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What It Was Like Hearing Those 2 Words: Bipolar Disorder

You thought it was just another appointment with your therapist. One that will consist of questions upon questions about your week and emotions. And for a time there, it was. Just like any other appointment. Full of the underlying diagnoses of depression and anxiety. Just like any other appointment. Then she says it. The words that will change your life. The words that will flip it inside-out. “I believe you have bipolar disorder.” Not just like any other appointment.

Your breathing starts to quicken. Your heart beats a mile a minute, like it’s trying to break out of your chest and run away. Run away from the hard reality of this situation. You want to run away with it because you definitely don’t want to be there either. Stuck in that tiny room with that diagnosis. Not just like any other appointment.

There’s a calm while you process the meaning of those two little words, bipolar disorder. Then all hell breaks loose as tears cascade down your face and you begin to hyperventilate. You don’t want this. You didn’t ask for this. You don’t even know how this could have happened. But you do see it. The signs that all point towards bipolar. You want to ignore it and protest. Surely your therapist has made a mistake. There’s no way you could have bipolar disorder. That’s a serious illness. All you have is a little depression and some anxiety. No big deal, right? Wrong. Every mental illness is serious and anyone could have bipolar disorder. It doesn’t save itself for a certain person.

You feel destroyed. How am I going to live now? My life is forever changed. Yes, your life is forever changed, but everyone goes through change. Your change just happens to be a bit different. This does not mean your change can’t amount to something beautiful and new. A diagnosis is just a diagnosis; and though bipolar is now a part of you, it does not have to define you. You’re the only one who gets to decide what defines you. You are still the same person you were before… with a few added adjustments. Your life will now hold some higher than highs and some lower than lows. Bipolar disorder. Manic-depressive disorder. You.

Medication is now your new best friend. You’ve taken it before for depression, but now it’s not just a sadness repellent. It’s a life saver. It saves you from all of those red flags. The impulsivity, the risky behaviors, the agitation, the poor sleep, the ascension into mania, and the final crash into depression. Though it saddens you to rely on them to function properly, you take your meds like clockwork. Every morning and every night. They are your life preserver. Without them you lose control, you are not yourself. With them you finally have a smidgen of clarity. This is not a weakness. This is you surviving. This is a strength.

Day by day you work on accepting the diagnosis thrust upon you. The one you never wanted but will forever have. You being to realize you are not alone in this. There are others who can relate and sympathize with your struggles and with your victories. Day by day you realize this is not the end, this is a new beginning. You learn bipolar, though daunting at first, can be managed. You don’t have to live in the uncontrolled world you have lived in before. Day by day you move forward. One awkward, uncomfortable step at a time, you move forward.

It’s been a year since that diagnosis. You are back in school, you have a job, you have people who love you, you have control. You finally realize, though you still have a long way to go, you can do it. No matter what obstacles stand in your way, you cannot only survive in this world, you can thrive in it. And that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

This does not depict everyone’s struggles with bipolar disorder. Everyone has different experiences. I have written about my own personal experience. But what I have written I believe to be true. You are not alone, you can survive, you are strong, and there is hope for a better future.

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Thinkstock photo by m-imagephotography


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I'm Not a 'Failure' for Leaving Jobs That Hurt My Mental Health

Throughout my life I have endured fears, insecurities and self doubt. As a child I would run away from school, bail on trips that had been planned for months and constantly ask for reassurance over the most ridiculous things. I would ask my parents if they thought I’d eat my lunch the following day, whether I needed the loo and if they would sit and watch me until I fell asleep just to make sure nothing bad happened to me. Looking back, I like to think I had a wonderful childhood because that’s what your brain does – it picks out the best bits of something or makes the bad bits seem less so as a way to cope. I had everything I could want as a child – stability, a loving home, lots of attention, treats, holidays, so many fun times and a brilliant big sister to look up to and admire. There was no possible reason for my fears and yet I had them… every day.

