A year in the making.

I’ve thought long and hard for the past few months about exactly how to write this. So much has happened in the last year that beginning again seemed so daunting- but I definitely feel like I need to start over. Here goes nothing…

About a year ago, I lost my job. Full disclosure: when I say I lost my job, I was technically fired. Why do I say technically? Well, I knew that it was happening for months and I was glad because my life had become miserable for the last six months I was working there. I was worried about money and needed unemployment, but I was very, very happy I was no longer working there. I’m not going to say more about it or my former employer,  because it really doesn’t matter anymore.

I got fired at 12 p.m. on a Friday. At 2 p.m. that same day, I had a final interview for a job that I really wanted. I literally came home, cuddled my cat for about 20 minutes, pulled myself together, changed, and left. (Even though it was something that I expected, getting fired is still not a fun experience.) I decided to be honest with my new potential workplace and tell them what had just happened. I would not have felt right going into a potential working relationship with my employer not knowing such big part of my life. I pride myself in being honest- and really, when I considered what type of person I wanted to be, it was an easy decision. My honesty paid off- I got the job and started 5 weeks later.

Anyone that has known me over the last 10-15 years probably knows that I’ve always wanted to ‘make a difference’ when it comes to my work. I decided that I wanted to work in the nonprofit sector when I was in high school, and I’m fortunate that now, at 27, I’ve finally reached that goal. I work for an organization that teaches about early cancer detection, and we work specifically with teens and young adults. My job requires me to work with a lot of high school and college students, teachers, administrators, and corporate partners. I have been working there for 9 months and I’ve already spoken to around 10,000 people through presentations, health fairs, and other outreach.

I love my job. I’ve met some amazing people through my job, and I’m fortunate that many of them have also become friends. Talking about cancer all the time can be mentally and emotionally draining, but it’s amazing to feel like I am really, truly saving lives on a daily basis.

Having bipolar disorder with a new job certainly…complicates things. When you first start a job, you are trying to put your absolute best foot forward. When you’re going through the highs and lows that bipolar brings, it’s exhausting to try and stay ‘level’. That on top of everything that comes with learning a new job has made me pretty much an antisocial zombie for the past 9 months.

Then comes the question of ‘coming out’ as bipolar. How exactly do you tell your colleagues and associates (in this case, cancer survivors that volunteer to present with me) that this is something that you deal with?

In a perfect world, I would just tell everyone upfront and it would just be out in the open and everyone would go on with their lives. But, there is still a stigma attached to mental illness. As much as I do NOT want my bipolar disorder to define me, I understand that it’s normal for someone to not know how to deal with this sort of information- even the awesome people I work around all the time. I would never want to put someone that I admire in a difficult position like that. Of course, just posting that ‘risks’ some or all of them reading this- it’s a chance I am willing to take.

So, here I am now. Loving my job and trying to figure out the rest as I go. I used to worry about when things were going to go back to ‘normal’…but if there’s anything I’ve realized in the last year, it’s that normalcy doesn’t exist, so I just gotta hold on for dear life.

 

P.S. In the last year I also got a cat. His name is Captain Jack Harkness (after a Dr. Who character). Here is a cute picture of him.

Why I chose medicine.

So now we’ve established I’m crazy- but I want to explain my course of treatment.

I had a breakdown the Wednesday before Thanksgiving of 2011. I don’t remember the events that led up to the breakdown, but it was a doozy. My husband gave me an ultimatum- if I didn’t get help, we couldn’t be together anymore. This was the best thing that he could have done- it forced me not to dwell on my problems and wallow in self-pity, and think about him, our relationship, and our future. (note: Jeff and I have an amazing relationship and this is not something that either of us took or take lightly- it was what needed to happen for me to get better.)

I went and saw a therapist right after Thanksgiving, and I continued seeing her off and on for about a year and a half. She was very nice, and especially at the beginning really helped me to find words to how I’m feeling. That’s the most important thing I got from therapy- being able to verbalize my emotions. However, after a few sessions, therapy began to feel like me just talking about my day and complaining about my work and personal life on a very surface level. I didn’t need that (that’s what my husband is for- ha!) and decided it just wasn’t the right fit anymore. I still am a strong believer in therapy, though- and I’m sure at some point I’ll go back! Therapy is a great tool for so many people, just not for me right here and right now.

