Growing Up Bi-Polar

 Growing up, I was what could be considered as moody. I grew up to be good at hiding it, though, because people don't want to see a person who's upset. In the picture below, I was devastated because my friend had a brand new dress for our first communion, and I had a homemade dress. (Looking back now, as an adult, I realize that my mother couldn't afford a dress for me, and I greatly appreciate the efforts she went through to make me something beautiful.)

For my 13th birthday, I received tickets to the New Kids on the Block concert. A few days before my party, however, my mom and I got into a huge blowup, and she revealed to me that she had bought the tickets and wished she hadn't bought them. I got really quiet and said that I needed to call my friend Jenn. My mom refused to let me use the phone, and I sobbed, "You don't understand! Only Jenn will understand!" My mom still wouldn't let me use the phone, though, and I rushed into my room, threw myself on the bed, and cried my eyes out. (Here's a picture of me when I received my concert tickets, which were nestled into my birthday cake.)

When I was 17, my mental health was getting really bad. I was being treated for depression, but the medications I was on were whipping my moods all over the place. I was happy, sad, angry, staying up late, sleeping. I was taking diet pills trying to lose weight. I was taking other pills called white crosses and pink hearts that sped up your metabolism.

I went on a trip to Kentucky with my niece, and I was a mess. This picture was taken when I was feeling okay. That night, I got into a huge fight with the sister I was staying with. She was concerned about my behavior. When I told her we'd pack up and leave that very night, she told me I'd have to call my niece's mom (my other sister). My niece's mom was also concerned about my behavior and said no way was I allowed to leave. It was a long night for me. I was incredibly angry and couldn't understand why my sisters were so against me. I didn't understand how ill I was at the time.

My illness only got worse, with me sliding into a deep depression. I turned 18 in September of 1995. I had met Nick (my now husband) by this time. I was in my senior year of high school. I attended high school maybe three days a week. I was losing friends left and right because of my erratic behavior. I was drinking trying to regulate how I felt. I had a job where I was spending my entire paycheck shopping. Finally I fell into such a depression that I couldn't get off the couch or out of bed. My mom would just sit in the room with me. Every other day, she would force me down the steps to the shower as I cried. "It'll make you feel better," she'd say.

In December 1995, I was finally diagnosed with Bi-Polar Disorder, Type I. I had many tests and the psychiatrists went through my therapy notes (I had been in therapy since I was 13). Based on my shopping habits, drinking, erratic behavior, sexual behavior, and a few other things, they figured I had had at least three manic episodes by the time I was 18.

Now was the time to start experimenting with medications. Some medications made me sick. Others made me gain weight. Others made my face break out. Others I just didn't like. Sometimes I just didn't like taking meds, so I wouldn't take them. I wasn't med compliant. I wouldn't accept my diagnosis. 

This man here was patient with me. This was our first Christmas that we were dating, December 1995. He's been with me in manic episodes and depressive episodes. I give him credit, he's learned along with me about what bi-polar is all about, and he had the patience of a saint.

On next week's dirt: how bi-polar affects a relationship.