As I’ve grown up and adapted to my diagnosis of bipolar disorder, I have begun to understood my childhood more and the warning signs that were always there but that nobody understood at the time. I look back and have so many regrets for the constant worry and disappointment I must surely have put my family through. The thing I have also begun to adapt to is the fact that my fears still exist, but I just hide them a lot more.

Adults who are afraid of things, especially things that might not even happen, are not accepted by the majority of people. It’s “not normal,” or so people who have never experienced it would like to think. The phrase I hear most often is “try not to worry about it.” Yeah, right… that’s like a red flag to a bull. You simply can’t tell someone who has lived with irrational fears for their entire life to “try” not to worry. What on earth do you think I’ve been doing for the past 33 years? There’s no way in hell I would choose to live like this if I didn’t have to, but I don’t have a choice and therefore, I have to deal with the hand I’ve been dealt and foster coping strategies.

In my more recent years, I’ve been in and out of jobs, mostly for the same reasons. My coping strategies can only take me so far, and maybe it’s the industry I work in, or maybe it’s because jobs are hard to find and keep these days. When you get up every day, put the fear (whichever one it might happen to be that day) as far back in your mind as you possibly can and go into a job you’ve earned the right to be at, and yet suddenly realize you’re working alongside people who have no concept of how to use tact and would most definitely stand on you if you fell so they could reach the next rung of the ladder — it is then you know that either your industry is not right or the whole world has gone to pot. It’s really hard to tell as I’ve had some awful experiences in my personal life too. However, what I do know is it isn’t weak to walk away from something or someone that exacerbates your fears. Maybe you had control of your fears for a moment, an hour, a day and someone has come along and ruined that for you. It isn’t losing face to walk away, even if most other people would have stayed. There are levels to this, of course, and I’m not suggesting you throw in the towel simply because someone was a little off-color with you or wouldn’t lend you their stapler. I’m talking about high-octane stuff — the kind of stuff you realize you’ve been taking for months and yet hadn’t noticed until you had a particularly bad day mentally and you realized maybe this wasn’t helping the situation in your poor, exhausted head.

There is that saying that you should be kind because you don’t know what some people are going through. It’s so true and yet so difficult to find people who will genuinely use this approach in life and especially in the work place.

My family are constantly encouraging me to “just stick it out,” “what about the money?” “it’s awful, but that’s life,” “be strong,” etc. I know they don’t want to see me financially bereft because they know that also exacerbates my mental state. They also know the routine of a job is great for me, as I like control and to not have too much time to fill, as this enables my fears to begin to take over. However, the way I see it, life is not about money and it sure as hell isn’t about taking abuse, back stabbing or any other form of disloyalty in any capacity.

All I do know is I’ve just walked away from yet another toxic work situation and am taking some time out to do the things I love, see the people I love and nurture the brave, good side of me that has been slightly battered and bruised over recent months.

Whatever your situation, if it doesn’t make you happy or it does, in fact, make you sad or exacerbate any mental health issues you may have, then you may need to walk away. Bravery has many different forms, but I see bravery every single day when I interact with like-minded people and hear about their stories and how they walked away to survive.

I’ve been suicidal in jobs before, cried in the loos loads and spent nights on end tossing and turning in bed trying to figure out what is so “wrong” with me that this cycle keeps repeating itself, and people, yet again, seem intent on trying to destroy me. I’m having a lucid and good day today so I can actually say with genuine feeling that there’s nothing wrong with me and everything wrong with them. Whether it is because they’re jealous, threatened, just unpleasant people or completely unaware of how they are making someone feel, there is absolutely no loss of dignity from bidding them adieu!

I feel glad I’ve walked away over and over again. OK, so I’m not the richest girl in the world as a consequence, but I have pride, a good heart and a much deeper understanding of myself and my needs than many other people. When it comes down to it, you need to self-love and nurture to survive. Being in tune with your mind makes you an inimitable force and can help you to keep going, even when some people really want to see you fail.

Be brave, in whichever way you can. It’s one of the strongest things you can be and something nobody can take away from you.

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Thinkstock photo by golubovy.

