Since this is my very first post, let's give you a little background into my life and how I came to this moment right now where I'm writing about my Bipolar Disorder.
I was born some few decades ago in a small town in central Minnesota. And despite the unfathomably cold (to those who live elsewhere) winters there, my childhood and young adult life was pretty spectacular. It was when I was in junior high that the first signs of depression started to rear its head. There were a few larger incidents that happened at the time- my depression coupled with my angsty teenage dramatic life caused me to slit my wrist open once with a screwdriver, and in college I took way too many pills a few time but other than that, my depression seemed rather, well, normal. As far as depression went.
It wasn't until after the birth of my first child that things got seriously ugly. And then I was treated for postpartum depression. Too bad I didn't know about my BP at the time and how pregnancy can sometimes launch into full swing. So there I was, a new mom, and trying my hardest just to get out of bed every day. But after a while it became more manageable and I was onto my next child. While I was pregnant with my daughter I had chosen to come off of my medication. I was certain that I would be able to better manage anything emotionally that came my way while not being treated than I would be able to manage if I had induced any kind of teratogenic complications with my child. Let me just say that this was my choice and not something recommended for everyone in that position.
Baby girl S is now 3 years old and it was only a few month before that 3rd birthday that the suggestion of BP had come up for the first time in my life. Via my counselor. I honestly thought that she was instead the crazy one. But, in the nature of actually treating what I have, I made an appointment with my PCP and took the first step in discovering my true diagnosis.
My PCP had been seeing me for years. He was the very person treating me for my depression, which was completely out of hand by this point, and my postpartum for all those years. Even he thought the idea that I was BP was a little out there. But he is good at what he does and good at recognizing his own limitations so he passed me along to a Psychiatrist. It was this third doc who said to me that it was pretty clear to him that I did in fact have Bipolar II.
Say WHAT?! Talk about a curveball that I even saw coming!
So here I am, 5 months later and still struggling. Yes, I said I'm still struggling. And it takes a lot for me to acknowledge that. I'm completely the type of person who carries the weight of the world on my shoulders and doesn't share the burden simply because I think, "I've got this." I'm learning, in a smack me upside the head, yet slow way, that I do not, in fact, have this.
I'm on my 3 medication in 5 months. And I have completely lost track of dose adjustments. And as I sit here, barricaded in my closet because for some reason this feels like a good safe space for me, I know I am looking down the barrel of another medication change. Did you just hear me sigh? Because I did.
So what prompted me to start this blog? Well, for starters, it seemed like a natural place to let off some steam. Especially because I think I'm a writer. I haven't actually verified this idea yet, hence the I think part. And well, reaching out to the community while I try to reach out to myself seemed like a good idea. So I'm laying my story out here on the digital line and seeing what comes of it. Maybe no one will ever read anything I write on here. But if that's the case, well, journalling has proven as an effective form of treatment, so here's to self therapy!
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