How I am recovering from a bipolar episode.

I am trying to recover from a sever bipolar episode. I spent 9 months in a 3 different hospitals exhibiting symptoms of my mental illness. It has taken 5 years to recover and be able to say I am on my way to wellness. So how did I do it?? Here are the ways...

It takes a village...
I sought and had the support of many people right after getting out of the hospital. My psychiatrist remained my #1 ally in my fight against the after effects of my episode. Without her professional help I never could have built the foundation for my recovery. She guided me through medication changes, counseled me on how to proceed and educated me about bipolar disorder. I also had the guidance of a great therapist who heard me out. It is very traumatic to go through a prolonged hospitalization and she has helped me heal. I had a caseworker assigned to me by a group I was placed in who became my ally and friend. We worked together setting goals and moved forward to achieve them. It was a team effort!

I followed all the rules...
After the hospital I continued my care with trained professionals. I gave up fighting and doing things my way by following to the letter their recommendations. I only took steps that were directed by my medical support team. I took my medicine faithfully, on time only the right dose. I put my life in the hands of professionals and ignored the medical suggestions of anyone outside that circle. In a word I became compliant.

I accepted and sought the support of friends and family...
Sometimes it's hard to evaluate yourself in crisis mode. I gave up my right to do so by accepting the counsel of my inner circle. It wasn't always easy to listen to their evaluations of my recovery and I sometimes balked at their expectations of me. However they were the best barometer of my progress. For along time my recovery was slow and tedious. I had to build my life and psyche again bit by bit. They were there not only to love and support me but to set the bar high, not merely accepting that I get better but that I get well!

I cultivated courage and began to hope again...
In the beginning of my recovery I was a exhausted and hopeless. I was beginning at the beginning, and feeling weak and unsure of my ability to rebound from such a intense manic episode. I decided to determine in my mind to get well and fight for my life after a period of grieving and soul searching. At first I wasn't courageous or hopeful at all. I learned that these traits are not a given but must be learned by experience. Little by little, taking it one step at a time I plowed through the recovery process. It required every bit of grit I had in me. I tried to accomplish one thing every day even if it was as small as taking a shower or brushing my teeth. I made a list of my to dos for the day. Nothing was insignificant, each action was a stepping stone on my road to recovery. I learned that courage does not come naturally but has to be learned fight by fight. It slowly builds up with each little victory and eventually propels you to wellness. This is how I began to hope again. With each effort came the belief that "good things" would eventually happen. I made small goals and when I could check them off my  list I made a new goal that was a little tougher. As I climbed my way up the wellness ladder, I would look back and be grateful for the accomplishments and look forward to the possibilities of the next day. I began to accept my illness, step up to the challenges in the present moment, and look forward to the future.

I wish I could say that I have arrived at a state of complete recovery from my mental illness.
I haven't. It is a process and still needs to be worked on day by day. My progress has been slow. I still have had periods of depression and struggle with it's symptoms. No signs of mania but I wrestle with the fear that it might come around again. I have come a long way though and in retrospect appreciate that it took a lot of effort and support to do so. Everyone can fight a battle when they are sure of winning. It's a whole different matter when you are unsure of an outcome. I am still in the battle for my mind and I believe I am winning one victory at a time.

I am not God...

For some reason many people who have a manic episode seem to think they are Jesus or God or a special messenger from God. Religious grandiosity is a symptom of manic-depression and many with bipolar disorder experience it. I was no exception.

In the beginning of my episode in 2011 I had the delusion that I had special knowledge about God. My writing became "preachy" and I posted a lot of weird posts on facebook. Once I was admitted into the hospital my mania was in full swing and so was my feeling that I was uniquely singled out to received insights from the Almighty. I especially liked to preach at the nursing staff. They were very tolerant but I noticed some rolling their eyes at me and walking the other way when I approached them. In hindsight I don't blame them but at the time I was insistent that they listen to me. It's embarrassing to think about the things I said in my manic state about God. They were the rantings of a very sick woman.  Religious grandiosity is a disturbing symptom of bipolar disorder, and frankly, hard to tolerate.

