Choosing to Go Public About My Mental Illness

My brave homosexual friends have "come out of the closet" and let the world know about their sexual preference. This wasn't easy for them to do, I'm sure, because of the criticism and scrutiny that homosexuals receive even in today's world. Though these folks are now out and proud, the initial decision to come out was difficult for many of them.

Being heterosexual, I've never had to decide whether or not to reveal to anyone that I was straight. However, I have been "closeted" in my own way. I will now refer to my choice to reveal my truth as "Coming Out of the Attic," in reference to the tales one reads about people locking their crazy relatives in the attic.

I think that I was born down. Even in childhood I felt sad much of the time. But the feelings of irritability did not start creeping in until I was 10 years old. At that point I was starting to reach puberty. My breasts had started developing, my hips were starting to develop, I had hair on my underarms and pubic area, and I hated it. Growing up did not feel good. I wanted to remain a child. I wanted to keep playing tag, riding bikes, and climbing trees with my friends. I didn't want to have to assume responsibilities such as keeping house or holding down a job. I couldn't explain what was happening to me emotionally. I assumed it was just normal "teenage hormones" coming on. Looking back, it was the onset of bipolar disorder. However, this wouldn't be properly diagnosed for another 28 years.

At the age of 38, I had been diagnosed as everything from a "hysterical neurotic" by a boob of a Freudian psychiatrist to the much more common "depressed with anxiety." However, antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications only made me "crazier" than I already was, so I did not take them. I figured I was doomed to always feel paranoid and be emotionally unstable. I hated the fact that sometimes I flew into rages at family members. I hated that I could lecture my son mercilessly when he made some sort of small error in judgment, or if I was just having a bad day and he said something that I perceived incorrectly. I hated my suspicious nature and the way my mind always seemed to be "buzzing." It seemed that nothing could help me, until a counselor told me that I was describing bipolar disorder.

"This can't be," I said. "I have always been diagnosed with depression and anxiety. And when I was sixteen, I told my psychology teacher after reading about manic depression that I thought it sounded like I had it. But she said I couldn't because manic depression is a psychosis, and I wasn't psychotic. I don't hallucinate--well, except when I've been doing hallucinogens. But also, I've never been manic."

My counselor told me that bipolar disorder was no longer considered a psychosis, it was categorized as a mood disorder. She also told me that there was a form of bipolar disorder known as Type II Bipolar that did not have manias, but instead had a phase known as hypomania. She then described hypomania for me. During a hypomanic phase, a person feels optimistic and has high energy, but sometimes they are also irritable and it is easy to push them to become angry. I recognized myself immediately. I was hypomanic during those times when I felt good and was never going to let myself get depressed again. Every time I went into these phases I would say that I could do it this time, I could stay up, I could be strong, now I could become the good person I had always wanted to be, nobody would ever see that sad sack loser again.

I felt many things after hearing this diagnosis. One was relief. The things that were wrong with me had a name. There were other people that had this. The other was sadness. There is no cure for bipolar disorder. I would always be sick and "abnormal." Another feeling I had was confusion. How much of what I had felt in my life belonged to me and how much belonged to the sickness? I knew that I would try Lithium and see if I felt better. I would tell my family about my diagnosis. But I also felt I had to hide my diagnosis from the rest of the world. I feared that I might be fired if my employer found out. And what about any new people that came into my life? Would they reject me for being a "freak?" In one moment, a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders, but it was replaced by another one. I was no longer a "normal person who got depressed sometimes." I was a "bipolar freak," and now I was "in the attic."

When I started taking Lithium, the irritable "buzzing" stopped for the first time since childhood. However, my already rapid cycling moods became even more rapid. Whereas I used to go about a month in one phase (sometimes more with the depression) I now go for a week to ten days in a given phase. Again, sometimes longer with the depressive phase. Lucky me. However, I stopped flying into rages, stopped the heinous lecturing, and the paranoia and irritability were greatly lessened. Unfortunately my ability to concentrate obsessively on something such as reading or writing has been removed, as, sadly, has my ability to daydream vividly. However, I will no longer be without this medication. I never again want to be the paranoid rageaholic that I once was.
I have been "in the attic" since I was diagnosed as far as people such as employers are concerned. But I decided it was time to come out this summer, when my supervisor was scheduling me in a fashion that was actually causing me to have minor psychotic experiences, such as seeing things that weren't part of physical reality and not being sure that things that were part of physical reality were in fact real. During the summer we often have bats get into the building where I work. I stood staring at a bat for a full five minutes one night trying to decide if it was real or not. I had to let my supervisor know that scheduling me every other night was causing extreme difficulty for me due to my psychiatric illness.

I have also had a lot of difficulty adjusting to returning to school this semester and have missed all but two classes within the first two weeks. So not good. But rather than letting the teachers think that I am simply a flake, I have opted to let them know the truth about my condition. From now on, I am out of the attic. No more will I fear what people may think of me if they hear that I have bipolar disorder. If someone decides that they don't want to associate with a "freak," fine. It is them that has the problem. I'm going to let my freak flag fly.

For my fellows with psychiatric diagnosis: it is time to let the world know that we are here, that we are people, that we are not a stereotype to be laughed at and belittled. We are not stupid. We are capable of rational thought. We recognize our limitations but we need to be allowed to know our strengths as well. We do have thoughts and feelings that are really ours, not just a symptom of our disease. We know when medications work well for us and when they are causing problems. And we know when people are looking down at us. The quickest way to make a mad person angry is to act like you are superior to them simply because you haven't yet received a psychiatric diagnosis of your own to make you join our special ranks.

It's time to come out of the attic. It's time to demand courteous, professional, affordable treatment for our illnesses and to demand the same respect that all people are entitled to in our lives. The time has come to let our freak flag fly for all the world to see.