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The psychiatric diagnosis “bipolar disorder” is shrouded in a peculiar, we will not be afraid of this word, “romantic” veil. In public news, tweets of the famous victim of Kanye West’s disease are ironically discussed, young people, with or without reason, screw the word “bipolar” into their arguments, having no idea about this diagnosis. Faced with its real manifestation, it is unlikely that they will understand what is attractive here, and they will not appreciate the humor. This disease changes their lives – if not completely destroys them. 23-year-old Elizabeth told her story Healthy Food Near Me, who is trying with all her might to remember what peace of mind is.
5 198 2024 September 2020
Elizabeth
I learned to live with my diagnosis: but for this I needed to travel through many cities, change dozens of doctors, face violence, eternal misunderstanding, inflict hundreds of injuries on myself and almost lose my life – and twice. My family is still skeptical about the diagnosis – my grandmother advises me to just pray and be kinder. I want society to get rid of stereotypes in relation to people like me, so I openly share my story and engage in mental health education.
Bipolar Affective Disorder (BAD) Is a mental illness characterized by a change in heightened emotional states (mania and depression). The patient ceases to control his behavior and loses criticism of what is happening. The duration of the acute phase of the disease can be calculated for months, so it is extremely difficult for people with such a diagnosis to lead the usual way of life. In addition, in advanced cases, the instinct of self-preservation is disturbed in patients, which can lead to the most sad consequences.
Excellent student syndrome
Someone will find my childhood fabulous. I grew up in the North: my parents work in forestry. While someone was playing with a neighbor’s cat and playing a ball in the yard, I went hunting with my dad, frolicked with moose calves and cubs, and also went in for equestrian sports.
And yet it always seemed to me myself that I had a very difficult life. My parents divorced when I was seven years old, and since then I have been constantly wandering from mom to dad. Of course, I had everything a child could want, except for the main thing – parental attention. After a difficult parting, they obviously had no time for me.
I tried to win the love and approval of good studies. My diary was filled to capacity with A’s, and my room was filled with awards for participating in competitions and Olympiads. But it seems that this did not please my parents at all, casually throwing me another approving “well done”.
I was just a child when I really closed myself in and began a difficult and only understandable path of self-improvement. I hardly communicated with my peers, preferring the world of books and constant attempts to win the attention of adults.
When I was 12 years old, my mother bought a plot and started building a house. I literally participated in the construction of all buildings. In the future, this will greatly affect my health: but then I was only sad that adults did not appreciate my contribution, and tried to do even more than I could.
And then my mother had a new lover. With the naivety typical of adolescence, I tried to accept him – until I realized that he did not treat me at all like a stepdaughter.
Male footprint
Living under the same roof with my stepfather forever instilled in me a fear of drunk people and males in general. Everything was fine at first. Then he began to pester me.
He gave gifts to both my mother and me, and also assured me that he loved both of us. It so happened that we often stayed at home together when my mother was at work. At first, he casually hugged me, and then began to force me to kiss him.
And once, being drunk, he raped me. I was fifteen. Perhaps this was the main trigger for the development of my disease …
I was very afraid of him: in moments of aggression, he could throw at me any object that came to his hand. And I kept silent: how could I tell my mother such a thing about her beloved, whom she considers ideal? Would she believe me? Did she notice something was wrong? I still don’t seem to know the answers to these questions.
His parting with my mother did not bring me joy either. He disappeared immediately after learning of her pregnancy. The birth of my sister became a heavy burden for me: my mother had to work, and I had to take care of the child. I was envious to tears of how much attention my younger sister received, and I was very tired. At critical moments, I just ran into the forest. Then it still saved me.
His own among strangers
Closer to the end of school, I began to have a real emotional swing. One day I could read books drunkenly and stay up all night, feeling an endless surge of energy, and after a couple of days I could not even get out of bed – not to mention doing homework or household chores that never caused me any difficulties.
My family never perceived my condition as a disease. Parents considered long depressive episodes to be a manifestation of adolescence or banal whims. At some point, they decided that I was just following fashion trends – after all, adolescents like to attribute mental disorders to themselves.
The doctors did not help either. The school psychologist thought that I felt bad because of the excessive workload – after all, I was still trying to study well. And I did not dare to go to the local clinic: my grandmother worked there, and I was afraid of being prejudiced against myself.
It’s good that my parents did not choke me with increased control. I got the opportunity to travel to neighboring towns and turn to private psychiatrists. However, this did not bring the desired result. Some refused to accept because of my young age (I was 15 then)while others feared that the diagnosis was a life-ruining stigma.
“You are still young to have serious mental disorders. Learn and do not be foolish, ”they said to me, thereby instilling even more doubts about my condition.
No chance
At the age of 16, I finished school and literally ran away from my hometown. I hoped that in a new place I would be able to meet people who would finally understand me: after all, my parents were disappointed with both my psychological problems and the desire to not follow in their footsteps and take care of animals, but to unlearn a programmer.
Probably, there is nothing surprising in the fact that an independent life gave me not the long-awaited freedom, but an abusive relationship. Before, I never received affection, tenderness and care from anyone. Therefore, I was instantly blown away by the guy who showered me with compliments and gifts. He was 8 years older than me.