Looking back, it is somewhat comical that I felt so empowered. I was after all in a mental hospital where at least half of the patients thought they were Jesus. Why is it that when you are delusional and in the throes of mania that you think you are so divine? No one claims to be your average Joe, it's always some fabulous person or the Big Man himself. In the hospital there was a patient who had traveled to New York to see David Letterman. Not the show, the person. His attempt was because he believed he was his son, and it was his duty to preach the good news to his dad. His delusion paled in comparison to the man who dressed in a Superman costume and thought he was the Son of God! He would roam the halls reading his bible out loud. The problem was that he thought he was not only divine, but had the super powers to match. He was constantly trying to fly by jumping off the couch in the rec room.  

What do you do when you come down from the high of thinking you are so special? I wanted to continue in my faith but didn't know how to proceed. I decided to be quiet about my faith and in order to stay on track, practice it only in private. My mind is a bipolar one and I can't escape the reality that my it may take me to far off places again. It's scary. In my right mind I know that I am far from understanding the complexities of faith. Most of the time i am unsure of my faith and like everyone else cautious in my approach to God. When grandiose I believe I can and do know all things. It shakes me up to know that my mind can get so out of control. When my episodes are over and the fire in my brain has been put out, I am embarrassed. The power of mental illness to distort the rational thoughts I usually possess is horrifying. In "real time" I admire the rational individual. It kills me that in my manic states I am so unhinged.


When you lose your mind and then get it back there is a huge fear that it will happen again. I do not want the grandiosity that comes with bipolar disorder.
It starts up slow and revs up to full on mania. Some people like the feelings that are associated with mania.They love the high. They like the feeling of being all powerful and intoxicated with the knowledge of all things religious.  It doesn't faze some that they are walking a tight rope of sanity. It scares the hell out of me. As soon as I start to think more of myself than I am in reality, I start to get worried. I don't like being out of control. I hate mania. It's just a hop skip and a jump to psychosis. I would rather be "normal" and live a life of reason. I am content to be simply Donna, and that is enough.

The Sting of Shame.

I was 20 years old and spending the summer months after my freshman year golfing when I had my first manic episode. It was weird because I had been doing so well. My grades were great and my coach increased my golf scholarship due to good play. Things were going so well that I decided to go on a trip to the East Coast to visit family and play my sport. During my stay I began to have long periods of zero sleep. My speech was forced and rapid. I practiced incessantly and wore myself out until I left Pennsylvania three weeks later.

When I got back to California I should have been exhausted, but my energy knew no bounds. I couldn't be convinced by my golf pro that something was wrong. My behavior became more and more bizarre. I thought I was invincible and took risks that I never would have attempted in my right mind. My golf pro had let me borrow his sports car and I remember driving  recklessly and at high speeds. Fairly soon after a period of over the top behavior I began having delusions of grandeur. I was a star golfer, I was going to be famous and nothing was beyond my reach. I was convinced I was able to understand the mysteries of the universe. I wasn't just smart, I believed I was brilliant. I believed all this with absolute certainty. Finally my pro called my parents who were in Pennsylvania, attending a reunion. They flew out the next day and after seeing my condition promptly took me to a psychiatric hospital.

I spent 6 weeks in the hospital and was administered Lithium. Lithium was the first drug of choice in those days for manic depression. I was eventually discharged and told by my psychiatrist that if I took my medicine I'd be O.K. When I got home I found out the truth. My coach at San Diego State had pulled my scholarship and told my teammates not to contact me. He told them I had had nervous breakdown and it would be better for me and them if we all just moved on. I never received a phone call or a get well card. I was diagnosed with manic depression (now called bipolar disorder) and I was just starting to experience the stigma that came with it.