Two sessions in, my therapist suggested that I might benefit from some sort of medication (or at least a consultation to discuss the possibility.) I have been wary of medication for a long time now because of a bad experience I had when I was 18. I was very lonely and depressed as a college freshman, and I went to the campus doctor to see what I could do about it. She prescribed me prozac, which was a horrible idea. It was that sort of thing where she didn’t really look at my circumstances and just prescribed me what was a ‘quick fix’. My body reacted horribly to it- lethargic and more depressed. I stopped attending class and the one time I drank my freshman year I had an AWFUL experience because of the medicine and alcohol interacting. I quickly went off of it and swore off any sort of drugs like that again.

Despite this  bad experience, I was desperate to get help for myself, my life, and my marriage. My therapist recommended a nurse practitioner named Anne, who she knew from some of her other clients. As soon as I met Anne, I felt comfortable and that I was going to be taken care of. She truly listened to me, and everything she spoke to me about was done thoughtfully and intentionally. Before I met Anne, I had no idea I had bipolar disorder, I just thought I was depressed. But after listening to me explain exactly how I was feeling, she told me my diagnosis, and what she thought my course of treatment should look like.

Anne explained to me that taking drugs for mental illnesses is often a messy process. It’s not going to be a easy ‘pop a prozac’ scenario- it will take time to figure out my medications, my dosages, and even which time of the day is best for me to take the medication. At first, she wanted to see me every two weeks, then every month, and then every eight weeks, and now I see her as I need to (depending on the month.) I felt like I truly have a doctor  who cares, she walks beside me and fights with me against this. I should also mention that Anne told me right away she doesn’t like prescribing medication unless she feels like she absolutely NEEDS to- something I found refreshing and  comforting as I began this scary process. To this day, she tries to reduce my dosages as much as possible so I have less medication in my body.

For my bipolar, I am on a medication called a mood stabilizer. It does exactly what it sounds like- stabilizes my moods. It brings the ‘highs’ down and the ‘lows’ up, so to speak. I was extremely fortunate that I found a medication that seems like it’s a right fit on my first try. The dosage is still sometimes a bit of a mystery- just today, two years after I began taking this medicine, we changed my dosage again. It can sometimes be a frustrating process, but I feel like I have come to terms with the fact that this is what I have to do to be well.

When I started taking medication, it changed my life. I will even go so far as to say it saved my life. I distinctly remember one night about two weeks after I started taking the meds, Jeff came into our bedroom and saw that I was crying. Being the good husband he is, he asked what was wrong. I looked at him and told him, “I am feeling true emotions for the first time in a very long time, and it’s incredible.”  Starting taking medication was by far one of the best decisions I have ever made.

I think that, as Americans, we are very overprescribed medicines. Many doctors don’t take the time to look at patients as a whole, not just a case. We’re into the immediate gratification. If you’re feeling sad, pop a prozac! If you’re feeling anxious, take a xanax! This is not to diminish those medicines, because they truly work for many people. The point I’m trying to make is, if you feel as though you need some sort of medication for a mental illness or otherwise, do you research! Find a doctor that works for you and with you. Often times, a relationship that a mental health patient and their doctor has can be one of the most important relationships in their lives-make sure yours is a good one. It may take some time and some ‘dating’ to find the right doctor for you! Also, be fully aware of what the medications are doing to your body. It helped me to tell both my husband and my boss (who I was close with) when I started the medication so that they could help me monitor any changes the medicine made- physically, emotionally, or mentally. Most of all, be honest with your doctor, your friends and family, and yourself- it could make the difference between feeling okay and feeling great.

Even two years into the experience of taking meds, it seems a bit surreal. I never thought I would be ‘that’ person, or how much it could change my life.  It can still sometimes get messy- I can absolutely tell if I’ve forgotten to take it for a day or two. My body will also likely build up some sort of tolerance to this medication, which will mean increased dosages or having to go through finding a new medication again. And I’ll admit, I’m scared about when it comes time for me to have kids and I have to figure out what to do medicine-wise during pregnancy and breastfeeding. But, I just try to focus on the present, and the fact that I’m feeling good right here and right now. 

