My
name is Christine, and I’m 30.
I was born in Denver, Colorado, and I am the fourth
youngest of
five
children. My dad left when I was three, and my mom managed to
raise all five of us by herself
for
a couple of years before marrying my step-dad when I was five.
He is the only father I have ever
known.
Both
of my older sisters had moved out by the time I was six, so my
primary memories are of
my
older brother Lance, and my younger brother Mike. [I found out
recently that my biological father
was
an alcoholic, and most likely Bipolar; and that his mother was
institutionalized for most of her
life.]
My
early childhood was magical. I was always a very imaginative and
creative child, and my memories
of
growing up with my two brothers are wonderful. But there were
those incidents that just did not
fit
in with a healthy childhood. I had spells of being moody and
full of rage. I would talk non-stop
for
hours, earning me the nickname “motor-mouth”. My first
suicide attempt was at age nine; I drank
a
glass of water mixed with Comet. I lost my virginity at age
twelve.
My
second suicide attempt was
at
age thirteen, and that time I almost “succeeded”. I took a
mix of heart pills, aspirin and
vitamins.
I went to sleep for about thirty minutes and then I woke up
scared, so made myself throw
up.
I was sick for two weeks with the “flu”, [accompanied by
hallucinations and anxiety] and I never
told
a soul. I should have been hospitalized. [To this day I have
tinnitus, or ringing in the ears,
because
of the aspirin.]
My
high school years were where things really started to get bad.
On one hand, I was very popular
with
my friends. I was funny and talented. I participated in theatre
and choir. But I had violent
mood
swings and rages. I also had depressions so bad in the
wintertime that I would miss weeks of
school
at a time. I was even expelled for missing so much school.
During
my depressions, I would
spend
hours in my room writing poetry, or walking the streets of my
town. I felt completely alone
and
had no way of connecting with people on my level. I was
considered “weird” and pretty much left
alone.
My friends just waited for me to “come out of it” and that
come summer, I would be my
fun-loving
self again. In spite of how much I hated school and how lousy my
grades were, I somehow
managed
to graduate in May of 1989, with no clue as to what I wanted to
do with my life.
I
met a man 17 years my senior in January 1991. He was married and
I was stupid. I had an “affair”
with
him for three years. This was one of the most difficult periods
of my entire life. The summer
before
we split up, I had my first full-blown manic episode. I was
working for a middle school at
the
time, so we had summers off. I can remember not sleeping more
than two hours a night, pacing my
apartment
for hours - afraid to go outside. I couldn’t eat. I thought
people were watching me. I was
convinced
that my upstairs neighbor was planning on killing me. I only
took my trash out in the
middle
of the night because I was convinced that there were people
waiting to sift through it. I
cried
for hours for no reason. This manic episode “topped” out
with me holding a gun to my head,
completely
in hysterics. Then one clear thought broke through: “but if
you die, who will take care
of
the birds?” [I had four parrots at the time. I now have
eight.] That thought was followed by
images
of my family, my friends, etc; and rationalization broke
through… I should have been
hospitalized
then, too. Instead, I went to a family clinic, was diagnosed
with depression, and
introduced
to Prozac. I was 22.
Prozac
“worked” wonderfully for me for about a year or so. It set
me free! I broke off my
relationship
with this man – who had been nothing but bad for me – and
started up another
relationship
immediately afterwards with someone who was his complete
opposite. This was in January
of
1994. The relationship was a whirlwind, and within eight months,
we were engaged. Six months
later,
we were married. And immediately after that, I became severely
depressed. I lost my job.
[This,
by the way, was the ninth or tenth job I’d had since
graduating high school.] I went through
two
“therapists” and several more anti-depressants and all kinds
of amazing ups and downs and
adventures
before being prescribed Zoloft.
Zoloft
again, set me free. It made my mind clear and my resolve more
strong. I knew I was destined
for
greater things. I was separated from my husband within five
months of starting it. In January of
1997,
I moved into my own place, and began cycles of partying and fun
and depression that lasted
well
over a year. My prevalent symptoms of mania include frequent job
changes, extreme promiscuity,
brief
relationships, spending sprees, and a complete lack of personal
safety. I have also been
engaged
several times, and I have started college numerous times with
numerous majors. I would
always
lose interest about midway through the semester – if I even
made it that far!
My wonderful, loving mother basically supported me through all
of 1997. My life was in a constant
state
of change. I never stayed at a job for more than a month. I
never dated a man for more than
four
months. This lasted until March of 1998, when everything came
crashing down around me.
