What better time than 2:45 in the morning..... to start a blog about bi-polar disorder? This is one of those subjects where I have so much to say, and yet feel that words aren't going to do justice to the road I've traveled. When people meet me now, or simply pass me in a store, or on the street, there are several things that they notice straight off. My white cane, my tattoos, and the fact that I should lay off the pasta. :) Some of them are probably a little impressed that I function pretty well, with my vision loss. At times, I've even had people use the word "inspirational", which is flattering, but a little strange for me to hear. My limitations, or my perceived limitations, are virtually broadcast to the world by a white cane, and lengthy track record of knocking things off store shelves. What people don't see, is the illness that has truly handicapped me, for most of my life.
I'm severely bi-polar, and although I'm medicated now, the illness has always ruled my life. No one knows for sure if I was born bi-polar (back in the day, we called it manic depression), but my first symptoms developed when I was two years old. Just to clarify, I was born in 1965, when people were still trying to figure out how to discuss sex and drugs, without feeling embarrassed. When I started school, in 1969, there were no programs for children with mental illness, or even disorders like ADD, ADHD, or ASD (autism spectrum disorder). As kids, we were left to the mercy of the school system, and a society that didn't even want to acknowledge mental illness in adults, never mind in children. We were labeled as "stupid" "weird" and my personal favorite, "trouble makers". I was the kid who got the coveted "trouble maker" label, which at least kept the other kids from calling me "stupid" and "weird" to my face. :)
It didn't take long for me to realize that I was different from other people, and for other people to realize that I was different from them. Not just unique or special.... but uncomfortably different. Someone who sometimes saw, and heard things they didn't. Someone who could be your friend one moment, and your worst enemy the next. Someone who could be happy and laughing one day, and sad, upset, and holding back tears the next. Until I was 13, my by polar disorder presented as "mixed state manic depression". As the name implies, I was experiencing episodes of mania and depression, over a period of hours or days, rather than weeks and months. Probably the worst thing that happened during my childhood, was the IQ test. Oh yeah, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, we kids were given IQ tests by the school system!
The IQ test was the first, in a long line of misconceptions, that would follow me my whole life. My IQ was impressive, and I'm sure the school was thrilled to have found a "gifted student", that they could pluck from the pool of academic mediocrity. Instead, what they did was take a kid who was already struggling, put me into a confusing high pressure environment, and when I couldn't function, label me as "a lazy student, who doesn't do her best, and is disruptive and belligerent" That kind of talk really turned up the heat, both with the school, and especially with my parents! I was an only child, someone my parents already didn't understand, and now I was not only disappointing them, but as they saw it, I was doing it on purpose, just to upset them,. I lived in that haze of disapproval, and misunderstanding, from then, until I was in my early 40's. I started having the usual episodic version of the disorder when I became a teenager, and the hormones kicked in. I would have a month or so of mania, followed by several months of deep depression, with very few breaks in between. By then, I'd convinced myself that the world was right. I was weird, and lazy, and purposely being a pain in the ass, just to annoy my parents. Deep down, I knew something was wrong, but I'd given up hope. I turned to drugs and alcohol to dull the pain, made it a practice to skip school, and cause trouble. and made two unsuccessful (luckily!!) attempts at suicide.
In the hospital, after one of my suicide attempts, the doctors spoke to me about going into in-patient psychiatric care. To be honest, I was thrilled! Someone was finally going to help me, and show me there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, my misinformed and embarrassed parents, decided it was best for me not to go for treatment. They felt I'd be fine, if I would just "Straighten up and think positive. After all I didn't want people thinking I was CRAZY, did I?". There it was... the C-word! I could tell, just from the way they said it, that my parents were mortified that their only child would bring such an unforgivable stigma down upon them. How could they face their friends? They certainly couldn't tell anyone, but sooner or later people would find out, and they'd be labeled as "bad parents", for producing and raising such an abnormal child. In their defense, people were very misinformed about mental illness back then, and few people talked about it. When they did, it was only in whispers.
I'm ending this post here. I've given you the tale of the first 18 years of my life. If you're curious, or if this sounds familiar, or if you feel yourself in a similar position, then please read part two. This story DOES have a happy ending, not just for me, but for our society as a whole. The perceptions about mental illness are changing, and for each of us who speaks out unashamedly about our illness, there is a chance to save someone else from suffering. Now.... on to Part Two! :)
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