In response to some recent research on bipolar over-diagnosis, there have been a few posts around about diagnosis stories and a call from CL Psych for Bipolar Over-awareness Week. My own diagnosis story was a serious case of bipolar over-awareness.
When I recently looked over my records from my early diagnosis, I was surprised to read that my presenting complaint was an inability to regulate my emotions. I cried very easily, and had difficulty controlling my tears for long enough not to cry publicly. I remember how frustrating that was, how embarrassing to cry in front of my coworkers, boss and professors. I’d had this problem as long as I could remember, and it seemed like if I hadn’t grown out of it by 20, there must be something really wrong. Somehow, in the intervening years, during which I viewed my entire life through a bipolar lens, I forgot that this was the problem that took me through the door of the HMO mental health clinic. On my first visit I was offered an anti-depressant. I declined. I was then offered monthly psychotherapy. At two or three subsequent “psychotherapy” visits I was primarily pressured to take anti-depressants and declined.
Here is where the story gets murky, and where I have trouble parsing the course of events that spring. I remember I heard about bipolar disorder from several peers, and it was suggested as a diagnostic possibility by the therapist. I thought bipolar sounded “kind of like me.” I was, after all, a musician. I read “Touched with Fire” by Kay Jamison, and it sure was flattering to think I might be just like all of those famous writers and musicians. Suddenly, it seemed everything that was ever wrong with my life could be explained by this one word. Nevermind that I had perfect credit, had always saved far more money than I spent, had a history of stable academic achievement (I even got straight A’s during the semester I supposedly went manic), and had never come even remotely close to being put in a psych hospital or getting in trouble with the law, though I had always been rather eccentric (like most geeky kids). As far as being “promiscuous” goes, I was young and queer, and probably pretty typical for a kid just out of the closet.
Once I started seeing my life through that lens, it was easy to interpret that year’s spring fever as “hypomania” and finals stress induced sleeplessness as “mania,” and of course I reported my findings to my therapist, who was only too happy not to inquire deeper and send me on for my allotment of depakote.
It is embarrassing to remember how excited I was to have this “answer.” Now none of my problems were my fault. I was anxious, overemotional and unpredictable, but that was OK because I was “sick.” I felt like I had a whole new battery of “tools” (i.e. meds) to treat the volatility I’d never quite figured out how to manage. But most important, when I got “sick,” I got my family back. Once I started on the diagnosis road, I got lots of attention. We had barely spoken in the two years since I came out. I’d lost their financial (school) and personal support. But now that I was “sick” there was lots to talk about. I needed to be taken care of and understood. I ate it up. I was loved again, and the only thing I had to give up was my health, identity and sanity. At the time, it felt like a pretty good trade. And even though it is horrible to write now about how much of a player I was in my own misdiagnosis, it was an effective way to get what I needed, even if I had no understanding of my motivations at the time.
And you know the cruel joke? Even with all of those meds on board, I still cried all of the time. I was still anxious, and emotionally volatile. In retrospect, it seems clear the meds made it worse, and the diagnosis itself gave me a good excuse not to get my act together. Now that I’m off of everything, and have even learned how not to cry at the drop of a hat, it’s clear is that what I needed back then was time to grow up, my family, and maybe a solid round of CBT. I wish it hadn’t taken me almost a decade, and a medical record a mile thick, to figure that out.
It’s so easy to confuse being bipolar with something else. If you’re deeply depressed, but sometimes decently energetic, it looks like a wide range of moods.
And bipolar especially is one of those where it’s so exciting to get the diagnosis. Iit’s like, “ooh, bipolar, there’s celebrities with that, and all you have to do is take lithium to get better.” Major depression is more like, “Hm. So, you’re especially lazy and cranky?”
Good post! A lot of raw honesty there. I’ve been thinking along those same lines myself…wondering how much I “helped” with my diagnosis, thinking maybe I accepted it so easily because it was a way to not really be responsible for some of my behavior. I’m not denying I had some pretty wild mood swings…but it’s amazing how that’s gone away now that I’m taking care of myself, and am not on medication. And the meds never really helped me, either, just made things worse.
I actually did some research today that makes me wonder if my problems were due to overdosing on aspartame. I used to drink diet Coke all the time. A six pack a day, every day, for years. That can’t be good for you!
I feel like I contributed to my drugging too, but I put up a good fight for a long time…then they did break my spirit…once that was accomplished I ran to my doctor again and again for the quick fix that I never found.
good news I guess is we all somehow have escaped with spirits repaired or at least on the way to repair…
Aspartame is an excitotoxin Jazz….and it does cause excitation in your system…it’s not impossible that it may have contributed. It’s really nasty stuff.
Thanks for comments all. Jazz–I do get what you are saying about not wanting to be responsible, though I know it is more complicated than that. I think a lot of why I’m somewhat mysteriously fine now, is that I’m holding myself to the same expectations of behavior that I hold other people, since I no longer have an “out.” The hard part now is when I hold myself to higher standards since I feel I have to prove myself. That’s can just as bad as letting myself completely off the hook.
What a wonderfully insightful post. This is my first time here and I look forward to returning. I am a retired therapist with bipolar. I am one of many who actually has bipolar. It seems more like a neurological problem for me. I can say that mis diagnosis happensover and over again. I saw it happen year after year. I will return. Thanks so much for the post! It would help many folks to consider these thoughts. Annie
Thanks, this is a very good post!
Hey, Tiltsatwindmills, I’ve awarded you a Flower Smeller Award…details on my blog post for today…hope to read more from you soon…
[…] too easily that prompted me to access “mental health care” (I talk some about that here), and none of that treatment helped. It solved lots of “problems” I hadn’t even […]