But I’m Stronger than my Condition
When I was twenty-four years old I tried to kill myself. I was in a place so dark I could see absolutely no light, no hope, and my despair was so intense I genuinely believed that the only solution for me was to die. Now, sixteen years later, I am very grateful to the man who saved my life, to the doctors who didn’t give up on me and to the world that welcomed me back. I turn forty this year. I’m the mother of two little boys. I am bipolar.
Bipolar is a chronic genetic disorder. There is no cure, no way out – but like many other chronic illnesses, it is manageable. For me, being bipolar means just being me.
I don’t know any different.
I’ve never been a victim, weakness is not part of my nature. I am a doer and I rarely complain. I wear my diagnosis like a cape, and I spend my life mostly like you; by living it. The only difference is, what you consider to be a bad mood-swing or horrible PMS, is for me just a regular emotion. My capacity for emotion, any emotion, far supersedes the norm, which is why being a mother is not just a challenge, it is a challenge I periodically am not sure I will survive.
Having kids has been the greatest challenge of my life. Sometimes I don’t understand why I chose to have children or how I’m allowed to be a parent, but I think most people have their struggles through parenthood, we all have our demons, and controlling my impulses and my anger are mine.
Living with bipolar has been a challenge, but it hasn’t stopped me successfully managing two pregnancies and two births, and I’m now four years in, raising two children, a dog and sharing a life with a man whom I love with every cell of my body. Being a mother with my condition means it takes all my strength not to act impulsively, be it a flash thought of wanting to harm my child or walk out on them. I control myself because I love them… I have from the second they were born.
Living un-medicated for so many years has required strict discipline and routine. But when these routines falter, so do I. Mania is such a big part of me, of who I am, that people in my life barely even notice anymore. I take on dozens of projects, sleep 1-3 hours a night, drink a bottle of wine four days a week, talk too fast, interrupt everyone, and am overwhelmed with feelings of greatness and absolute competence. I hear better, things appear brighter and I find patterns in numbers, letters, people – it’s exhilarating, and exhausting. Then I crash. I crash for one day, maybe three, then I rise again. I’ve done this for sixteen years, and I’ve come to accept that it’s just who I am.
Parenthood is stressful for everyone, but for a bipolar person it can mean desperation, illness and in the worst case – death. I’ve no idea how I’ve managed to not hit my children during my rages or not left them. I have stayed strong.
When I’m manic I’m invincible, but there’s a flip-side. Depression.
Depression is debilitation. It is also relatively foreign to me. I have suffered only two severe depressions in my life; the first accumulated in a suicide attempt, and the second resulted in me having to say goodbye to my family and going to hospital.
A few weeks ago a manic episode switched and I became depressed. It took a long time for me to realise what was happening, and un-medicated I had no possibility of understanding that I was sick.
The depression came gradually and I isolated myself from the world, slowly turning away from anyone and anything that mattered. I shouted a lot. I drank a lot. I didn’t like my children very much. I didn’t appreciate my friends. I was irritable, angry, alone and I repelled anyone who came near me. Well, almost everyone, my husband is impossible to repel; he’s like a massive mountain that can’t be moved, when I pull away, he pulls closer. He sees me, the real me, and he loves me not in spite of my difficulties, but because of them. And then there’s my best friend, that friend who knows everything about me and loves me anyway.
The turning point was the day that my husband came home from work to find me a little too drunk. Our children were asleep but I should never have had that last glass of wine after their bedtime. I couldn’t care for our children, I couldn’t care for our dog, I couldn’t even care for myself. I had no idea when I last ate or showered.
The next morning I woke up and I was indifferent to everything, but somehow I managed to see through the fog and be rational; I realised that I was sick, very very sick. That’s when I admitted myself to hospital.
I spent two weeks in a psychiatric ward, mostly complaining that the hospital sheets were shit and the coffee a disgrace. I also had several evaluations with five psychiatrists and during the course of a fortnight agreed to start lithium treatment to save my life.
Lithium is a salt that doesn’t occur naturally in our own body but has been used to treat bipolar since 1859. It works, nobody knows how it works but it just does. It was introduced to my system slowly and I was assessed every two days. It prevents mania and depression from occurring – meaning it takes away the highest highs and the lowest lows.
Lithium is a preventive medication so that I won’t be manic again. I am still me, with all my moods and energy and million projects, but I don’t run the risk of wanting to suddenly kill myself or get stupidly drunk while my children are asleep.
Before Lithium I self-medicated – drinking the Mediterranean way; a glass here and there, numbing the anger, the irritation, the stress that children bring. I’ve used alcohol as a valium; calming myself every time a child made a sudden noise, every time there was too much movement around me. I’d pour myself a glass of wine, turn my back to chaos and call my mum. “They drive me crazy”, I’d say and then we’d laugh about it. I know now that I was lying to myself, that I was manipulating my surroundings, that I was so powerful in my being that I had everyone fooled.
A bipolar person is a powerful person. She will manipulate everyone in her life, lie unknowingly about how she is, how she feels; trick herself into thinking she doesn’t need medication, that she doesn’t need help. And perhaps she doesn’t, not then anyway.
But I couldn’t fool those that loved me. My best friend and my husband have been my immediate life-lines, these two individuals along with my mother and father are the reasons why I am alive today.
Every person is well until they aren’t anymore. It’s the same with bipolar. I recognised when I needed help and I got it, because I love my children and I want to do my best for them.
I am a mother with bipolar who will raise her boys with honesty, bravery and understanding. My overwhelming love for my sons means that lithium is now part of my blood, because this bipolar person could not remain alive without it. And I have a lot to live for.
(Note from The Editor: Many thanks to Norah Mann for her open and honest article about her struggles with Bipolar which she also documents on her blog. For more information about Bipolar disorder, please take a look at www.bipolaruk.org. or visit her author page here for more articles.)