For the next year, I went to a psychiatrist and a therapist to try to cope with what was happening to me. I was understandably depressed, but the depression worsened and I struggled to function. I was living with my parents and they and I didn't know what to do about it. We were taken by surprise by my episode and now we were being held hostage by it. On Lithium I gained weight and experienced muscle weakness. I tried to stay in golf shape but it was difficult at best. I continued to play but practiced at a golf course where nobody knew me. I ceased to have contact with past friends and didn't even continue my lessons with  my long term golf pro.

Finally we had the idea to apply at Cal State Long Beach and try out for the golf team a year after being accepted.  It was required to sit out a year after a transfer, so I went to classes and practiced until I finally was able to make the team. I continued to struggle with depression but for the most part ignored the symptoms and forged on. The year went well academically and golf wise and I received a scholarship for my sophomore year. During that season we competed against my old team and it was sweet justice that we placed higher and I came in third. I thought I had manic-depression beat.

What I failed to realize was the absolute power of mental illness. It had interrupted my life and would continue to do so for many years to come. The dominant feeling I had after my first episode, and the one that has followed me throughout my life was shame. I learned to keep quiet about my illness because of the ignorance and insensitivity of others. There is such a stigma surrounding mental illness. Imagine what it was like 25 years ago! I didn't talk about my absence from golf or college. I told the new people in my life that I had never really liked San Diego, or that I had "taken a break" and wanted to concentrate on academics. I lied out of shame. Intuitively I knew that there was a stigma surrounding mental illness and I was better off staying silent. There was no way I was going to be honest and admit that I had lost my mind and was now struggling  with depression. Shame had shut me up.

Twenty five years later and after my most recent episode, I continued to participate in self-stigmatization. I fell silent when questioned about my mental illness. I made up excuses for lost time and isolated. Even though I have had extensive experience with my mental illness and know it's not my fault, I was still reticent to talk about it. It is only recently that I have started to speak out and more importantly write about my experience with bipolar disorder. It is too painful to stay ashamed, and it is impossible to live a full life when cut off from others.


I know that there are millions of people suffering from mental illness and even more who love and care for them. It  is my hope that I can offer support through this blog . I know what it's like to suffer the shame of mental illness because of stigma. We should talk about the diseases of the brain both individually and as a society. We need to talk about help and hope.

Cocktail hour...

It occurred to me tonight that I have the same bedtime routine every night. I brush my teeth, say my prayers and gulp down the last of my medication for the day! I now take six different medications ,once in the morning and once at night. My meds sound like a listing of chemical compounds. Lamictal, Abilify, Invega, Lexipro, Wellbutrin, and Propranolol, are the medications that make up my "drug cocktail". They are what keep my demons at bay. Without them I would either be depressed or severely manic.It's kind of scary to think that without their intervention I would probably find myself in a mental hospital again..or worse.

I used to resent the hell out of my medication routine. It was a reminder twice a day that my mind was fragile and that I suffered from bipolar disorder. The side effects to different meds vary, but mine were always the same. Fatigue, slow movement, weight gain. Who in their right mind would want to ingest something that made them feel so awful?

It took a major shift in attitude to make me med compliant.  (Compliant is just a big word that means you faithfully take your medication.) In the hospital I was confronted by a doctor the morning after I had refused my bedtime meds. I thought, in my manic state, that the nurse was feeding me poison. When he confronted me, he used a loud voice and asked me how long I wanted to be in the hospital. He assured me that it would be a long time if I continued to refuse. He kept on shouting at me, "Donna, if you're in there, for God's sake do not do that again!!" Confronted by his anger, I became compliant and have taken my meds faithfully ever since.

Now I thank God for medication. I don't understand all the science behind it but I know enough to realize that medical intervention is the only way I could have come back from the brink. I also realize that there are many who aggressively resist meds. Some mentally ill consumers either think they are harmful, hate the side effects or think that a holistic approach is preferable. I am all for vitamins, but seriously, as Renne Russo said, "It's like throwing a bucket of water onto a raging fire!.

