I’m an adult, but only in the legal sense. I don’t cook. I don’t clean. I do the bare minimum work involved to keep myself alive. Every now and then, I would get this intense rush of energy that would last me about 4-5 days, and I’d be so excited! I’d cook and clean and go on adventures and I wouldn’t sleep because I was so intent on using all that energy before it was gone. “Wow,” I’d think, “is this what normal people feel like?”
Then I was recently diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder—surprise! Who knew that periods of depression peppered with periods of mania were abnormal psychology!? I’m just kidding—the psych world has known this forever. But what I didn’t realize was that I’m not broken.
For years I sought out help, but was inaccurately diagnosed with major depressive disorder. They’d medicate me, and shocker! I’d get worse. My psychiatrist would later describe this phenomenon as “treating a heart attack by shooting you in the head.” I wanted to die. Very candidly, I became suicidal within days of beginning each new medicine. I’d beg to be taken off only to be told I wasn’t giving the medicine enough time to work. I don’t know about you, but when I actively want to die, I don’t have the time to wait and see.
I knew I was broken. Who gets WORSE from the treatment for their broken brain!? Well, people who are being treated with medicines meant for a condition they don’t have.
Since finding mood stabilizers made for Bipolar Disorder, my life has changed. I wake up at 8am instead of at the crack of noon. I have the desire to do things, to go places, to cook, to clean. And that all sounds amazing, until you’re faced with the realization that to do that, you have to dig yourself out of the mess you made during your previous 28 untreated years. And that? It fucking SUCKS.
So, here we go. I’m hell bent on dragging myself kicking and screaming into legitimate adulthood, and I’m using the general public to keep me accountable. Is this a good move? Who knows. I guess we’ll see.