Greetings!
I am writing this blog tonight for the first time in my life. I am 48 years old now and back in 1993 I was diagnosed with Bi-Polar disorder at the age of 19. That's a long time to be silent about something that has impacted me so greatly. I considered myself lucky to have been diagnosed in a time when some kind of treatment was available. I did a write a single paper about being diagnosed as Bi-Polar later on when I transferred colleges. The professor remarked that I was “lucky” because effective medicine had not come out until the 1970's.
I was hospitalized in a “nut house” twice in 1993...once for a week in April...not voluntarily -and- again in June for a week, but this time it was voluntarily. My doctor told me he should have given me more Lithium back in April...and if he would have, I would not have found myself pumped with Haldol again. Haldol made my head extremely foggy and my tongue would swell up so much I couldn't talk over the drool. I remember one nurse was so nice because she recognized I was overmedicated and told the doctor. After that they didn't give me Haldol anymore. I will tell you later about what I did to land myself in a psychiatric hospital...those are stories for another time.
I grew up in a big, Irish Catholic family where we had lots of love, plenty of jokes and opinions...and not a lot of money. My Grandma on my dad's side of the family lost her husband when my dad was just 3 years old and she was pregnant with her 8th child. She had an 8th grade education and no driver's license ever. Long story short, she cracked up from all of the stress and found herself in the “nuthouse” a few times back in the 1950's. She was later diagnosed as having schizoaffective disorder and her family was divided up for several years off and on. She never remarried and actually never got over losing my Grandpa. He died of a heart issue at the age of 41.
What learned behavior I took away from my family of origin was to be the victim. Not manipulating things as a victim, but carrying an attitude of shame or sadness...as if getting over things in life was next to impossible. My dad (and mom) actually came and got me back in 1993 and took me away from Seattle to a psychiatric facility in Eastern, WA. I was confused when they arrived that day. I actually went to a counseling office at the UW campus that April afternoon and lied on them during the initial private visit...reporting that he was an abusive spouse, an alcoholic, and comes from a family of mental illness. (Which was true, but not the major concern of that day.) The counselor listened to me for an hour and them asked if I wanted to sign up again for another visit in two weeks. Ha! I was committed to a psychiatric ward by 9:00 p.m. that night.
I just wish that my dad coped better with all of this drama. He never dealt with his childhood issues and then when his only son become mentally ill, like his mother, it freaked him out for months and years. He told people in our small town all about me, his fears,...my psychiatrist called it “confidentiality rape.” I think he just coped out loud and thought way too many people were his close friends. That is why I think I have carried lots of shame about being Bi-Polar for too long. In the 1990's not too many people understood mental health like we do today. Plus, my behavior wasn't the best either. I can't blame my dad for everything. I did for years though.....I wanted him to relax and get more educated instead of drinking Scotch and hiding behind his judgments....gaslighting me.
Before I go, I do want to let you know that since my diagnosis in 1993, I was able to live a better life because I always took my medicine routinely and consistently. I saw first hand from my Grandma what life was like when mentally ill people do not take their medicine. She was nuts for most of her life and she refused to take medicine. My dad denied needing any medicine to chill his ass out and bring him down from harsh start ups, insomnia, constant irritability, and acute perfectionism. Medicine I now know is not the “magic” solution or only answer to a healthy life. But I learned at the age of 19 that I was going to live my life with Bi-Polar taking what medicine the Psychiatrist recommended. (I had a good one at the time.) Because I took my medicine regularly I was able to go back to college, graduate, live oversees, get my first teaching job at 23 years old, coach sports, go to counseling, get good evaluations, have great work attendance, get my Master's degree, become an Assistant Principal and Principal, get married, have two children, stay married, and set more goals. But life is never a walk in the park...I know thoughts of self harm, depression, alcoholism, impulsivity, and shame all too well. I'll post again soon. I'm just getting started!