My medication is not my end-all. It is not my happy pill (although I’ll admit, I call it that sometimes.) I don’t have a perfect system, and it doesn’t help me feel amazing all the time. This medication is not a thing that defines my personality or changes who I am. It is a tool that I use to help me be the person I want to be and the person I was designed to be. 

And that’s why I chose medication.

Praying the crazy away.

Warning: this post explores some controversial topics, and the conclusions I’ve reached have been after a lot of thought and processing. While I love constructive criticism, I really hope that it doesn’t turn into a fight about beliefs as a whole. Please think about the big picture as you’re reading it. 

I’m sure many of you have heard of the concept ‘praying the gay away’. For those of you living under a rock during all of the gay marriage debates over the last few years, let me explain. It’s the idea that someone who has homosexual tendencies is able to become ‘un-gay’ by prayer and something that’s called reparative therapy. Many people believe that this is impossible- for instance, take this apology that was issued by the founder of Exodus International, who acknowledges all of the pain he had caused by his ministry and decided to stop his ministry immediately.

Anyway, I’m not here to get into political discussions or talks about if people choose to be gay or not and if someone can become un-gay (really, I don’t want to fight about it!) I simply wanted to give you that basis to explain how I’ve been told countless times to ‘pray about getting released from your illness.”

I can’t tell you how many times I have told someone that I was struggling with depression or anxiety, and even after I got formally diagnosed, and they have asked me if I’ve prayed about it. Of course I have. I’ve grown up in the church since I was 12 years old and I was taught prayer changes things, and I have experienced that firsthand. While I think that praying about it helps (and I certainly still do it) I think that it’s a disservice to assume that I must not be doing something right if my bipolar hasn’t gone away. I have literally been told that I haven’t been praying hard enough if I’m still afflicted by this- dealing with the guilt & feelings of failure are worse in many ways than dealing with my diagnosis.

I have an analogy I like to use about all of this. If there’s a guy who is unemployed sits around praying for a job, and sees nothing happening, it’s not because he isn’t praying hard enough- it’s because he’s not going out and actually looking for a job. I held off on getting treatment for many years because I thought it could go away if I prayed hard enough. This left me with a lot of anger and resentment towards the Church and how they treat mental illness. Yes, I continue to pray about all of this- but does that mean that I shouldn’t get help while I’m where I’m at?

The other thing to consider is that perhaps God (or if you don’t believe in God, the universe) put me in this situation to help. Perhaps I’m going through all the blood, sweat, and tears to help others who are struggling, or maybe it’s just to become a stronger person. For whatever the reason, I must find solace in the fact that there is a reason.

So please, I urge you- if you find you have a friend that you discover is struggling with mental illness- please do not ask them if they’ve tried to pray about being released from it, or tell them that you will pray to do the same. While you can totally do that, also pray that they are given the tools to effectively deal with it, the wisdom of the doctors, and the patience of their loved ones that are affected. Also, get out there and check on them! See how they’re doing, grab coffee, ask them openly about what their diagnosis means!

While I am still a huge believer in prayer, it’s the kindness and love of those around me that has helped me begin to get better. My bitterness towards the church is slowly beginning to soften as I am able to get more open with people about who I am. I hope that as I continue to have these conversations with those I love, the church will begin to change how they approach the Christians who struggle with this disease every day. There is an estimated 2.6 million in the US struggling with bipolar disorder, not to mention any other mental illness- which means someone very close to you could be fighting a serious, silent battle.

If you’d like to delve little more into how mental illnesses in America are treated, I think this article sums up how many of us feel.

 

Some days, the bipolar wins.

First of all, I am incredibly thankful for all of the positive feedback! It’s terrifying to talk about this, but all of your kind words makes me sure that I made the right decision.

Last week, I had a particularly bad day. It was a rough week at work, and things just didn’t seem to be going my way. My husband came home, and he was trying to be sweet, and I got mad at him for not knowing that I would want a candy bar. I kept on getting very upset and aggravated about every little thing, when finally at midnight (completely fed up and frustrated) I decided to take a shower.

