Ryan's Story

EMAIL Ryan HERE
 

Six years ago, I had everything I could ever want—a happy marriage, a good job and we had just purchased our first home.  Amazingly and unfortunately, in less than a year that drastically changed.
 
I was a military public affairs officer in Texas.  My job required long hours and frequent, long trips away from home.  My first Southwest Asia deployment came on the heals of a four-month training stint on the East Coast.  That marked eight months of our second year of marriage spent apart. 


My wife had a very difficult time handling the time  apart.  She was often inconsolable.  Between work and trying to comfort her, I was under a lot of stress. At some point I became depressed.
 

Then while serving in the Saudi Arabia, I began to feel strange.  Everything difficult became easy.  A multitude of sounds, like the wind, fell into a rhythmic pattern.  Colors, light, numbers and language formed exhilaratingly intricate patterns intertwined by connections, or a common thread of meaning.  I was manic for the first time.
 
Despite embarrassing myself with overzealous, rambling emails, my illness managed to go unnoticed until I arrived home in Texas.  My wife noticed the change in me immediately and had me take a self-test for bipolar disorder.  I answered “yes” to almost every question, but yet I denied that there was anything wrong.  Still, I appeased her by going to the doctor.
 
There wasn’t a psychiatrist on the base, so I went to see a general practice physician. This was the worst mistake I made.  He could tell that I had been under a lot of stress and had been down, so he prescribed me Zoloft. The antidepressant sent my mania through the roof.  A couple of days later, at my protestation, I was hospitalized.
 
My first experience in a military hospital was a memorable one.  I was so paranoid that I thought I was part of a military experiment designed to test my loyalty and/or prepare me for advancement.  I thought doctors and the other patients were actors paid to represent abstract inner feelings of mine.
 

I was in psychosis.
 
I was treated with Ativan originally to calm me down, then Zyprexa or Olanzipine was added and Ativan was dropped.  It’s funny to me, I recall  writing a song praising Zyprexa while I was there.  Little did I know what problems it would cause for me.
 
I entered the hospital at 200 pounds.  Six weeks later I was 240.  Depakote was added to the Zyprexa shortly after leaving the hospital.  With the two weight-gaining drugs tag teaming me, I was nearly  300 pounds before the year was over.
 
 Worst of all, during my time in the hospital I was terrible to my wife. Psychosis caused me to believe that my wife and I were not meant to be together. The reality behind that was, I was bitter at her for sending me to the hospital when I had been so supportive of her.  She told me she would stand behind me no matter what.  I told her I wanted a divorce.   We separated.
 

In the months that followed discharge from the military, my thinking cleared enough that I realized I was making the biggest mistake of my life. But I could not convince her that the manic Ryan did not represent  my true feelings. We divorced in late 2000.
 
I went into a deep depression.  I returned home to the Midwest and immediately went back to work, but the depression and combination of Olanzipine  and Depakote dulled my mind and ruined my concentration.  I slept as much as 16 hours a day during that period, often not bothering to shower or shave before going to work.  For hours I would stare at my computer screen and accomplish nothing.
 
A new doctor led me to Lithium for the first time.  He slowly tapered me off both Olanzipine and Depakote, and in a short time I felt like a new man. I lost 80 pounds to begin approaching my old weight and I felt new energy and drive at the office.  Unfortunately, that proved too good to be  true.
 
By December of 2001, I was experiencing full-blown mania again.  The lithium had not been enough to cap my high moods and they bubbled over.  I was hospitalized for a third time.  Risperidone was added to my med regimen.
 
Over the next three years, we tried Quetiapine (Seroquel), Olanzipine again, Depakote again and Buspirone without success.  I continued to experience frequent manias with intermittent depression.  All told, I went through fourjobs in four different states in just a few years.  Finally, I moved home with my mother, and started going to the local VA hospital for treatment.
 
During that time, we have tried Ziprasidone (Geodon) and Topamax, both without success.  Only in the last few months have my moods stabilized for the first time on a combination of Lithium, Aripiprazole and Lamotrigine.
 
It’s been a long hard road.  After six hospitalizations, lost jobs and damaged relationships, it can take quite a toll on a person.  But I’m on a military pension now, and I have the opportunity and time to find something I want to do.  It’s an opportunity to find real meaning again.  I hope to resume my  career writing and  editing.

