Change is too possible

One of my greatest battles has been against my own ideas about how defining bipolar disorder was. Back in the years I was diagnosed with "only" depression I had numerous disagreements with those treating me about medications. First I refused to take meds when I needed them. I had always hated medications and generally avoided even tylenol. Then I agreed to take them, but did not respond well and received some rather questionable advice. After a year I wanted to stop taking them. My psychiatrist at that time did not believe it was a good idea to ever stop taking them after a diagnosis of severe depression. I disagreed strongly because I hated the pills, and because the severe depression had been directly traceable to highly traumatic events in my life. Ultimately I prevailed by refusing to return to see him and taking myself off the medication (not recommended). Despite all the warnings I did very well for many months. About 6 months into it I did need to start taking ambien for sleep occasionally, but that was much better than antidepressants. I made it a full year before I needed antidepressants again. Looking back now that year was one of my great victories, because "they" said I couldn't do it and I did. What's more I did well on that antidepressant for another 2 years, which is not typical for a bipolar patient. That gave me time to finish graduate school and become established in my career before bipolar disorder took over my life. It wasn't that I was not symptomatic in those years, I first was told "I think you may have bipolar disorder" by a new psychiatric in grad school. I promptly said that I did not, walked out, and refused to return. The word did not come up again until I spoke it to a therapist 3 years later.

One of the reasons I fought so hard to not be diagnosed with bipolar was that I had so many negative ideas about it. I thought there were so many "can't"s associated with this disorder, and I didn't want to hear that. It seemed beyond cruel to have to consider any chance that I would lose the things I had worked so hard for so soon after they came true. I did not grow up in a way that made high school graduation, much less a master's degree, particularly likely. There was a very long period of time that I absolutely refused to believe that my life might not work out according to plan after I had beat so many odds already. I forgot that my life was going to work out according to God's plan and that just because something scary was happening that God couldn't shift that around to make it work out. And it did. It has been very different than I dreamed of, but nonetheless wonderful in many ways.

The main thing I was afraid of is that I came out of school with this idea that mental illness is rigid, defining, and unalterable. I had a lot of trouble separating the statistical odds from reality. For example, 80% of bipolar patients have substance abuse issues of some kind. I had a very difficult time learning that some of that 20% were, like me, at the opposite extreme and had never been drunk on anything until meeting a prescription medication that caused a bad response. I thought that if all bipolar patients required supervision for many tasks, then I would too. I thought I would refuse to take my meds and would take off on high risk adventures.

Instead I was diagnosed, learned about my illness, and began to see that some of my previous choices had been guided by bipolar illness. One example was my adventure with the Skyblaster. This was a pair of seats, a couple of harnesses, a circular frame, a bungee cord, and a slingshot. I am terrified of heights, so normally would not have considered such a thing. But my equally ill-advised boyfriend of the time dared me and everyone else I was with kept teasing, and so I was shot about a mile into the air, screaming in terror the entire time. Other times I had been angry beyond the bounds of normal emotion when friends had done very little wrong. I had more than once told people I care about to go away, to not speak to me again, that they had chosen to hurt me just because they were mean and hated me and why didn't they just say they hated me, and everything was their fault. The first year and a half was really rough. I wound up leaving one job because too many bridges were burned. I spent much of my time in embarrassed tears over the things I said and did. But then I learned. I learned to watch what I said before I said it. I learned to use others to screen my thoughts and actions. And life became much easier.

I certainly never conquered anything. I still make bad decisions because of my illness. But I now know when I need to be careful. I know for a fact that I do not need to be defined by my illness, and that the only way it can define me is if I choose to not monitor what I am thinking of doing. I have taken a serious illness and changed it into something really annoying I have to live with, but something that is not dangerous.

Recently at work I brought up an idea to do group therapy with a few women who are being taken advantage of by another patient. The plan was to work through a workbook teaching them skills to better handle the pressure the other patient applies to get them to do what he wants. Most people were very supportive. However, one rather negative woman was very argumentative in team meeting. The only person who supported her was a friend of mine who had been supportive to my face, who commented on the inability of our patients to change.

If that's the attitude that has been in place for the 25 years this place has existed, and in most cases it has, then how on earth do they know? Now I must prove that change is possible, when in fact I don't even know for sure it is in this specific case. I do however know that other times they have acted as if change weren't possible and then been happily surprised when something improved.

This is the biggest frustration in my life and makes me want to announce over the PA that if change isn't possible then would someone explain what I'm doing every day.