My family has always been amazingly
close; [except for one sister. ‘nuf said.] My oldest sister is
ten
years older than me, but I feel very close to her. My older
brother Lance basically lives his
own
life, but comes around for family gatherings. My younger brother
Mike has always been my buddy;
especially
when we were kids. My mom has always been the very center of
this warm and loving
universe,
and I worshipped her. No matter how difficult and crazy my world
got, an afternoon of
coffee
and conversation with mom made everything all right again. My
dad was strict but loving.
Nothing
prepared us for March of 1998. Mike went into the hospital with
pneumonia. At first, we
figured
a couple of days rest, some medication; and he’d be on his way
back home. We found out that
Mike
actually had AIDS, and the pneumonia was deadly. It took him six
weeks to die, with every one
of
us there, every single day. I was there in that room with him,
and the rest of my family, when he
passed
away. After that, I was going full speed ahead, making one
stupid life altering decision
after
another; all on whatever whim propelled me. I felt frantic. I
got pregnant. I took one look at
the
father and freaked out. Broke up with him and had an abortion.
Started yet another job. Did some
highly
embarrassing things there as well. One day in May, just a little
over a month after Mike
died,
I got a call from my mom. She had been diagnosed with cancer. It
took her six months to die.
Again,
I was in that room, with the rest of my family, when she passed
away. These two tragedies are
what
I believe to be the major triggers for the intense level of my
Bipolar Disorder today. I now
know
that I have always had it; but it never reached the pinnacle
like it did after my mom died. I
was
in self-destruct mode. I wanted to die, but was terrified that
if I committed suicide, I would
never
be reunited with my mom and brother. So instead, I drove on the
highways as fast as I could,
while
drunk out of my skull. When I would arrive in front of my house
[a house I lived in with yet
another
boyfriend] I would just sit there and cry…
I met my now fiancé five months after
my mom died. I was still living with boyfriend #
who-the-heck-knows,
and was out on one of my typical self-destruct evenings. I met him in a
nightclub.
I was acting drunk and stupid, and he was nothing but kind and
compassionate. He drove me
home,
and four days later, I moved in with him.
It took another year before I was
diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and ADD, June of 2000. I was so
depressed
that I wouldn’t even get out of bed to take a shower or eat.
My boyfriend told me to get
help
NOW. So I did. My doctor put me on Lithium, and then increased
the doses far too rapidly; going
off
of what my blood levels were and not by asking me how I felt. I
had a bad reaction to the drug,
and
went through a month-long psychotic episode. My doctor was
awful! He said the drug could never
have
done that to me, and that I was in denial about my “panic
disorder”. He loaded me up on
Klonapin
and wouldn’t put me on any other mood stabilizer but Depakote.
Of course, I had all of the
worst
side effects this drug is capable of, before finding myself a
new doctor. She put me on
Lamictal;
and slowly took me off of the Depakote. It was during one of our
sessions together late
last
year that we discovered that I also have psychotic paranoia. [I
often believe that people are
plotting
against me, or talking about me, or just don’t like me and are
telling other people not to
like
me. I have quit jobs because of these beliefs. My delusions
range from slightly uncomfortable
to
bizarre.] My doctor said that this is a major problem, and put
me on Seroquel. We have also tried
Cytomel
[a thyroid drug] to help with my depression, but it made my
thyroid levels fall dangerously
low.
So
my current diagnosis is Bipolar I with Paranoia. No ADD or panic
disorder. I have had several
set
backs so far this year, a couple of serious manic episodes, and
med adjustments left and right;
and
I was also recently laid off from my job. [one that I was
actually succeeding at, too.] Through
it
all, my fiancé has stood by my side. Without him, I don’t
know where I would have ended up. I
honestly
think that my mom had something to do with us meeting, because
the timing was crucial. I
also
owe a great deal to my beloved parrots and my dog, [my
“kids”] because they have saved my life
several
times. My family has also been nothing but supportive and
loving. I owe them so much! [My
20-year
old niece was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder in May of this
year after a serious suicide
attempt;
and I’ve been trying to help her as well as helping myself.]
I’m still not 100% [I just
recently
went through yet another manic episode resulting in a med change
that resulted in bad side
effects,
etc. etc. etc.] I’m actually beginning to realize that there
is no 100%. I may be too
sensitive
to the medications to ever be on one at its full therapeutic
dose. I know now that the
meds
are just the base of being well. It’s up to me to do the
rest.
Learning
this part is where I am
now,
as I end this long-winded story!! Thank you to everyone who
reads it.
Christine
Y.
Cyork1971@qwest.net