 

 


Melissa's Story

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There’s a picture of a stranger on my desk in my office. She looks like she’s on her way to a ball. Her bright blue dress stands out in the greenery of a lush garden. Beautiful flowers surround her, her smile magnificent. It’s one of those snapshots you take before you get to where you’re going. You know, the type you take before a grand event? Like a wedding or a wonderful dance?

Who is this woman? She seems vaguely familiar…maybe a cousin, or perhaps a sister? I want to know who she is, so self- assured. If only I could have just one tenth of an ounce of her confidence…

My mind races, I become angry. Who is she? And who put her here? Is she taunting me because she’s everything I’m not? She’s pretty. She’s serene. I hate her. I want to rip the picture to shreds. How dare someone so calm and lovely make me feel ugly and agitated?

Almost two months ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I was put on paxil for depression when I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. The antidepressant kicked in and I went into a hyperspace. I literally began to paint anything that wasn’t nailed down in the house. I also began having problems concentrating.

The fence was my first casualty. It is very hard to back out of the driveway in reverse when you are already half way down the street. Luckily I have insurance, but it’s really too bad I spent the claim money on a shopping spree. I also began to dance around the house "nekkid".

Now, my boyfriend thought it was pretty cute at first. But the chicken dance quickly turned to screaming matches. When he could get me to speak without yelling, the words came out like scrambled eggs.

Uh oh. Time to see the doctor… I was diagnosed with panic disorder when I was almost 24…and like many others I didn’t know what bipolar was. I felt so good on the meds they prescribed I thought, “This is how great everyone else feels!” I also equated my horrible credit rating or incredibly high credit card bills to being a bit impulsive. I have 75 pair of shoes in my closet, a suit for everyday of the month, blue jeans, corduroys, 5 little black dresses, leather pants, 3 ball gowns, 20 sweaters, and so on, and so on. These were all purchased in the last couple of years. And those are just the winter clothes in my bedroom closet. If you ever come to visit, please give me some notice. I will try to clear some space in the guest room closet.

All these symptoms were here, but no one caught it for almost ten years? I’m bipolar. How can this be?

I am just like anybody else. If I was driving in the car and pulled up at a stoplight, you couldn’t tell the difference between you and me? Could you?

I write and paint. So my family has always blamed my moods on my artistic temperament. But I’ve learned this is a family disease. Is this why mother raged? And grandma became a religious fanatic? What will I do now? How will I take care of myself?

So many questions… Last Saturday I came to believe that I could not make my loved ones slaves to my ever-changing moods. So I decided the world would be a better place without me.

Why should I ask for help? I’ve always been independent. I never really needed anyone. My pride landed me in the bathroom with a bottle of pills in my hand, cigarette burns and scrapes on my wrists.

I was so lucky my significant other intervened. I could have refused to unlock the bathroom door. But I didn’t. Somewhere deep inside me was a confused little girl begging for help. I spent the night in the hospital. I now have contracts with people that I will call first if I feel that way again. And someone much wiser than me asked how dare I think what other people can handle and what they can’t? I just had to take that one little step, just one…in asking for help.

Sunday afternoon I came to my office and found the picture on my desk. My boyfriend had put it there. “Who is this?” I asked. “That’s the girl I miss,” he replied. “Do you love this girl in the blue dress?” I questioned. “Yes, I do. But I love the lady I spent watching over in the hospital, too, “ he answered. “I just want you to be okay. I want to see that smile again.”

We have gotten me appointments for a counselor, couple’s counseling, meetings through a support group, and my family has told me they will help at any cost.

I have no insurance and they will pay if I must go to the hospital and get adjusted on my meds. My significant other will take out a loan if necessary. And you know what? The support I’ve gotten here at bipolarworld.net and through my family makes me feel I am going to be okay.

It has given me the strength to fight the good fight. It’s going to be hard, this road to recovery. But I have to try. I have to accept what being bipolar means. I have to take my meds. I have to call others like me. I have to be willing. I have to give back to others. And I have to ask for help.

I may never be that girl in the blue dress again. But that’s okay. One day she won’t look like a stranger anymore.

contact Melissa 
newzmel@yahoo.com 

 

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