Today marks the fifth anniversary of my bipolar diagnosis. In some ways it seems like yesterday, while at the same time it’s like it happened half a lifetime ago.
I’ll never forget how I felt when Dr. Awesomesauce pronounced the words that changed my life forever. “I’m diagnosing you with bipolar disorder not otherwise specified,” he said, clearly wishing he didn’t have to. “We need to talk about getting you on some meds.” I thought about it for a minute and then asked what that meant. Even as an RN, I knew little about bipolar at the time and thought there were only two types of the disorder, so this diagnosis was confusing to say the least.
“It means that you have what looks like bipolar, but we don’t know yet what kind it is,” he told me. “Depending on what I see in the next couple of visits, I may change your diagnosis back to major depression. We’ll see.”
When I left the office that day, I felt like I had a big banner plastered across my forehead that labeled me as MENTALLY ILL. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t suspected it, but to have it confirmed by a well-qualified mental health professional was something else entirely. I went home and told my family, who were not surprised in the least, and proceeded to research the condition. I never realized there was so much information out there, and how little I really knew about mental illness in general. Dr. Google was my best friend; I read everything I could get my hands on and recognized myself in almost all of it.
My first medication was Lamictal. It took what seemed like an awful long time before my depression lifted, but as the dose went up I started feeling better. Then summer came, and with it my first full-blown manic episode. One day I sashayed into Dr. A’s office wearing a bright turquoise outfit and blue eyeshadow, and one look at me made the diagnosis official. He still didn’t want to speculate as to what kind of bipolar I had, but the fact that I had it was never again called into question.
Now, five years, six medications, four mental healthcare providers and an equal number of bipolar 1 diagnoses later, I’ve come to terms with the illness, even if I’ve never become comfortable with the idea of having it. For the longest time I treated it as if it were an alien that lived in the house with me and ate my food; I mistakenly thought I could make it behave if I distanced myself from it. Now I give it the respect it deserves, and I can usually discern what is me from what is the disease.
Yes, I’ve learned a great deal in the past five years. Back then I was still somewhat emotionally immature; I’ve grown up a lot. Thanks to medications, I’m also mellower than I ever was in my former life; I rarely get worked up over insignificant things and I’ve learned how to pick my battles. There are no more screaming fits, no more breaking things or slamming full plates of food against the kitchen wall. And I’ve developed a deeper compassion for other mentally ill people that I wish I’d had when I was nursing.
I’m glad it’s not five years ago today. I know now that this is a lifelong illness, and as someone much wiser than I once said, I’ll die with it but I refuse to die from it.
It’s all good. 🙂
bpnurse 
That is such a positive way to think and live. That attitude is an inspiration to those that also have mental health challenges.
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Thank you!
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Wow. Only five years! I, too, went from having a diagnosis of depression to bipolar. With the change in diagnosis – same person, different diagnosis – I was initially worried about parenting my son, who was 2 1/2 at the time. For some reason, I thought it was no big deal to parent with depression… Part of my self-stigma had to do with my clinical training. I had more hope for treatment and remission of depression, even though I had lived with it for two decades at that point, than I did for bipolar disorder. I thought of bipolar as a progressive serious mental illness. I worried that I’d be an unfit mother (I was the same mother as before the change in diagnosis). Like you, I’ve come far in my acceptance of bipolar disorder and my ability to live well with it. Of course, it’s been over a decade since I was diagnosed bipolar.
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I think bipolar *is* a progressive disease if not treated. I know how bad mine got before I was medicated adequately. I started out with a dx of bipolar NOS and then it progressed to bipolar 1. Now I’m stuck with the label but am so much better than I was before. I believe I would be dead now if it weren’t for treatment.
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Without a doubt it is progressive if not treated. Then I believed that it was progressive even when treated effectively. In fact, it still is progressive even as medication protects the brain from manic and hypomanic episodes and thereby lessens or slows deterioration of the brain over time.
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I think part of it is we are blessed to have the right meds, and to know that we need to stay ON them. I think non-compliance is what makes it progressive (but then again we know what happens when we pick up a drink, the disease has been doing push-ups, and maybe going off our meds would have the same kind of outcome – I’m too scared to try to find out – xo)
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That’s something like what Dr. Goodenough told me—we still cycle, we just don’t “feel” it because the meds suppress it. And of course, brain damage occurs if the episodes aren’t treated…not to mention the meds that make us forgetful and unable to multitask. It’s a mess, but it’s the best we can do at this time.
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ps, you changed your picture, yay!
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how do you manage work with the meds? iv just been prescribed quetipine excuse the spelling. what medication are you on and how do you find them?
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Hi there, and welcome to bpnurse!
To answer your questions, I am on disability and don’t work. I got to the point where I couldn’t anymore after several disastrous mood episodes ruined my career. I take Zyprexa, Geodon, Celexa, Lamictal, and Trazodone, plus Klonopin for anxiety/sleep. It took a lot of fine-tuning to make this combination work, but it does.
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