My Story of Redemption Part I
A journey with Bipolar Disorder
This journey starts long before I was diagnosed. As a teenager, I had always felt off. Not bad or crazy - just off. I felt like I was on the outskirts of society. Friends did not come easy to me. I didn't seem to be able to communicate well. It was like my mind and my mouth just wouldn't line up. I had so many emotions all the time. Anxiety, depression, paranoia. I couldn't seem to distinguish them. All my emotions would hit me at once. I just didn't know how to handle them. This sensation continued throughout high school and past graduation. Even though I had trouble with friends, I enjoyed a very close relationship with my family. I am the oldest of four children and have two wonderful parents. So when I graduated, I decided to attend college close to my home. I thought that life would be different at college. I was sure I would "find myself". Things were different but just not how I had thought. I had a wonderful roommate and it seemed my luck with friends was changing. So I felt that I could do anything because I now had friends. Now what I found out was my roommate had connections....connections to parties. So I started drinking. At first it was just for fun. Then I realized that drinking numbed my thoughts and emotions. I didn't have to fight my feelings when I was drinking. So it became a lifestyle. I would start the day with beer and end it with shots. I didn't realize I was becoming an alcoholic. Then drinking led to other things. Smoking, drugs and eventually petty theft. (I am not saying that all drinking is bad, nor am I saying that drinking always leads to more. This is just what happened to me in the mental state I was in.) I thought this was great. I was enjoying myself and not fighting my emotions. The thing was, deep inside, I knew something was wrong. I started distancing myself from my family. I wasn't attending any of my classes. So started the spiral. I didn't like what I was doing but I couldn't stop. If I stopped drinking and getting high, then I would have to fight all the thoughts and emotions flying through my head. So I kept going with this lifestyle but started to not enjoy it. I started hating myself and everything I did. I....just....couldn't.....stop. Then came the night it all fell apart. I was laying in bed, in the dark, crying. Nothing was right. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to go. My parents could have helped but I had completely alienated them. So I thought I found the answer. A dull razor blade. I laid there trying to cut myself with an old razor blade. Then my roommate came in. She saw what I was doing and ran to find someone to help. When she left, I ran. I went out a back door of the dorm and ran. Unfortunately it was raining and I was in my pajamas. I heard police sirens coming and decided I needed to hide. I thought if I just hid for a while, everyone would forget about me and leave. I obviously was not thinking straight. I had also lost the blade in my rush to leave. I found a small back porch on one of the dorms. It was wooden slats with a small staircase. It didn't keep the rain off of me completely but at least it was somewhere to hide. I spent most of that night under those stairs in the mud. I couldn't even end my life successfully. As it was nearing dawn, things seemed to quiet down. I took a look around and couldn't see any people or police cars. So I made my way back to my dorm. As I entered the lobby it was very quiet. I thought I was safe now. I could go back to my dorm and act like nothing happened. Then off to my right I saw movement. It was my roommate and a police officer. There was nowhere to go. I was too tired to run again and just didn't have any fight left in me. They took me to the hospital to be evaluated. Once it was determined I was okay, I thought this was the end of it and I could go back. Like I said my mind was out of control at this point. They gave me two options. They would either admit my to the psychiatric hospital, or I could call my parents and go home with them. This was a very difficult decision. Obviously I did not want to go into a hospital but I had distanced myself from my family. In the end, I always knew I could go home. So I called my Dad. I just told him I was okay but needed to be picked up at the hospital. So he came. I couldn't say anything, I just showed him my wrist. He cried and hugged me. It was obvious that he didn't know what to say or do. He drove me home and the ride was very quiet. He must have been embarrassed somewhat because he didn't tell my Mom what happened. I went to bed and He told my Mom I was sick. Later that week my parents went back to the dorm and got all my things. I spent a week in bed. I just slept. This is the beginning of my journey but it is not the end. This was the first time I tried to end my life but it would not be the last.......