I liked to adopt his bad habits – drinking, smoking and everything else that is not customary to talk about. My condition was becoming more and more unstable, and it seems that he took advantage of it.
Physical and mental abuse in our relationship has become the norm. I don’t remember much from that period – but some are hard to forget. For example, I had minor problems with being overweight. Because of this, I could not even eat a chocolate bar, so as not to run into a scandal. And in the morning I woke up from the icy water and shouting: “Go and run!”
As you can imagine, there is no need to talk about his support. How much I needed her then – after all, I had a lingering and inexplicable depression again.
Over time, the young man began to drink daily and even forcibly persuade me to have sex. I cried at night with fear and resentment, and at some point I realized that I was pregnant. I had an abortion without telling him about it …
I don’t even know what I was more afraid of then: that he would throw me out into the street or that, on the contrary, he would finally tie me to himself, and I’m not going anywhere with the child.
The parting was extremely difficult: without exaggeration, I was afraid that he would kill me! He rushed about from insults to “let’s start all right,” came to me with a ring. The phrase was often heard: “Who needs you like that ?!” I am still afraid of sudden sounds and movements, I listen to rustles and footsteps outside the doors.
Up-down, up-down
Unfortunately, getting out of this relationship did not help me immediately get my life back on track. The hellish episode of depression continued: for about six months I hardly left my room and did not leave the apartment.
I had to quit my studies, but I couldn’t find a job right away, because I almost failed the medical commission. The fact is that I ripped off emotions on myself, causing cuts on my hands. Previously, I managed to hide it from everyone – but not from the doctors, who immediately sent me to a neuropsychiatric dispensary. (PND).
Finding a good psychiatrist is a big problem. But no less is the diagnosis. My mental disorder was confirmed only at the age of 17, and I was finally diagnosed with “bipolar 2 disorder” only three years later.
I did not get along with some psychiatrists personally, and the methods of treatment of others did not give the desired result. Therefore, despite the fact that I actively worked with doctors, I still suffered from the emotional swing. For example, once, literally a few days after signing the documents, I quit my new job and went to live in the forest. And after a while I was hospitalized for the first time with an attempted suicide.
I very vaguely remember my being within the walls of asylums for the mentally ill: after all, in fact, I was constantly lying under droppers.
For the first time, I cried almost every night, refused to eat, did not speak to anyone and slept all the time. The second time was generally vague: I woke up first in the intensive care unit, and then in the acute department of the dispensary. The third time I asked to lie down myself – I was afraid to do something. At that time, by the way, I met different people. It was insanely weird – but kind of very interesting.
The black bar
Over time, I nevertheless returned to a more or less normal life, moved to another city, found a job in a veterinary clinic (which she previously disowned) and even started training. At that moment, I was even lucky with a new doctor – it seems that we managed to invent a working treatment regimen.
My mental health was recovering, but my physical health, on the contrary, deteriorated – my back was very painful. I think this was the effect of the exorbitant workloads in childhood, when I helped build a house.
The results of MRI could not but shock: after all, in addition to a spinal hernia, I also had the initial stage of osteosarcoma. (malignant bone tumor)!
I don’t know how I was able to survive at that time – and I almost didn’t tell anyone about the details of the situation. I have never felt so bad. But there was nothing to do – except to pull myself together. I underwent chemotherapy, took out a loan, went to Moscow and removed all the muck. Now only regular examinations and a scar on her back remind of her.
Fragile balance
A year after my experience, I finished my studies, returned to work and seemed to be fine – at least compared to what could have happened to me. Yes, I was finally able to improve my sleep, did not “fly out” into hypomania (a mild form of mania inherent in people with bipolar disorder – approx. Healthy Food Near Me) and did not “fall” into depression. Yet I ate almost nothing and was constantly anxious. The new appointments did not help to finally find peace – so I again went on a journey in search of another psychiatrist.
By that time, I was already completely disillusioned with Russian psychiatry, and my body was covered with a variety of injuries. I thought that if it doesn’t work now, I’ll quit treatment and come what may.
In St. Petersburg, I was advised a doctor from my native Petrozavodsk, about whom I had never heard anything before. The very first reception blew all my negative expectations to pieces. Attention, understanding of the doctor shocked – I was surprised to find an office in the PND, where anyone accepted me. We talked for a long time, discussed the treatment regimen, slightly corrected it and agreed on the next session. I also started going to a psychologist. With the beginning of therapy, I seem to be learning to walk again! We carefully disassemble obstacles and are in no hurry.
“Don’t try to change faster than you can,” perhaps these words have become my main mantra.
Anxiety and other negative manifestations of bipolar disorder are almost gone. Of course, over the past year, I have experienced deterioration several times. Overall, however, my condition is more stable than before, and I can control it.
I am learning to enjoy life without hypomania and alcohol. I work in a veterinary clinic and do modeling business. And the scars, by the way, I hid behind tattoos so that I could remember them less. I try to get used to the idea that being weak is not a shame. Don’t be ashamed to show your emotions and ask for help. Don’t give up, even if the doctors don’t help. Over time, everything will return to normal – the main thing is to continue looking for the right therapy and take care of yourself.
Photo: personal archive