My Diagnosis
Sheer terror hit me as I drove down the road. I had no clue what I was doing. With my kids and dogs in tow, I was leaving my husband of four years for no reason whatsoever. My two girls in the backseat cooing and laughing at the idea of going to their Maw Maw Jan’s. They didn’t know what was going on and frankly, they didn’t care. They were so innocent and as I looked in the rearview mirror at them, I knew that everything I was doing was wrong, but I did not know why. A phone call to my husband to pick us up was made and I sat in the middle of McDonald’s crying uncontrollably in complete fear. The lines of reality had been blurred and I wasn’t sure which side I stood on. The side of reality or some made-up scenario in my mind. I was mad and not in the sense of anger, but the kind of mad that I knew I was off my rocker, batshit crazy. Of my 30 years on this planet, I never questioned my actions as much as I did at that moment.
With the children shipped off to stay with my family, we began to seek treatment for whatever this was. For this off the rails, flat out crazy situation that I had gotten myself into. The waitlist for psychiatrists was insanely long and eventually, I found myself at an assessment center where the caseworker said as much as she hated to use the term, I had ALL the symptoms of bipolar disorder. Siting it as a phrase that gets used too often, she was leery at first but it was obvious it was what I was experiencing and that I had a psychotic break. Seeing I had a support system, I was referred to outpatient treatment. I was assigned a psychiatrist and a therapist. I was on the road to find out so much.
On the first day of treatment, they separated a select group of people and stuck us in a room. We all had one thing in common, a bipolar diagnosis. I had heard all these things about bipolar disorder but I really had no clue what it was. I was told on more than one occasion that I had bipolar disorder and needed help, but the words never resonated with me. Once we were all seated in this classroom, they put a video on the TV. It went through the details of bipolar disorder and had personal accounts of people with the illness. As I sat there, I found my shaking my head in agreement with some of the things the people in the video were saying. Hypersexuality was a word I had never heard in my life until that day. I knew some people self-medicate with drugs and alcohol, but I had no idea that my drug of choice was sex or that this was actually a symptom of something greater. My eyes had been opened and I had hoped to “get better”.
My GFS (Global Functioning Scale) was a mere 58. That is a number out of 100 with 100 being fully functioning. After 3 weeks of treatment and therapy, I was still at a 58. I thought I was doomed. With my tubal ligation and the death of my grandfather being pinpointed as the triggers for the evolution of my illness, I had been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and I thought my life was over. The medication they put me on seemed to help, but I felt like a zombie. I was functioning on their terms so that 58 didn’t mean all that much to me. I had no idea of the journey that lay in front of me. I was scared, but I didn’t dare show that concern to anyone. I was strong and I had to stay strong for my family. I had no idea how much my strength would be tested over the course of the years to come. At 41 years old, I am surviving and that to me is winning.
My dogs are beyond hyper and loud. I have eaten and attempted to do some productive things only to throw my hands up in disgust and walk away. I sit down in my comfortable desk chair and begin browsing the internet. I feel a tinge of depression. I feel the darkness try to sneak in and I quickly try to find a way to recover. The darkness may win this time, but I don’t run to some form of self-medication. I sit and process. I write. I decide that there has to be someone out there that needs to hear this, that surviving is winning.
I have felt the sting of utter failure. I have lost more than I ever thought I could. I have fallen to my knees and yelled at life to just give me one fucking break! I have been in the pits of despair, in fact, I live there quite frequently. The key is I get up and I do it all over again. I am not a religious person and to me this is IT. This is all I get. One fucking chance to make the best of THIS life. When mania strikes, I think I can accomplish all these great things and when the depression takes over, I wonder who in the hell I’m fooling, but I keep chugging along because this is all I have. My children, the love of my life, and my friends all need me as much as I think I’m a burden and a lost cause. I have to remind myself that is the darkness speaking and not me. I’ll slap a fake smile on when I’m dying inside and keep trying. Failure after failure, I still survive. I am winning a battle most don’t even experience in a lifetime and to me, that is a success! Fuck the white picket fence. I have my little house in the country that is full of so much love the walls can barely hold it in. Surviving is winning.