If I had cancer or diabetes there would be no question that I should seek medical help. Mental illnesses are not due to character flaws.There is no choice involved. They are diseases of the brain, and bipolar disorder is one of the nastier ones! They need medical attention. It is my belief that medication should  be the first line of defense against depression and mania. My attitude or the amount of therapy I get is not going to take that medical fact away.

So, when I say my prayers at night I mention my psychiatrist and thank God for my cocktail. Then I gulp away!

 

Yesterday I wrote about my experiences with roommates during my recovery from a severe bipolar episode

. Several of those roommates were diagnosed schizophrenics. I didn't mean to demonize them or single out schizophrenia as worse than bipolar disorder. They are equally debilitating . Bipolar disorder can be just as unsettling.

There are many people who manage and even thrive with a mental illness. There are many schizophrenics who are more successful than most. We know so little as a society about schizophrenia and we fear it out of ignorance. If we were educated about mental illness, perhaps the fear would turn into understanding then empathy. Stigma surrounds all mental disorders. Schizophrenia is singled out, in my opinion due to the fear of the unknown.

What I experienced with roommates frightened me. I am still educating myself about schizophrenia and other diseases of the brain, including bipolar disorder. I have tried to read everything I can get my hands on about my mental illness to dispel my fear,  but there are things I still don't get. I am baffled by untreated and treatment resistant mental illness. Many of the mentally ill that I have met on my journey fell into this category. Their symptoms were unsettling at best. The scary part is that I experienced these symptoms myself.

During the last 5 years I have been exposed to mental illness in it's rawest forms. I owe this to the reality that I was just as ill as the people I encountered. My bipolar disorder had precipitated a 9 month hospitalization and a 5 year recovery period. My symptoms of depression were debilitating and disturbing to friends and family. I was suffering from a disease of the brain, and that was as scary to me as it was to others. My fears have only been alleviated through education and the help of trained professionals. I am now stable due to being medicated correctly, the intervention of doctors and the loving support of family and friends. I am one of the lucky ones.

I believe that the stigma associated with mental illness is due to the silence surrounding it. We as a society, just don't talk about it. Even when we do , the conversation is fraught with ignorance and misunderstandings. I do not want to add to the confusion with my stories about my experience with bipolar disorder. They are however, real. There is a segment of the mentally ill population that is so affected that they cannot function. They are suffering from a disease of the brain that allows them to be held hostage by their symptoms. I know this because I have experienced this myself. For a while we all hoped and prayed that I would get better. It is a testament to the power of medication and support, that I am well today. It is my hope and prayer for my fellow sufferers that they will also get the help they need.

The Stuff of Nightmares...

Have you ever had a dream so bad that you were grateful to wake up? Last night I had a terrible nightmare. It was so disturbing because it was so close to what has actually happened to me in the last 3 years. The nightmare didn't cease when I woke up. It continued throughout the day as memories of my experiences in the four housing arrangements I have had in the past surfaced. My mind couldn't shake them. I had to deal with the recollection of a  reality which was a nightmare indeed.

I was released from a mental hospital after nine months of treatment for a bipolar episode in 2011. The first housing situation I was placed in was a board and care in Long Beach. It was horrible. Filthy and disheveled the residents walked around like zombies. It seemed that their only activity was seeking and smoking cigarettes. The building that I was assigned to resembled a seedy motel. My roommate was a schizophrenic woman who hoarded garbage. She was symptomatic in the extreme. She rarely bathed, never changed her clothes and slept fitfully. I never got a full night sleep because of either her snoring or her screams. She muttered to herself constantly and smoked incessantly. Looking back the time with her and the place, was the stuff of a stereotypical  nightmare experience in the world of mental illness.

I wish I could go on to tell you that my experience changed with the next placement, but it was only horrifying in  it's own right. I lived with 5 other mentally ill individuals in a small home in Corona. I shared one bathroom with 4 men and my roommate. They were severely affected by their illness. The schizophrenia they suffered from had debilitated them to barely functioning. Their day consisted of sleeping ,eating and smoking. One of the men was like a walking statue. His movement was slow, his affect flat. At night, when I would go to the kitchen for water, he would he would be standing there in the dark speaking to his voices. It was a calm night when he just stared at late night television.