Storm clouds

Weathering My Bipolar Disorder 'Storm'

A lot of folks are getting to understand the nature of bipolar disorder and what it can do to a person. The “hurricanes” of emotions – high or low or both — and the aftermath can be daunting to consider.

However, I would have to say the “storms” in your mind can be weathered and the sun does shine many days.

What could you do to make this happen so you can thrive despite it all? Here’s what I’ve learned so far…

1. Know the storms are coming. They are a reality that one needs to accept and make preparations for. Have safety plans and people who can help you in your time of need.

2. Remember that storms will pass. They can be scary and ugly and cause some damage. But they do end.

3. Try to find the eye of the storm while you’re in it. Use your supports to help you find that place. It’s the place you can sit and recognize what is happening to you and hold yourself in compassion. Some people find it with the help of others, some can find it in their own minds, or some find it in the hospital.

4. Give yourself time in the “cleanup phase” to get back on your feet. Think about the cleanup after a storm… power needs restored, houses need repairs… your body and mind also need TLC after things settle.

5. Enjoy the sunshine. When it comes, bask in it and appreciate your stability for the gift that it is. Get things done or rest, or both, whatever works for you. Praise yourself for your strength.

6. Make the most of the lessons. I believe each storm holds a lesson to be learned about yourself, your illness, your supports (or need for them), and your general resilience. Store those lessons to help you be even more prepared for the next storm.

I’m in the eye of a mixed-mood storm right now. It’s whipping around me, and I get caught in it often. But I have to believe it’s going to end and take care of myself until it does.

I might have bipolar, but I won’t let it have me.

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Thinkstock photo by Ryan McVay

Woman at her work computer

What It's Like When Mania Affects My Work

Editor’s note: If you experience suicidal thoughts, the following post could be potentially triggering. You can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.

Have you have had a hard time sitting still while at your desk, but weren’t able to get up?

Have you ever had a hard time concentrating on your work?

Have you ever had someone tell you to calm down, when it was really out of your control?

Have you ever had someone joke to you to take a “chill pill” when you couldn’t control how you were acting?

Have you ever felt like hurting yourself because that was the only thing you felt could bring you back down to earth and focus yourself on something else?

That’s exactly how I felt last week when I was sitting at my desk and a manic episode hit me like a dump truck. I work in a call center and I first noticed the mania affecting me during my calls. I was talking fast, not paying attention to the callers, trying to end the calls quickly and couldn’t sit still. I pulled my supervisor aside and let her know I was having a manic episode. She understood and started looking for things I could do to center myself. She brought over our “self-care” basket of coloring supplies and she told me to organize it.

When I’m feeling manic, I need to do something with my hands. Actually, all the time I need to be doing something with my hands or I feel like I’m going to spiral, and empty hands gives me a higher chance of hurting myself. I organized the basket so quickly, but still found myself needing something else to do. So I decided to color, because I felt if I didn’t do something more I was going to start lashing out at others around me.

As I was coloring, I started to feel tears forming in my eyes and I knew I wasn’t going to be OK. My supervisor saw this and pulled me aside again, reassuring me. This helped me so much, because if she hadn’t pulled me aside both times, I probably would’ve hurt myself and being at work, I fear I would be immediately fired.

I’ve had issues at work before, where I mentioned to a co-worker I was going to hurt myself and my work sent law enforcement out to my house. Where I live we call the 72-hour suicide watch a Baker Act. My supervisor has mentioned “Baker Acting” me in the past and I didn’t want that to happen again.

I’m not going to lie, I’ve had thoughts of suicide in the past, but I don’t want to end my life. I know I have so much to live for and where I work, I’m helping others. I work in a crisis call center and talk to people all day about the crises they are experiencing. Sometimes these are thoughts of suicide, them wanting to hurt themselves or a substance abuse crisis. If my mental health isn’t addressed, I’m going to have a hard time helping those people.

