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Click here for a list of links on bipolar disorder. One Woman’s Battle with Bipolar DisorderLast year I broke down and filed for disability insurance benefits declaring never to put myself through another tour of duty on some job that I would unavoidably be asked to leave by a disgruntled employer because the ugliness of my illness had reared its head. It is during these days, which have now accumulated into 4 months, that I find myself wallowing in the sheets and covers of my daybed, not quite in slumber, but in an endless pursuit of wonder over what it is exactly that I will do with my day. Far too often it winds up being little more than swallowing my daily medications behind a cup of coffee and returning to my pile of covers awaiting sunset in a grueling mental anguish over death – my death, that is – and wondering when this scenario will be replaced by one more befitting of the bright, promising and capable person I once knew to exist before mental illness set in. It had been about a month since my most recent employer had fired me. I lost my health benefits and was left with no alternative but to return to the state mental health clinic for services. On the evening of my termination I left the office in a state of shock, not so much for the fact I was terminated, for I knew that was imminent, but just by the manner in which it all took place. I didn’t ask any questions and just said “yes” and “ok” to everything the office administrator said, relinquished my ID and office key, gathered my belongings and strutted out of the building never to look back. When I got in my car I was so shaken up that I ran into a pillar in the parking lot and scratched the entire back side of my new car and just prayed that I would make it home without causing an accident. Paranoia and mania also had begun to set in and I put about 500 miles on my car in about 12 hours in an endless attempt to avoid being caught by the police. Caught for having done what I do not know. I stopped on three occasions to take a nap, and on the final rest stop, I parked my car at a meter under a bridge. I was so disillusioned about the police being after me and took off in meteoric pace when I had awakened from this last nap as a van pulled up in front of my car that had “HOMELAND SECURITY” written across its side, convinced that local pursuit of me had now reached the federal level. I finally gave in to my exhaustive, paranoid run and arrived at my psychiatrist’s office to receive a heavily sedative injection that would stay in my system for a month and help me with my thought processes. With the prevalence of the mental illness known as bipolar disorder among the many societies across the country, versions of stories like the one above may seem normal or be typical experiences to those with this condition. “Bipolar disorder is an illness marked by extreme changes in mood, thought, energy and behavior. It is not, as often it is thought to be, a character flaw or sign of personal weakness. Bipolar disorder is also known as manic depression because a person’s mood can alternate between the “poles” mania (highs) and depression (lows). This change in mood or “mood swing” can last for hours, days, weeks or months. Bipolar disorder affects more than two million adult Americans. It usually begins in late adolescence. An equal number of men and women develop this illness, and it is found among all ages, races, ethnic groups and social classes. The illness tends to run in families and appears to have a genetic link. Like depression and other serious illnesses, bipolar disorder can also negatively affect spouses and partners, family members, friends and coworkers.” For more information visit www.dbsalliance.org. Click here if you would like to respond to this article or send a message to the author.So what do you think? If you would like to respond to this article click here and sign our Guestbook to leave a public or private statement, comment or reaction.
Bumpers and Important Papers Last week I emerged from one of the corner liquor stores with my brown paper parcel in hand, brimming with excitement over this alternative way of treating my symptoms. My current prescriptions are causing steady and significant weight gain and are not really having much more than a numbing effect on my brain. These are common reasons why people who are bipolar stop taking their medications. I removed the jumbo-sized Old English 40oz. bumper from my bag and began to “self-medicate” the way many with mental illness do in struggling Black communities I see all over my city, thinking that this would be my new daily regimen instead of the pills – the mood stabilizers, the antidepressants and the antipsychotic injections I’ve been taking over 18 years. You see, the problem with all medications used to treat mental illness is that they come with an array of debilitating side effects that make you obese and lethargic, and kill any ambition or ability to function in a manner enabling you to support your life/lifestyle in a normal and consistent manner. Unfortunately, my alcoholic venture turned out not to be the boon I thought it would be: Its effect wears off after a few hours of bliss, leaving you dehydrated and with a headache. I cannot imagine having to continue to purchase these bumpers two or more times a day just to relieve my symptoms. It also saddens me now to think that this is the way a lot of people I see on the streets combat their depression and mood swings. Anyway, I bet you never felt the need or urge to pack a bag full of the achievements, diplomas, essays, awards, birth certificates, medical records, resumes, report cards, and letters of recommendation, much less carry them around with you wherever you go. This is a practice I have undertaken since I was 18 years old. These documents, also known to my friends, family and anyone else who knows me as “The Important Papers,” have been flung over my shoulder in a briefcase as though they are some kind of body attachment. Eventually the bag became so weighted down that as I walked down the street with a friend I remarked: “I think my important papers are cutting off my circulation,” (alternating the briefcase from one shoulder to the other). As I turned to my friend he remarked: “I think your important papers are trying to tell you something.” We laughed and continued on with our day. I just simply become paranoid that no one will ever know the real me or that I was at one point in my life capable of doing or accomplishing anything unless they had this bag of documented proof. I’ve guarded this bag with my life. Other friends think this behavior is sad and even laughable, however, I know the truth. And the truth is that with my track record of mental episodes I would simply be viewed as a rubber stamp of societal disapproval without the important papers, even though I’ve never had to present these documents on demand to anyone in the 16 years I’ve been carrying them with me. I continue to carry them to this day – just in case. So what do you think? If you would like to respond to this article click here and sign our Guestbook to leave a public or private statement, comment or reaction.
A true story, Losing Control chronicles an African-American mother's struggle with her daughter's mental illness, which after more than a decade of help-seeking, heartache and confusion, is finally determined to be bipolar disorder. Her difficulties in managing symptoms of her child's illness, the lack of social and emotional support, and the grief this mother faces as the diagnosis is finally determined are vividly and courageously discussed. A medical perspective on bipolar disorder, including definitions, symptoms and treatment in a cultural context is provided. Resources to help families deal with the stigma attached to mental illness, and resources that can be helpful in managing its course are also provided.
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