I know I am painting a terrible picture of my circumstances and the mentally ill people I shared them with. There is no way around it though. There is a segment of the mentally ill community that are severely  affected by their illness, and I lived with some of them. They acted out way beyond the stereotypical behaviors  you hear of. I am not making a judgment on them , I am not making it up, I am just relaying my experience in all it's unsettling  reality.


My roommate couldn't help but being apart of that reality. She was ill beyond medication. She slept most of her day, watched game shows and smoked the rest. For six months we never had a conversation beyond her asking for cash for her smokes and snacks. At night she thrashed around and talked in her sleep. I wore earplugs throughout my stay there, trying to get some rest. She was my second roommate who suffered from schizophrenia, and to be honest it made my bipolar disorder look minor. I know its not PC to say so, but that's the way it was. She and my 5 male housemates were scary sick and lived out their days in a similar state that I had experienced when psychotic. It was beyond upsetting to live with them. It was terrifying to find yourself in the same place and same category they were in. I wish I could say that I felt any hope for them. Now it occurs to me that they were beyond, medication. Mental illness in all it's ugliness had made it's mark on them. They were as sick as it gets and I was trying to recover from my own mental illness while living with them.

You can't imagine how grateful I am to have my own apartment. I got it 6 months ago and my recovery has gone forward in a way that I had only hoped for. I don't think I had a chance to fully recover in the surroundings I experienced. It was disturbing at best to live with the severely mentally ill and even more disturbing to realize that I one of them. I was living in those places because I was considered "gravely disabled". I too was sick beyond functioning. It occurred to me over and over again that my bipolar disorder was so bad that it had landed in these places. At the time I couldn't see getting better,
let alone being well and living independently. I have come a long way and it is nothing short of a miracle. I have come so far because of a positive response to medication and the love and support of professionals and family and friends. I am one of the lucky ones. I am waking up from the nightmare and starting to live again. For that I am grateful beyond words.




  

What's so special abut 2015?

New years this year is very special to me. The past 5 years have been so difficult that a new year is very welcome. 5 years ago I was hospitalized with acute mania. I spent 9 months in 3 different hospitals. At first I didn't remember much of the first 6 months, but it has come back to me in bits and pieces. I remember being terrified. I remember New Years in the hospital. A nurse tried to get me to participate in the New Years celebration and I refused. I couldn't fathom being happy and could only think one thought,"How in the hell am I going to get out of here!"

It's a terrible thing to try to prove you are sane. You don't want to be too demanding and be perceived as aggressive . At the same time you don't want to be too passive and be thought depressed. Some how I impressed the psychiatric team that I was "good to go", and was released on June 21,2011. I remember the first New Years after the hospital. My resolve was to simply not go back again. What I didn't know is that the next 4 years would so difficult.

I never went back into the hospital but my living arrangements changed 4 times in 3 years. I went from one board and care to another. I finally arrived at a independent living situation with 15 other women. We shared 2 bathrooms and one very small kitchen. I payed 50 more dollars a month to include food in my rent. I had two roommates. It was a nightmare. My roommates were abusive and stole from me. I lost hope. It took a year of waiting until an opening into an apartment of my own arrived. Now I live in my own space and am deeply grateful for my circumstances.

I have been living in my own apartment for 8 months now. I can't get over how much better I am doing. I have a job and am aiming at getting a position as a peer support specialist. I will be helping those who like myself are mentally ill and trying to improve their life circumstances. I am getting to the point where I can see a future, and am getting excited about the prospects for a new career and outlook. In the meantime I am doing what I need to do to stay stable. It has been a long road, but I can honestly say that I think I have been through t
he worst of it and have come out on the other side. I am looking forward to a year of moving forward and I hope the same for anyone reading this blog! Happy New Year!