Being Bipolar: A First-Hand Account

Until now, I had not written much about being bipolar. Several reasons come to my mind for this - the most obvious being not knowing where I would begin. The label, or stigma, of having a mental illness is the largest hurdle I have had to face first with my self and others. For me, in the beginning, it was a lack of knowledge, followed by the fear of being "defective" in some way.

To accept that I had this illness was a long, painful process for me that others without it may be able to comprehend if I just give them the chance. Still, even as I write these words, I have trepidations of being misunderstood or having my illness minimized by others. These trepidations I am sure have their beginning in my own lack of knowledge at first followed by my refusal to accept this could be happening to me.

Some reading this will know, others will not until now, how I struggled with alcoholism beginning in my early teens and lasting nearly a decade. Fortunately for me, there were those, including my dad, who were there to help me once I was willing to accept that help. Unfortunately, it was a few years more before the presence of my mental illness could be accurately assessed.

Once again, there were those willing to help even when they were not sure what kind of help was needed. For those people and those there to help with my alcoholism, I will be eternally grateful. I honestly believe there was a plan in place all along and maybe this sharing of my own experience is, at least, a part of it.

The devious part of being bipolar for me is I was never either depressed or manic for very long at a time. In between the two extremes were often long periods of time when everything was level, or normal if you will. This made it extremely difficult to admit there was a problem because during the level times I was much like every one else.

The manic times, which I loved most, were times when I could achieve more in less time than any other. The depressions, which I hated and I am sure others did too, I did my best to keep hidden by staying out of contact with others as much as possible. So this roller coaster ride of emotions had two periods I enjoyed and only one that I didn't and usually blamed on other people anyway.

It was only by having what is now known as a psychotic episode at work one day that the intervention I needed began. The place I worked was devoted to helping alcohol and drug addicts so my boss and the other staff were more likely to be open to seeing what I needed was help not admonition thankfully. With this first episode I began the long, arduous task of dealing with my bipolar being.

First, I went through years of cognitive therapy to learn how to address the multiple mindsets that accompanied the various levels of my illness. Second, began the medical treatment that continues today to address the chemical imbalances in my brain. Now, the progression of the illness continues and I am beginning, after 20 plus years, to realize my illness is lifelong and requires continual maintenance to keep in check (much like diabetes except I cannot measure my bipolar level as easily).

I do not seek any type of sympathy for my struggle but remain open to true and honest empathy from others. I still do not discuss either my alcoholism or my bipolar illnesses unless someone else makes the first move. I believe this is primarily because I still know there are those who do not understand.

It is not a lack of faith in God or in His abilities that causes me to accept these conditions and their treatment. In fact, it is faith itself that has kept me going through the darkest of times as I hoped and prayed for help. It would be ungrateful of me now not to accept that very hope and help I prayed for those many years ago.

Still, I am no preacher and my understanding of what God means may be very different from other people. Nonetheless, I have learned to respect how real the power in whatever a person believes can be. Though faced with many of life's vicissitudes and having recently experienced another psychotic episode, which signaled a need for further help, I am no longer ashamed of being a Bipolar Being.