my side and I certainly like not being checked on every 15 minutes. The stresses that brought me to the hospital are still there although dulled. I am still experiencing weird occurrences of remembering different aspects of being in the hospital as brought on by smells or sounds. I need to be careful when that happens not to allow it to take over my thoughts in those moments as it will not accomplish anything positive.

I am still not feeling great so I still need to monitor my symptoms. That can be difficult at times. There are times when I feel like everyone in the entire world is texting or calling to check on me and it feels too enormous to respond. That then brings on tremendous guilt and its own version of negative self-thoughts. The truth is nothing about this is easy for anyone involved in my life.

My therapist had used the term that I needed “a break” and classified that as me going to the hospital. I told her this week that I could not continue to describe my hospitalization as “a break” as it was not as if I took off a few days to go to Canyon Ranch (I wish!) or took a few days at the beach. In my mind, it was not really about taking a break but rather keeping me safe. That was the bottom line and the reality of my hospitalization. That is the new language now that I will be using. While I may have also needed a break from reality, the intention of going into the hospital was to keep me safe, simple as that. I talked with my husband about this language and he agreed. I am learning a lot right now about how important it is to let others in. It was important to tell my therapist that I did not agree with her language and we were able to talk about it and come up with a solution. Also, just as important, I knew to bring this to my husband’s attention in order for us to be on the same page. Semantics can carry a lot of meaning and it is so important for me to be understood. It is a very empowering feeling.

What would be helpful right now? Certainly hearing from my family and friends is important, I just may not respond if I am not up to it. It is not personal. I need to let others into my world a bit more as I have been unable to do so for months. This is very hard for me as I have not felt others “with” me in that emotional way in several months as my depression has fought against those feelings. Cut me some slack while I find my way. Yes, it is great to be home from the hospital but there is still a lot for me to acclimate to socially, emotionally and rationally. I need to try to give myself a break, too, during this process and for me that is like delving into the unknown. It scares me but I can intellectually see how important it is to my ongoing recovery.

My new medication is holding a lot of hope and during this waiting game of a few more weeks as it kicks in, I have chosen to have a couple of ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) treatments to help me get through. This was not an easy decision to make and although I originally told my doctor in the hospital I would not have more treatments as an outpatient, I came to it on my own once I was home for a few days. I felt empowered and terrified making this decision as there is so much anxiety for me before each treatment. It was helpful though while I was in the hospital and I need to give myself every opportunity to feel better. As my very eloquent therapist said to me this week, “it’s enough already!”

Yes, it really fucking is.