I'm going through a phase of facing my illness. I voluntarily made an hour-long appointment with my psychiatrist this week. There was a time 6-7 years ago when I highly resented going to the psychiatrist. He just said, "See, people can change," when I pointed out my different attitude. There are different schools of thought about "telling," and I've read about them in Bipolar Magazine. My approach has always been to tell a couple of people I trust at work about my illness. Even though my bipolar is well-controlled with medication today, that doesn't tell me what to expect in the future. I believe in constructing a support network where I can go for help or insights into my behavior. My husband is the keystone of that network. He just asked me this morning if I meant to get up at 5 am. I did; I have a lot of work to do today, and I wanted to have plenty of time for prayer, reading, and writing. My doc said that sleep patterns are the main thing for me to watch. That's the sort of concrete information that really helps. I promised to call doc if I go two straight nights waking up at 3 or 4 am.
To me, the definition of hell on earth is waking up at 3am and being unable to go back to sleep. There were months-long stretches while I was still untreated when I did that every night, over and over again. I'll never forget the first clonazepam I took because I felt such blissful relaxation after weeks of tension and exhaustion in a vicious cycle. I took a two hour nap that day and felt a lot better. Go figure.
I began seeing Dr. G in April of 2004, as part of a 7-point plan agreed upon by me, hubby and another doctor. I was in bad shape physically and emotionally. Needless to say, it was a low point. It took me until December of 2005 before I was brave enough to ask Dr. G what my diagnosis was. He said that he thought I had a "mild mood disorder of the bipolar variety." I remember expressing my relief because I was always afraid that I might be depressed. I said, "I'm glad it's not depression because depressed people kill themselves." He said, "People with bipolar disorder kill themselves, too." Oh. Anyway, I was relieved to know what is wrong with me, and the diagnosis really explained a lot of things I had never told anyone. A few days ago I asked him again for my diagnosis. He was reluctant to put me into a standard DSM-IV category, and I'm glad for that. He said that it appears to be Bipolar II with mixed elements of depression. He also said he's fairly certain I've never had a full-blown manic episode. He's probably right. Any time I ever got really scary in my own thoughts, I've retreated to home and to prayer. The other thing that we discussed is that the medication that works now may not always work. That's I have to go see him. I'm blessed to have strong recovery that has lasted so long. I have to give credit to my excellent doctor and also to medication compliance. What's so weird about my bipolar is I'm pretty sure I'm depressed now, but I have a lot of energy. The notion of "mixed elements" or "mixed state," which I've never grasped before, suddenly makes sense to me.
Yesterday I found a good site and bookmarked it so I can go back and learn more: Mood Swings But Not Manic There's lots of good science there.
Anyway, yesterday I told another work friend about my bipolar. We had a great talk about it. She shared some things with me, too. I have someone else who loves me and really knows me a little bit. Most of the time I have to be the professional administrator at work. My overall boss, the person over our whole organization, knows. She told me not to tell anyone else because they may look at me differently. My experience has been that people say, "I would never have known that if you hadn't told me." Then, they tend to forget about it. My family does the same thing. The important concept is that I am living with bipolar and have to deal with it daily. Sometimes it's a grind, but it is worth taking care so that I am able to live a full and happy life, feel my feelings, and be present to my family and friends. If you had asked me 5 years ago, I wouldn't have imagined myself capable of handling the job I'm doing now. I thought I'd never be fit to work again. So, I rejoice in my recovery and weep at the same time with the praise I must offer God for never leaving me.
"We fall down, but we get up. For a saint is just a sinner who fell down and got up." --Donnie McClurkin
Blessings.
