Posted by stickywicket on May 18, 2006, at 14:03:07
I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder II at the age of 50.
I think I was born with a genetic predisposition to anxiety. From as far back as I can remember I was plagued with anxiety. Most of my life I’ve bitten my fingernails and the surrounding skin till it bleeds. If I let my nails grow, I have to pick and peel the calloused skin from my heels, also making them bleed (making it painful to walk, too). During cold months, I pick and peel skin on my lower lip to cause bleeding (again, if I’ve allowed my fingernails to grow).
My childhood was pretty normal with no serious traumas. I had the typical nuclear family for that time: working dad, mom home raising the kids and taking care of the house. I’ve been told by both parents that I take after Dad because we’re both pessimistic and worriers.
It was during my high school years that I got depressed for the first time. I still vividly remember standing in my parents’ bathroom looking at the bottle of aspirin in my hand from their medicine cabinet. It was also around this time that I experienced what may have been hallucinations. At times I’d be watching TV and the image on the screen would appear to recess away from me and everything around me would feel unreal.
I married my husband when I was 23. Our first son was born three years later. With the birth of our second son 2 ½ years later, I experienced postpartum depression. I didn’t recognize it for what it was; I couldn’t understand why I felt awful when I had so much to be happy about. Fortunately, it resolved on its own.
I had my first panic attack in my early 30’s. My family was on a trip out of state when we got caught in a highway traffic jam. The attacks became more frequent and went beyond traffic jams to long lines at Disney World or other places with big crowds. It got to the point where I’d panic just getting onto a highway or even thinking about it. By the age of 34 I was taking sedatives to cope with these situations.
At age 44, two traumatic family events in one year sent me into a chronic, severe state of anxiety and depression. Still not recovered from those experiences, 3 years later my condition dramatically worsened with the September 2001 terrorist attacks and the fear of anthrax hitting so close to home (killing a local woman). My anxiety and depression became so intense I often couldn’t function at work or in my personal life. Under the care of my family doctor, I began the long search by trial and error for medications that might prove helpful. I also underwent psychotherapy on and off from 1999-2005. At the same time I was dealing with menopause and the empty nest syndrome. How I kept my job, I’ll never understand. There were many times I couldn’t stay at work or couldn’t get to work at all. I became addicted to sedatives.
For three years nothing seemed to help for any length of time. Often the antidepressants caused wild, rapid mood swings even in the course of a day. I had too much energy, my thoughts raced, and I couldn’t talk fast enough to keep up with what I wanted to say; I’d drive too fast and walk across busy intersections with no regard for my safety. I wouldn’t be able to sit or stand still. There were days when I felt like I had a new personality because I was outgoing and would even talk to strangers. Unlike the “normal” me, I enjoyed shopping, spent a little too much on clothes and dressed flashier than usual. Then there were times I could barely move, talk or concentrate. I’d often think people were talking about me and I’d see shadow shapes in my peripheral vision. Sometimes I’d feel depressed but still have racing thoughts and agitation. It was at these times that thoughts of suicide were unrelenting. Driving to work with my husband, I’d have strong urges to open my door and drop out onto the highway. I’d spend much of my time at work thinking about where I could hide in the building to overdose so no one would find me. With death constantly on my mind, I got “my affairs in order”; I wrote a suicide note, updated my will, decided who would get my wedding ring, and told my husband I wanted to be cremated and what kind of funeral I wanted (even what music to play). Mornings I’d wake in despair because I didn’t die in my sleep and I’d have to struggle through another day.
After trying many different antidepressants with negative effects or no lasting benefits, my psychiatrist suggested I might be bipolar and wanted me to try a mood stabilizer. I wouldn’t even consider it. I stopped all medications, frustrated with feeling like a guinea pig and convinced my problems were caused by the drugs. I would get better by sheer will. Weeks later, in the midst of a mixed episode and acutely suicidal, I took my “stash” of unused/leftover meds, a gallon of water, and drove to a secluded area several miles from home. I called my psychiatrist and told him it was urgent that he call me back. After waiting for his call for what seemed like an eternity, I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. By the time he returned my call, I’d already taken the pills and told him what I’d done. He called my husband and 911. By the time my husband and my oldest son got to me, several police cars, a fire truck and ambulance were already there. I’ll never forget the looks of distress on their faces as the police and paramedics were attending to me.
Nine days in a locked hospital psychiatric ward stabilized me on Depakote and Zyprexa. Although foggy, sleepy and confused most of the time, my mood was stable for several months. Then I started cutting back or going without the drugs without my doctor’s knowledge. I just couldn’t admit to myself that I had bipolar disorder. This proved to be a very bad idea. Without these meds, I became depressed and agitated very rapidly.
Today I’ve come to terms with my bipolar diagnosis. I’m med compliant and see my doctor regularly. I attend a weekly bipolar support group and keep myself busy with my job, exercising, gardening, and socializing with family and friends. I don’t like having to take meds every day but it’s a relatively small price to pay for a better life.
poster:stickywicket
thread:645530
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20060513/msgs/645530.html