Four years ago this month I was hospitalized for a major manic episode. It seems like yesterday that I entered the system. In the course of my stay I was conserved by the state. This means that the state took over my case. I lost my drivers licence, my right to vote and was hospitalized for a long nine months. I was very sick
and treated accordingly!


The nine months I spent in college hospital Costa Mesa and La casa in Long beach were horrific. Mercifully I don't recall the first couple of months. My psychosis was very severe and my memories of the first hospital are sketchy at best. I do remember the next six months though, and sometimes I wish I didn't. All the stereotypical sights and sounds of a mental institution were present. I remember the screaming, the patients walking around in a stupor, the insanity of it all.

After eight months I went before a judge in Los Angeles to review my conservatorship. I pleaded with the judge to let me out of the hospital. I admitted that I was severly bipolar and this impressed her. Many in my position exhibit lack of insight in regards to their illness. (Meaning most can't bring themselves to believe they are ill and would rather reside in denial.) The judge ruled that I be taken off of conservatorship and sent to a board and care after one more month of recovery. That month was excruciatingly long but I survived and moved on to a place called Scandia.

Scandia was worse than the hospital. It was filthy and looked like a run down motel. The residents spent their days in a a stupor. When they were aware of their surroundings they sat and smoked or begged for cigarrettes. I honestly don't know how I survived. The aftermath of the episode was worse than the episode itself!

I finally was transfered out of Scandia and began my journey from one board and care to the next. It was a time of deep sadness and somtimes despair. I stuck with the treatment group I was in and after four years was placed in an apartment of my own. No more roomates, no more assaults on my sensibilities. I expected recovery and those aroud me for that period af time were hopelessly mired in the symptoms of their illness. I was relived to get my own place and determined to get not only better, but well.

I have been in my apartment for six months. My recovery has been slow going but consistent. I have a small job, and am working on personal goals. I take my meds regularly and see both a psychiatrist and psychologist. It is a hard road but one that is worth the while. I guess I am stubborn. I just can't give up on life regardless of the hardship I experienced.

There are reasons I haven't called it quits. I have two sons that are the lights of my life. I have a supportive family and understanding friend. I have faith that everything has a purpose,  and that just maybe my experience will help others going through the same hard times. All these things result in a determination to not let bipolar disorder consume me and ultimately defeat me. I believe in fighting for your life. With the help of mental health professionals and those that I love, I think I'll make it. As Kay Jameson once quoted, "Look to the living, love them and hang on." That has become my mantra , and I will hang on , even if it means clinging to hope for dear life!