It was there in the shower that I came to the realization- that day, bipolar won. I can take my medication and pray/meditate and be honest about my feelings and run and seemingly do everything ‘right’,  but sometimes I am powerless against what this disease does to me. That’s a pretty tough thing to grasp.

There’s a saying among those who struggle with addiction- admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. While I certainly can’t even remotely compare addiction to bipolar disorder (they’re apples and oranges), I think that this frame of thought rings true for me. At first, it was admitting that I needed help and I could no longer do it on my own. Now, it’s admitting that some days I can’t win, and being okay with that. That self-actualization is where I have found all the difference in the path to feeling better.

I should mention that bipolar disorder is something that you don’t ‘grow out of’. Most of the time, the symptoms manifest in your teens and 20’s (which is when mine did- I started really showing symptoms when I was 22) and right now, there is no ‘cure’. Very occasionally there is someone who grows out of it or for some reason it goes away, but those cases are rare. While I certainly hope that I’m one of those few, I’m trying to accept the fact that this will be a lifelong struggle. I’m just thankful that I live in a time where there’s so many resources for me to treat it!

I was discussing all of these things with my doctor, Ann (she’s amazing and I’m sure I’ll talk more about her at some point). She gave me the best quote to sum up my experiences this far with all of this. I was talking about how I had been having a recent string of bad days. She, in all of her infinite wisdom, tells me, “Sometimes you just gotta say f*ck it, eat some chocolate, and call it a night.” Now that’s a mantra I can stick to!

When I say crazy, I mean crazy.

Well, let me say something right off the bat: I never thought I would share this much of my life on any sort of internet platform, much less a blog. Sure, the internet is great for cat pictures, complaining about whatever first world problem I have at the moment, and the occasional controversial political post, but revealing this much of myself is something I don’t take lightly. However, I think this is an important subject, and if I can make the world a better place and encourage just one person, I think it’s worth it.

Now that I have you thoroughly freaked out, let  me introduce myself. I’m a 25-year old former small town girl who moved to Boston three years ago. I’d describe myself as friendly, outgoing, and I generally get along with most people. I married my high school sweetheart over four years ago, and we’re navigating this crazy time in our lives that is the mid-twenties as best we can. I work at a chocolate factory (no, really) and recently completed my second half marathon, at a snails pace- but at least I finished! Oh, and one more thing- I’m crazy.

I feel like that requires a bit of explanation.  About two years ago, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This was a shocking, to say the least, but it was also incredibly relieving. There was finally a name to all of those confusing feelings I had for so long, and someone telling me that it could get better. Before that, I felt so incredibly hopeless; that I should just accept my fate and go through life. But since then, I’ve found an awesome doctor, gotten on some medicine that helps me control it, and am learning how to manage my day-to-day life better. There are still good days and bad days, but the bad days are getting fewer and I’m finally able to live life again!

Without boring you too much, I want to explain what bipolar actually means for me. When most people think of the word ‘bipolar’, they think of people who are up all night raving one day, and curled into the fetal position crying the next. While that’s certainly the most visible and common form, there’s other kinds of bipolar as well. The best I’ve heard to describe my type of bipolar (or, bipolar 2) is an aggravated depression. While I certainly have highs and lows, my ‘highs’ aren’t as manic and most of the time I am both anxious & depressed at the same time. This type of bipolar also allows people (myself included) to live fairly normal lives, especially with help from various sources (like therapy, meds, exercise, etc).

Sharing this part of my life is incredibly scary for my reasons. First of all, the stigma attached to people with mental illnesses, especially with something that sounds as severe as bipolar, is INCREDIBLE. I’m sure many of you will not think of me the same way, and that’s okay. I think it’s important to show that a relatively successful & functioning 25-year old can still be struggling with these sorts of things. I’m also (naturally) worried about if my friends, employer, coworkers, or  even strangers see this and think I’m not capable of doing something because of this disease. Let me say to those people: I’m still the same exact person as I was 5 minutes before you read this. Bipolar is just a part of me, not all of me.

So, here I am, sharing this scary, crazy part of me, hopefully encouraging and helping people along the way. If any of the three people that will be reading this have any questions at all (from diagnosis, to day-to-day, to ANYTHING) please feel free to ask. I’ve come this far, why stop being transparent now?