Since that day I’ve told two other supervisors about my bipolar disorder and they’ve told me they will help me as much as they can. I’m starting a PHP (partial hospitalization program) in a couple of weeks, which I’ve also told my supervisors about. They want me to get help and help myself as much as possible, so I can continue to work and help others. They also want to make sure I address my past trauma so I’m at peace with it.

If you have a mental health diagnosis and it affects your work, perhaps tell your superior about it. Of course, only talk to your superior if you are comfortable discussing your mental health diagnosis with them. I’ve been comfortable disclosing that information with them because of my place of employment. If I didn’t work in the mental health field and wasn’t getting my degree in mental health services, I probably wouldn’t have told them about my diagnosis. Now I’m not saying you have to say something just because you work in the mental health field, but I’m saying mention it if you feel comfortable.

In the middle of writing this, I had to go to training and I experienced another manic episode. I texted my supervisor — who I was in the room with — and she coached me through text to take deep breaths and to remind myself where I was and that I was safe. I followed her directions and it helped some, but I was the antsiest person in the room. I couldn’t sit still and was moving my hands around non-stop. I took a moment when the training was done so I could breathe, which helped somewhat too. When I got back to my desk I immediately continued to write this article.

I was pulled aside by our self-care provider, who works in our building, and she gave me more ideas for self-care that I wanted to share.

1. Breathing exercises. (You’ve probably heard this one before.)
2. A small bag of items that you can touch (with different textures).
3. Drawing with a regular #2 pencil.
4. Grounding yourself by standing barefoot outside for two minutes.
5. Coloring. (I know you’ve also heard this one before.)
6. Seeking professional help.

If you’re having thoughts of wanting to hurt yourself or others, or just need someone to talk to, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline number below. Someone is available to talk 24/7, 365 days a year. There is help. You are not alone.

If you’re looking for resources for mental health services in your area, you can call 2-1-1 and get connected to your local information and referral line.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “START” to 741-741.

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Thinkstock photo via Cathy Yeulet

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What My Mixed Mania Episode Looks Like

It’s being able to only sleep six hours in the past 48 but being so exhausted I can’t think straight or remember anything.

It’s being so high in the mania that I don’t even realize I’m spending almost all of my time day dreaming and having conversations with people who aren’t there.

It’s hearing classical music playing knowing damn well I’m the only one home.

It’s not being able to remember what was real and what wasn’t.

It’s laying in bed for hours at a time starving but not having the will power or energy to even walk to the kitchen.

It’s the collapse that comes after trying to hide for weeks that my mind was slowly self-destructing again, while I continually did regrettable things I still haven’t spoken of.

It’s the fear of what will happen if I even walk out my bedroom door.

It’s all the noises in my head so loud that I can’t shut off.

It’s the voice in my head telling me how much easier everyone’s lives would be without me burdening them and how I should just disappear. At first, that means running away but quickly turns to darker thoughts I can’t escape.

It’s wanting to be able to crawl out of my own skin and uncontrollably sobbing because it becomes so unbearable.

I begin to think of every way to end it. It’s not that I want to die necessarily, but I convince myself anything would feel better than this.

It’s trying to think of everyone else who I hurt and all the pain I caused the last time I attempted and what it would do to them if I did again or died.

It’s trying to remember that this isn’t me, that I have bipolar disorder.

It’s snapping at everyone for no reason in a normal conversation or becoming overly emotional because something they’ve said or didn’t say set me off. It’s then trying to explain what I’m going through and feeling to friends, lovers and family but to no prevail because “normal” people don’t self-sabotage or cycle from being the life of the party and too carefree to not being able to get out of bed to shower or eat in less than a week.

It’s hearing my mother on the phone covering for me again to friends and family because I’m so ashamed of the mess I think I am and cannot do it myself.

It’s having my dad check in on me every couple minutes and seeing the worry in both of my parents’ eyes that I’m going to try to hurt myself again like last time.

It’s feeling guilty for my state of being but not being able to change it.

It’s justifying why anyone who has ever abandoned or hurt me did so because how can I blame them? Hell, if it were up to me, I would even walk out on myself. I tell myself I’m not worth it and I wouldn’t have stuck around either.

