I'm going to try to explain how this disorder affects me and my family. I will do my best to explain in such a way that you can get a decent understanding of what its like to live with this disorder. I have never before really tried to explain what its really like. I have lived in fear of what people might think about me if they really knew what it was like to be me. If anyone knew what kind of things happen in my head. Being bipolar is one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me and that is saying alot given my childhooh. I guess I better start from the beiginning and see if I can articulate how it all started.
When I was 14 years old I was sent to Rivendale Medical Center in Bowling Green, Kentucky. My parents had me sent there due to the violent nature of my temper. Thet diagnosed me with Type II bipolar disorder. I was placed on a drug called depakote. After 3 weeks of therapy I was sent home. The medication made me very forgetful and removed most all my emotions. I went from feeling too much to not caring at all. I stopped taking the medications. I believed that there wasn't anything really wrong with me. I believed that because of my home life, that I was justifyably angry. My house was not a peaceful house. My parents were both alcoholics. My mother had bipolar disorder as well as a whole list of other mental heath problems. My father was an abusive husband and father. My parents fought all the time. My father would get drunk and beat my mother, my sisters, and myself. My mom wasnt completely blameless either. She would sometimes start fights with my father. She would be the violant instigator. I tried my best to protect my sisters as best as I could. If I knew that they were about to get a beating, then I would do something stupid; such as throwing something at whichever parent was about to deliver the beating. This was enought that usually, not always, they would redirect their anger at me. After years of abuse, I finally hit abreaking point and I fought back. My father threw me down the stairs to our basement and I picked up thebaseball bat at the end of the stairs and when he came down to finish the beating I gave him a beating myself. That is what laned me in Rivendale to begin with.
After stopping the depakote, I picked up a nasty way of dealing with my anger. I started cutting myself. When I would feel so angry that I felt like I was going to explode, I would picl a spot on my body, usually my legs, and I would carve pictures or words into my body. Id use knives, safety pins, sewing needles, pencils, whatever I could find that was sharp. This same year I attempted suicide via all the medicines I could find in the medicine cabinet. It didnt work. My best friend found me and an ambulance wascalled. At the hospital I fought the doctors and nurses who tried to pump my stomach. At this point I had no will to live. The finally tied me down and of course pumped my stomach. For any of you who dont know how this is done, I will explain. They start by placing a tube up your nose and run down your throught into your stomach and you are filled with charchol. Thats right people....Charchol. Not a pleasant experience. When Im released from the hospital I sent directly to a new place called the Sewell Center in Jackson, Kentucky. I refused all meds. I refused to talk to the therapist. Eventually they let me go home under the care of Comp Care located in Campton, Ky. Therapy once a month and group therapy once amonth.
My home life doesnt improve and I eventually have enough again and I skip school and go to the DHS and show them the bruises and they place me in foster care. My worst fears are realized. Who is going to protect my sisters if Im not there? How can this be? They take me but leave my sisters with those monsters? I panic......I dont know what to do. My case worker finally calms me down by telling me that they will have people out to check on them and if they step out of line then they would be removed as well. Foster care is not always a good thing. Your placed from one home to the next like yesturdays newspapers. We are the unwanted. The damaged goods of others. I was lost. I had no one. My sisters were with my parents and I had a huge chip on my shoulder. I got into fights, used drugs, ran away, and generally did anything I could think of to lash out.
These were the early days of my disorder. To sum it up I eventually met my husband and in order to be able to marry him, I told the judge that I lied about everything, and my parents signed the papers so they could be done with me and wouldnt have to go to court anymore. It was a rough road. I refused to acknowledge taht I had a problem. I was still convinced that it was all my parents fault. I would learn in a very hard way that denial is the easy part. Accepting that I has a problem would be the hardest part and I would do untold damage in the process of this discovery.
Well thats enough for tonight. Reliving my past is a hard thing to do and I have told so very few people about it in my life. I am told that by having this Blog, it may help me deal with my past in a positive way that may help others as well, so thats what Im doing.
I think you're very brave for writing about this. Sometimes, even if other people don't read it, it's helpful to get your thoughts down on paper-or on screen. I have learned the most about myself through writing. Understanding that you have a problem and trying to deal with it instead of using it as a crutch or ignoring it is very brave.
ReplyDeleteThere is a website that I use everyday called www.dailystrength.org They have groups for bi-polar disorders, amongst other things. I go on there for SIDS and pregnancy stuff and it's been very helpful for me. I can rant and rave and keep it private and it's been nice to have people to talk to who don't judge me.
Take care and hang in there. I'm glad that your husband is supportive of you.