Diagnosed

Bipolar II disorder is a bipolar spectrum disorder characterized by at least one episode of hypomania lasting a minimum one week, and at least one episode of major depression lasting three months or more. Like our unique finger prints and eye colors, our brains are all different. No one will fit all of the exact diagnostic text book criteria.

My illness wasn't always apparent to me, even when there were signs that I seriously was not okay. I would discount my symptoms and press through my episodes as they would always pass. Looking back, I now understand what BP2 has cost me. While I was isolated from the world nuzzled up in my bed, my life was continuing on it's normal course without me. The life train doesn't wait for anybody, and neither does your first crush.

It's amazing what our minds and coping mechanisms are capable of under extreme stress, but sometimes without the self awareness of having an illness, you can leave it untreated. I am sharing my story in hopes that I may bring awareness to those who are fortunate enough to not struggle with an illness, reduce stigma and help others who may be having a hard time.

My own moods change like the seasons. Months are spent in my bed crippled by my severe depression and numbness. When I'm good, I can't even imagine how I could ever get so low, but I always do. Bipolar depression is a tornado that destroys everything in it's path; jobs, relationships and my sense of self. When I'm there, I am no longer me. It has cost me love and security and even my dignity at times. When I'm high I am just as destructive. My hypomania distorts my thinking and I am dancing with danger. Money spent on anything and everything, hyper sexuality and insomnia for days on end are just slivers of what a hypomanic episode looks like. I don't feel high and euphoric, I feel out of control. All reason goes out the door in these moments and my impulses run the show.

On my normal days I am sweeping up the damage caused by the storm and trying to salvage what is left. Usually, it's not much. I am reminded each time how fragile I am and how important it is to really take care of my body and mind.

Before I got treatment, relationships always ended the the same. They weakened with every episode I went through. I had to watch it fall apart as an episode would turn me into a person without boundaries, desperate to feel anything and break free from the apathy and anhedonia. I became so dependent on loved ones and feared they would leave me. This broken and alone person. So far from who I am when I am healthy.

There is a certain level of shame and self-hatred that lived within myself watching each man I once loved slowly withdraw from our relationship. There was no 50/50 because I no longer felt alive. Ending everything after living so many days in pain seemed like a safe haven from my racing thoughts and misfortune. The thought of it brought me peace. So much so that I almost did throw my life away.

It has always been hard opening up to love, friendships, and careers because not knowing or having control of my self scared me; I was tired of watching my life fall apart. I was tired of continuously trying.

After a series of events and feeling as low as the core of this planet, I ended up in a psychiatric unit for two weeks. There I was forced to rebuild myself after I had tried to end it all, but after medication and months of treatment, I felt like myself again. Stable.

Everything now has color and meaning, even small things. It gets scary and can feel empty at times, but there is a life worth living and I can fully appreciate the good times and cherish the strong people who have been a support in my life.

When I get discouraged I remind myself of the successful people with bipolar disorder who have made the decision to fight for themselves. Many have families, careers and fulfilling happy lives. These goals are obtainable and no longer feel out of my reach.