Q&A: Bipolar

A friend recently asked me about my experience with being bipolar. This person did not ask “what is it like”, which is a small mercy. Asking me what it is like to be bipolar is, I think, like asking someone who is a twin what that is like. I was diagnosed about 11 years ago; my onset of bipolar was almost definitely earlier. I don’t know what it is like to be bipolar because I don’t know what it is like to be “normal” anymore.

I know memory is shit, that we have “flashbulb memories” that aren’t true. But I’m pretty sure about this one. It was 10/31/2003 when I went to the psychiatrist at my university and, upon being asked why I was there, answered with “I’m pretty sure I’m bipolar.” I was studying for my degree in English and Psychology and things had gotten beyond fucked up in my personal life because of my brain. It was a mixture of reading a book called An Unquiet Mind and taking a Psychopathology class that made me realize I had a problem, one that could be treated rather than just being crazy without help, as I’d thought for so many years.

And it was years. It was years of somewhat losing my mind, having mini breakdowns and just assuming it was either the way of the world or I was just fucked up without hope. I would hug my stuffed cow and cry and rock back and forth and hope that no one would hear me whilst also hoping my mother would so I could finally come clean.

At the age of almost 23, I did come clean to the psychiatrist. She diagnosed me as bipolar II after a few sessions, having asked me a few questions. I was relieved in one respect. Oh my god! I’m not beyond help! I’m not crazy! There is something wrong with me, yes, but there is help. That was the best news I’d ever heard.

Oddly, as good as the news was that a couple of medications would help me, I wasn’t great about taking them for the first two years. If you don’t know bipolar, you won’t understand. Here is the thought process, at least for me: “Why do I have to take drugs to know how I feel?” “Why do I have to always fucking question what I’m feeling and ask myself ‘do I feel this way or is it my neurotransmitters?” “Why doesn’t everyone have to go through this, because this shit is bullshit.” This is, I believe, common amongst those with mental illness. I know it took me awhile but, eventually, I changed my thinking because I was better with the drugs and I realized it was the same as having diabetes or a thyroid disorder (which I was also later diagnosed with). I have a medical problem, not a mental problem. The worst thing to ever happen to mental illness, as I’ve said many a time, is the term mental illness. It is a chemical imbalance, which is physical. I have a problem which needs help. I need fewer of one neurotransmitter and more of another. It took me at least two years to understand that and to accept it because, fuck this shit, I have an issue, I have medication to help and god damn it, I want to be a normal, functioning and, most importantly, HAPPY fucking person.

Bipolar is a fucking bitch. Once you finally accept it, you realize, sooner or later, that you have to keep it to yourself because there are a lot of assholes out there. It sucks. You can’t be honest because people will judge every action based on your disorder. You don’t want to tell people because you feel this weird sense of shame; you don’t necessarily feel ashamed but you feel the shame people expect you to.

You know what? I have bipolar II disorder. I take medications for it. I take a puppy upper (anti-depressant) and doggy downer (mood stabilizer). I don’t need therapy anymore because I’m 33 at this point and I see a psychiatrist. I was in group at first, and it was part of the whole saving my life. I had a lot of shit going on and they just, well, they were there for me. I do, however, have to see a psych to get my meds at this point because of where I live but I’m good and don’t have anything to talk about. But there were years where I did, years where talking helped, years that helped me learn and understand that a LOT of people have fucked up problems like diabetes, cancer, endocrine problems, illnesses much worse than mine, years that helped me realize how fucking lucky I was.

Later, like almost 10 years later, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. I had been terrified of MS my entire life for no reason. Didn’t know anyone with it, didn’t know anything about it beyond the whole losing feeling in your fingertips. This I learned from TV and movies. My family dies of cancer but I was scared of MS. When I was diagnosed… my god, I lost my shit. I have bipolar II for fuck’s sake I have psoriasis, now I have this? But it could have been worse, I could have had ALS or Cancer or something horrible. MS is livable. Just as bipolar is. MS is worse. MS is less well understood. MS affects me physically. I can live with both but I’ve been dealt a worse hand. Oddly, I think being diagnosed with bipolar II helped me be OK with the MS, even though the latter will most likely kill me. Because there are treatments and it COULD HAVE BEEN WORSE.

I am 33 and ½ years old now (well, I was 33 ½ in June and we are now in July so…). I have bipolar II. I take my meds and I am good. My biggest concern, my biggest fear, my main thought should it happen is “what if I can’t have my medicine?” Without my medicine, I am not myself. Without my medicine I am fucked up and out of control. Not even THAT out of control based on your standards but I am not myself and I don’t like that. I am better than my bipolar. It doesn’t define me like I thought it would. What defines me are the thoughts and feelings and values I have when I am myself without the influence without my fucked up brain.

Medicine is the best thing to happen to this girl. I wish I could go back and tell my 22 year old self that because I would have saved a lot of heartache. When people tell me they thank God for my deliverance or whatever, I think “fuck you, God had nothing to do with this. Science did. I am normal, I am me, I am OK, because of science.” It was hard at first but when I found myself again? It was fucking epic.

And, honestly, I wish I could go back to the 8^th grade and tell myself that I needed help because it may have started as early as then. I wish I could go back and save myself and my family a lot of drama and pain. But I’m proud of myself for identifying my issue at 22, almost 23. And although it took me awhile, I’m proud of myself for having been great about taking my medication from the age of 25.

Because that girl? That one without medication? That isn’t who I am. I don’t know what non bipolar Simply is like because I don’t remember. But I DO remember what bipolar untreated Simply is like and I never want to go back there. I just wish I’d gotten here sooner. But hey, I’m here now, right?