It’s questioning how anybody could ever love or want me if they really knew how dark things were on the inside, and thinking no one is ever going to want to deal with this.

It’s being so disappointed because I thought I had done things right and took the measures to avoid an episode but it caught up with me anyway and I’m back right where I started.

It’s calling into work again because I still haven’t slept so now the paranoia and hallucinations are taking over and I have a panic attack before I can walk in.

It’s questioning what everyone is going to think now that they’ll find out I’m “crazy,” and if they’ll even still be there.

It’s that fight-or-flight feeling coming on and not being able to imagine fighting.

It’s feeling so weak I just want to give up on life but reminding myself it’s been worse than this before and I survived and made it through that.

It’s remembering there are people who love me, and they haven’t given up on me.

It’s knowing this too shall pass and I will be stronger afterwards.

It’s reminding myself it’s not my fault. I did not chose this. I’m just as sick as someone with a physical illness.

It’s being proud of myself because this time I got help before I self-medicated or hurt myself.

It’s remembering this is not me, it’s a mental illness.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “START” to 741-741.

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Thinkstock photo by Krianti

digital painting of love couple on bench watching heart shaped sunset, watercolor on paper texture

You Still Choose Me When I'm Fighting Bipolar Disorder

It’s true. I have a mental illness. To be exact, bipolar disorder. When we first met, I was euphoric. Invincible. Insatiable. We ate. We drank. Drank some more. The sex was amazing. In the park. In an elevator. In the backseat. My entire high school and college career I never exhibited this kind of behavior. Maybe I had finally found myself. Maybe I had never been in love. Maybe I never realized I was manic. Actually, I didn’t know it was even a symptom.

I remember our first “fight.” You threw my keys down the street in frustration. I was drunk. Very drunk and emotional. OK, distraught and out of control. You had to call the police, despite my tearful pleas. Only four months in, when we were still getting to know each other. I’m still shocked you visited me in the hospital. You must have chosen me at this point.

We found freedom and love when they let me out of the hospital nearly two weeks later. Music festivals. Sleeping in your van by the ocean. You had no money to spare. Lucky for us, I had a savings account. I gladly, so gladly, swiped my first ATM card. Lucky in love.

Time passed. My moods alternated from love to hate to pack your bags to move in. My red hair and freckles swayed you every time. Something about me made you choose me. I was loyal. Free spirited. Rather innocent. Quite adventurous.

But riddled with issues. Some in the forefront like bulimia and depression. Others later to be revealed: bipolar and anxiety. Still, you chose me.

We’re married now. Sometimes, I sink into the couch. Sometimes, I roar from the rooftops. Sometimes you bring me extra clothes in the hospital. You carry me more than I carry you. I do my absolute best when I can. You are a torch. I’m sure I don’t say that enough. You are a torch. My tether. When it’s dark, you are crawling to find me. Even when I don’t want to be found. You still choose me.

Truth be told, I always chose you. You understood me like no one else. Had patience for me like no one else. Reached into me and saw beyond the “issues.” Sat patiently as they checked me out of rehab or out of the hospital. There you were, in the hospital waiting room, choosing me.

Gosh, it’s only 18 years later. You didn’t waver as my anxiety over a new job prospect reared its ugly head. Panic attacks. Nightmares. Bursts of tears. Or my intermittent friend, insomnia. The loop of obsessions fueling my extreme self-doubt and fear. You sat patiently and listened, reminding me I’ll be OK. It will all be OK.

We chose this life together. When we met, I had no idea I would later be diagnosed with bipolar disorder, experience psychosis and have multiple hospitalizations. I didn’t know how much pain and fear I would cause you. I — we — didn’t know a lot things about a lot of things. But, somehow you knew you wanted to be with me. Through it all. You are still here. We are still here.

Some days I battle this illness alone. Withdrawn. Isolating. But always, you let me know you are still here. Willing to battle with me.  

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Thinkstock photo via Archv.

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