Before being diagnosed with bipolar disorder I knew very little about what this illness truly was. At the time my diagnosis was major depression, and while I did quick Google searches here and there I never took the necessary steps to educate myself.
Through out the years my mom would speak on what she believed was going on and what she believed was that I had bipolar disorder. Her ex, who was living with us was the one who recognized the symptoms from a previous relationship that he was in.
See, the doctors, they weren’t around me 24/7. They weren’t there to witness the highs and lows. Most of what I felt back then was sadness and anger. I remember my first therapist.. She was an older lady that I hardly spoke to and when I did speak I was rude. I didn’t want to be there, for what? These people don’t really care! Those were my exact thoughts. But one day.. I broke down. Crying so loud that those out in the lobby could hear everything. But that day was the day I opened up the box that I was in. How I felt afterwards is inexpressible.. I guess in a way I felt free. I had all this hurt and anger trapped inside and the only way I knew how to release it was through my writing. I remember I had two copies of my poems and during one of our sessions I gave them to her so she could read them right then and there. Not only that but I let her keep them. My poems served as a look inside.. when you read them you gain a better understanding of me, of my life, and my struggles.
I am not sure why I stopped seeing her, honestly I probably just told my mom I wasn’t going back. Since then I have had 7 or 8 other therapist. (Feel like I might be forgetting someone!)
What I was going through was something I would NEVER wish for anyone else to go through. What I was going through was something I didn’t even understand. I think my biggest question was always why? Why me? Why is this my life? Why was I ever born? Why does everyone hate me? Why can’t I be someone else? Why doesn’t anyone understand?
Nobody understood. That’s how I felt and honestly I still feel that way at times. I remember spending so many of my days contemplating suicide. I was 11 the first time I self-harmed, 12 the first time I attempted suicide.
I spent years being unsure of what was really going on with me… years being labeled as “crazy” and “weird.” I just wanted to be normal. Whatever that was.
So where does being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder come in at?
On November 6th of last year I published a post talking about an episode I had just experienced. In that post I briefly went over when I first noticed that something more was going on within me. I knew it but nobody listened. Nobody heard my cries for help and my psychiatrist at the time was one of those people who you just couldn’t tell a thing. The medication that I was on at the time was only adding fuel to the fire. So I did something that we’re advised not to do. I stopped taking it.. and since I am being honest I do not regret my decision. I don’t want to sit here and retype everything that I have already talked about in another post so please if you haven’t already read my first post on bipolar disorder ..do so!
It was a suicide attempt that led up to the proper diagnosis and as much as I hate going back to that night, I will forever be grateful for it. After being diagnosed I spent the first few weeks being pissed at the world because nobody heard me when I was trying to tell them something more was wrong! But I realized that spending all my time on the what ifs and being angry about something that I cannot change would be my downfall.
So I made a huge decision that changed my life…