Let’s go on a journey. This isn’t happily ever after. This is happily now and that’s okay. This is my story. The story of a woman that was diagnosed with a mental illness at the age of 30, but the symptoms started so much before that. My whole life has been a trigger and symptom. What I once thought was my personality is really just a serious mental illness that I fight every second of every minute of every hour of the day. This is a story of survival. This is a story of winning and I hope that someone out there can see they too, are winning.
With the children shipped off to stay with my family, we began to seek treatment for whatever this was. For this off the rails, flat out crazy situation that I had gotten myself into. The waitlist for psychiatrists was insanely long and eventually, I found myself at an assessment center where the caseworker said as much as she hated to use the term, I had ALL the symptoms of bipolar disorder. Siting it as a phrase that gets used too often, she was leery at first but it was obvious it was what I was experiencing and that I had a psychotic break. Seeing I had a support system, I was referred to outpatient treatment. I was assigned a psychiatrist and a therapist. I was on the road to find out so much.
On the first day of treatment, they separated a select group of people and stuck us in a room. We all had one thing in common, a bipolar diagnosis. I had heard all these things about bipolar disorder but I really had no clue what it was. I was told on more than one occasion that I had bipolar disorder and needed help, but the words never resonated with me. Once we were all seated in this classroom, they put a video on the TV. It went through the details of bipolar disorder and had personal accounts of people with the illness. As I sat there, I found my shaking my head in agreement with some of the things the people in the video were saying. Hypersexuality was a word I had never heard in my life until that day. I knew some people self-medicate with drugs and alcohol, but I had no idea that my drug of choice was sex or that this was actually a symptom of something greater. My eyes had been opened and I had hoped to “get better”.
My GFS (Global Functioning Scale) was a mere 58. That is a number out of 100 with 100 being fully functioning. After 3 weeks of treatment and therapy, I was still at a 58. I thought I was doomed. With my tubal ligation and the death of my grandfather being pinpointed as the triggers for the evolution of my illness, I had been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and I thought my life was over. The medication they put me on seemed to help, but I felt like a zombie. I was functioning on their terms so that 58 didn’t mean all that much to me. I had no idea of the journey that lay in front of me. I was scared, but I didn’t dare show that concern to anyone. I was strong and I had to stay strong for my family. I had no idea how much my strength would be tested over the course of the years to come. At 41 years old, I am surviving and that to me is winning.
My dogs are beyond hyper and loud. I have eaten and attempted to do some productive things only to throw my hands up in disgust and walk away. I sit down in my comfortable desk chair and begin browsing the internet. I feel a tinge of depression. I feel the darkness try to sneak in and I quickly try to find a way to recover. The darkness may win this time, but I don’t run to some form of self-medication. I sit and process. I write. I decide that there has to be someone out there that needs to hear this, that surviving is winning.
I have felt the sting of utter failure. I have lost more than I ever thought I could. I have fallen to my knees and yelled at life to just give me one fucking break! I have been in the pits of despair, in fact, I live there quite frequently. The key is I get up and I do it all over again. I am not a religious person and to me this is IT. This is all I get. One fucking chance to make the best of THIS life. When mania strikes, I think I can accomplish all these great things and when the depression takes over, I wonder who in the hell I’m fooling, but I keep chugging along because this is all I have. My children, the love of my life, and my friends all need me as much as I think I’m a burden and a lost cause. I have to remind myself that is the darkness speaking and not me. I’ll slap a fake smile on when I’m dying inside and keep trying. Failure after failure, I still survive. I am winning a battle most don’t even experience in a lifetime and to me, that is a success! Fuck the white picket fence. I have my little house in the country that is full of so much love the walls can barely hold it in. Surviving is winning.
Let’s go on a journey. This isn’t happily ever after. This is happily now and that’s okay. This is my story. The story of a woman that was diagnosed with a mental illness at the age of 30, but the symptoms started so much before that. My whole life has been a trigger and symptom. What I once thought was my personality is really just a serious mental illness that I fight every second of every minute of every hour of the day. This is a story of survival. This is a story of winning and I hope that someone out there can see they too, are winning.
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