Disintegration

[Note 1: This is a more intimate blog and may be disturbing to some people. If you are looking for something happy, pass on by.]

[Note 2: All photographs taken @1995-1997]

“For you it was giving up, for me was starting again
You crave the change I have became
Time and place make the mind clean to more
For you it was dark but for me it was just before dawn”

~ the Fixx, Just Before Dawn

This morning at work, while rummaging around the various snacks and treats on the breakroom table, I found the remnants of a fortune cookie. The fortune said, “Before you can see the light, you have to deal with the darkness.” As a person diagnosed around ten years ago with bipolar disorder, no truer words have been spoken. I’ve actually been meaning to discuss this topic for a while, in the hope that it can shed some light on the true nature of the illness and not on the Hollywood version or the highly stigmatized witch hunt-style news narrative. Nevertheless, if you have ever lived with bipolar disorder, you know how difficult it can be to talk about aspects you’d just rather sweep under the carpet, especially on the road to recovery.

For many people, symptoms of bipolar can emerge in their teenage years, but the illness itself is often not diagnosed until many years later. I think this was the case for me. I was a very moody teenager, although this is not uncommon for that age group. Despite the fact that I was an honors student who graduated cum laude, by the time I settled into college courses, my GPA was all over the place. Concentration and my ability to remain focused while studying became major issues. I was constantly tired. So I went to a general practitioner, who asked some questions and finally said, “You’re taking 17 hours of science? No wonder you’re so tired.” He gave me a vitamin B12 injection and sent me on my way. Now I have to admit, I never felt as good as the next 30 minutes of my life, but afterwards the symptoms returned. By my second year of college, I was so anxiety-ridden that I ended up with a nasty case of gastritis (stomach inflammation), and the pain was unremitting. Additionally, a strong sadness was there, as it had been for many years, accompanied by a very battered self-esteem and a feeling of utter worthlessness. Sometimes though, you just feel completely numb. Empty. Hopeless.

As the years went by, this web of anguish progressively worsened. I remember driving home at night and feeling a certain fear that danger was lurking around every corner. I could be present in a crowded building but remain totally alone. It was difficult to even articulate what I was thinking. By this time, my first real relationship was in trouble, for many reasons. Although I think my significant other was sympathetic to my distress, his answer was to pray about it. But even prayers in a quiet room seemed to reach…nothing. Deep down, I knew something was very wrong.

There have been many times where I have envisioned what life would be like if I actually weren’t living it. I have known people who have attempted suicide, and I do not judge them for it. I can’t. Until you have lived with this pain, you will not understand what it is to desperately want to escape it; even if it hurts the people you love the most. Fortunately (and unfortunately) for me, I am a total coward and could not go through with anything other than a million wishes.

Then one day, I went for my annual exam. The doctor asked how I was, and what did I blurt out? “Fine.”  (Well, in my defense, it’s such a culturally-ingrained response, you don’t even think about why you said it in the first place). “That’s good,” he said, “I’ve heard nothing but bad news all day.” By the end of the visit, however, I was in tears, and the insightful doctor had prescribed antidepressants and therapy. For a while, I could finally be happy. It is hard to remember what taking an anti-depressant for the first time feels like, but basically your mood slowly improves over a period of weeks. I caught myself talking, laughing, and spontaneously smiling. It’s not something I’d normally do, having a generally quiet, serious nature. The world seemed like a pleasanter place, and the door was open.

(To be honest, at this point I worry that all I have just given you is a laundry list of symptoms, with no emotional undercurrent. For this I apologize; being more analytical is in my nature, and ironically, emotiveness is a little foreign to me. So you can imagine what it must be like for a generally pragmatic person to be flooded with so many negative feelings).

Several years later in grad school the specter of depression returned to its haunt. Despite taking anti-depressants again, the symptoms slowly worsened. The constant stress wasn’t helping, and the intensifying fatigue was causing trouble. In addition to persistent physical pain, I was increasingly angry. I guess I figured that after graduation, when the pressure from school abated, things would improve. But…over the next few years, the old miseries and their ensuing fallout returned. This time, I reached out to psychiatrists, therapists, and my spouse. Each medication seemed to have its spectrum of undesirable side-effects. I was deathly tired and refused to get up in the morning. It took every ounce of energy just to get dressed and go to work. Food was utterly unappetizing. I didn’t even feel like brushing my teeth. My husband, who was fed up with my behavior, seemed to think I was a fix-it-up project. You know what? You can’t make a person be happy. They have to find that within themselves, and when they are in the throes of mental illness, it is nearly impossible to do so. There seemed to be no future, and I cried constantly.

Then things got worse. It all started when I was prescribed Wellbutrin, and then Effexor. I was in the lab, quietly minding my own business, fixing a water bath. Suddenly, I heard a loud,”MmmmmMMMMMHHHH!!!” in my ear. The sound was positively human. Startled, I flinched and asked my coworker, “Did you hear that?” Of course, he hadn’t.

That incident marked the doorway to the descent into a spiral of encroaching madness.

(end of part one)