My Story
My name is Stacie, and I'm bipolar. I'm not exactly sure when I was first diagnosed as I've
been in and out of mental health care since I was 13. Personally, I think I've exhibited
the signs of bipolar all of my life. I can remember as a child being told that I talked
too fast and I've always had extreme mood swings. When I hit my teens it was hell and
that's when my parents stepped in and got me to seek professional help.
I was 13 when I saw my first psychiatrist. They ran me through a battery of tests and came
back with the diagnosis that I had an "above average IQ". That was it - or at least that's
all I was told. However, a regular appointment with a staff psychologist was arranged and I
continued to see him for the next 4 years until I graduated high school. It helped, but I
still remained undiagnosed.
When I was 20 I remember a family doctor prescribed me Lithium. It's one of the first choices
for treating bipolar disorder although the diagnosis still wasn't given to me. I stayed on
it for a couple months and then quit taking it. That's a very common thing for us bipolars -
we stop taking the medication because we feel better. What I failed to realize was the
Lithium was making me stable and that's why I felt better.
Shortly after stopping my medication, I moved with my family from Delaware to Georgia. I
hated the south and, as a result, sank into a deep depression. After about 9 months, I
made my first suicide attempt. I ended up being rushed to the ER and spent the next
few days in a state mental hospital. It was hell but I still didn't have a diagnosis. I
was, however, set up with the local county mental health clinic and started regular
therapy. They also put me back on Lithium as well as a tri-cyclic anti-depressant (I don't
recall the name of it). Again, it worked for awhile and then I stopped taking it like
I was supposed to.
A few years later, I had enough of life on this earth and made the most serious suicide plan
I've ever come up with. I was working full-time for a workaholic boss, commuting 30 miles one-way
to my job, going to school 4 nights a week, taking care of a handicapped roommate and trying
to keep my sanity in a highly codependent relationship. I decided I couldn't handle the
stress anymore and, since something must obviously be wrong with me, I made a plan to end my
life on my 25th birthday. Having a plan alleviated all my stress but my mother
picked up on my drastic mood change one day during a phone call and immediately called my
therapist. My therapist, in turn, called me in for an emergency appointment. She made up
some bogus reason for my needing to come in since I didn't usually take lunch breaks. I don't
remember what the reason was but it must have been convincing since I went in to see her.
When I got to my therapist's office, I was cornered by both her and my psychiatrist. They
kept asking me what my plan was even though I denied having one and insisted everything was
"fine". Finally, they broke me and I burst into tears and confessed everything I'd been
planning. They committed me to a local psychiatric hospital on the spot. Since I had insurance
this time around, I wasn't being sent to the state hospital (thank God!) so I was hoping
I might actually get some help this time around.
My hospital stay lasted 30 days during which time I was hooked up with a psychiatrist who, once
again, put me through an even more intense battery of tests. His diagnosis was that I was "almost
bipolar" - apparently my mania wasn't high enough to warrant the official diagnosis. This was in
1990 and I guess Bipolar II wasn't recognized yet. Regardless, he put me on various medications
which I took for several years until I lost touch with him and decided I didn't need them
anymore.
The next few years were a living hell on a rollercoaster ride of emotional mood swings. I was in
and out of psychiatric hospitals, changed doctors several times and had a therapist who turned
out to be lousy at her job. We'd sit and have "girl talk" once every few weeks which did absolutely
nothing to help me. I took my medication when I felt like it and attempted suicide a few more
times. Nothing I did on my own seemed to help my situation and I felt like the world would
just be better off if I wasn't in it.
When I was approaching my 35th birthday, I became homicidal for the first time in my
life. I'd just had a huge argument with a friend and all I could think of was how I wanted her
dead. I've never been a violent person and the thoughts I was having scared me. So I packed
a suitcase and marched into the ER telling them honestly what was going on with me. They wanted
to send me home. Finally, I convinced them how serious I was about my murder-suicide plan and
they put me in a sheriff's car bound for a different psychiatric hospital. I was about to meet
a man who would change my life forever, but it still took me 2 more years before I believed
anything he had to say.
Dr. M was assigned to my case and was a very polite doctor. I didn't like him as he seemed to have
the personality of wilted celery. Because I had no respect for the man, I didn't stay on my
medication. Finally, he told me if I didn't take my meds, there was nothing he could do for me,
so I quit seeing him. I figured he was another in a long line of quacks I'd seen and I was
better off without him.
For the next two years I muddled through on my own. I was completely off medication and had even
ended my ten-year relationship with my idiot therapist. She just vanished off the face of the earth
one day, refusing to return my calls. For awhile, things seemed to be going pretty well - or as
well as can be expected. I even got off disability and got what turned out to be the best job
I ever had. I was living with my boyfriend at the time and life was good.
Then we broke up.
I took the break-up harder than anyone expected. Everyone else saw it coming as we fought a lot
more than I consciously realized. He just finally had enough of my mood swings and the instability
of our relationship and made the choice to move out. I was devastated and decided this time to
end it once and for all. I didn't want to deal with the pain and just knew there was no way I
could survive it. My sister stepped in this time and told me, "You're not crazy - you're just
sick" and convinced me to call the psychiatric hospital I was in two years earlier. They were
pretty dismissive of me until I told them my fool-proof plan to end my life. After that, they
took me a little more seriously and arranged for me to start in their outpatient program the
following day.
Wouldn't you know it, poor Dr. M was once again assigned to my case and this time he was a lot
more animated than I remember him being. He sat down with me, looked me directly in the eyes and
told me, "You are bipolar. You are Bipolar II Mixed which is a dangerous combination. It means
you're depressed enough to hurt or kill yourself and manic enough to pull it off." Finally, I
had an official diagnosis. Dr. M put me on medication and arranged for me to start seeing a
therapist in his office.
That was in 2001 and I've been, for the most part, medication and therapy compliant ever since.
It hasn't been easy but something inside of me told me, "Hey - you've tried your way of life and
it hasn't worked. Let's at least see what these professionally trained people have to say and
try their way for once." Thankfully I listened to that little voice and my life has improved
100%.
The past several years have involved numerous med changes, many hardships, weight gain and weight
loss, a few more broken relationships and a lot of heartache. But they've also been wonderful
years full of insight, good times with my family and friends and, most importantly, stability.
I take my meds every night as prescribed and whenever I'm feeling a little off-kilter, the first
people I call are my psychiatrist and/or therapist. I'm open and honest with them and work with
them instead of against them. In turn, they've taught me how to live life on life's terms and
how to be a better, happier person. I actually look forward to my appointments with them as I'm
excited to learn more ways to better myself and my life. They've helped me in ways I never
thought possible. I never thought I'd be this happy and content with life.
I am happy - life is good.
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