Excuse Me, Is My Bipolar Showing?

Is there lettuce in my teeth? Can you see my patterned underwear through my leggings? Is my bipolar showing?

Each day I try to avoid showing my symptoms to others. I'm always monitoring my interactions: am I talking too fast, getting overexcited, or making bizarre, childish comments? Am I looking sad, acting bored, or avoiding people? I worry that people will think that I'm bipolar. I'm almost constantly concerned their perception of who I am will be tainted by the diagnosis that is printed in black pen on my insurance claims. 

Knowing I'm bipolar because I personally told them or because they read my blog is completely different. When I tell someone that I'm bipolar, I'm relieved when they tell me that they never would have no. To me, that means I'm not claimed by symptoms. It means that I am Jenna first and bipolar a distant second, third, or even tenth. 

I try to present myself to the world as a BIC - bipolar in control. I get out of bed every day, shower, and take my medicine. I have friends. I function. Episodes are unwanted threats to this carefully constructed label. They jeopardize the most critical component - control. When I succumb to mania or depression, I feel so weak. I feel like my brain chemistry has overcome my personality and my will to live normally. 

My dream is to be an intelligent, well-adjusted teen with nice teeth and shampoo commercial hair, and bipolar doesn't really fit into that equation. It's like having a handmade jigsaw puzzle, and all of the pieces fit except for one grotesque piece that refuses to work anywhere. Does this one piece ruin the whole puzzle? Of course, the answer is no. Roses are beautiful with their thorns, dalmatians are cute with their spots, and many men and women function with their bipolar. 

Everyone has minute insecurities that can translate into worry or panic. But for people with mental illness, there's an additional issue that occupies mental realty. I think this is because we perceive mental illness with so much stigma - we think that we could be doing more to control ourselves and our symptoms. When someone has lettuce in our teeth, we don't change the way we think about that person. We usually just tell them and continue our conversation. We probably don't even remember the next hour, let alone day. With mental illness, the way we feel about the person exhibiting symptoms may change. We get frustrated or angry with them, almost as frustrated and angry as they are with themselves. These thought processes help no one.

I believe that it will be easier for individuals with mental illness to accept themselves and their symptoms if others can accept them, too. Everyone needs to start seeing the illness separately from the individual - myself included.

So yes, there will be days when my bipolar shows, just like there are days that you can see the pink polka dots of my underwear through my leggings. There will be days when everyone can tell that I am manic or depressed or numb or angry, and that's okay. Because that's the funky little puzzle piece I carry in my pocket. 

The Road and Your Tour Bus

Congratulations, you've been diagnosed with one or a combination of mental health issues!

Don't look so downhearted. There are perks, I promise!

Like this tour bus - it's bedecked and bedazzled with bling, and we won't make you ride alone. Here's a psychiatrist and a therapist to ride along with you. It's up to you to persuade your family and friends to climb aboard.

This crappy image belongs to me.

Initially you keep your giant tour bus a secret. You take side streets and cover it with several tarps sewn together to avoid the eyes of curious neighbors. You cautiously allow a few friends to join you, and your parents take front seats. The ride is bumpy, but having everyone together makes the journey much easier. 

You find a special person who is willing to ride in your big, goofy tour bus full of doctors and family members. Maybe this tour bus isn't such a bad perk.

Then you start hitting toll booths. The first booth isn't so bad. There's no EasyPass, but between the whole group you're able to scrunch up the cash for the toll. Then you hit another. And another. And another. Money doesn't make it to the front window so easily, and it takes longer and longer to count up the coins. 

People are getting sick of riding this damn tour bus. They're tired, hungry, and out of quarters. Everyone is irritable, and someone clogged the toilet. Your friend explains that they've had enough. Not of your diagnosis, but of this experience. "It's too overwhelming." 

Once, you try to get off to the tour bus, too. You put on parka and try to slip out with the rest of the group. Not so fast. This is your bus, and you can't just get off your bus.

***

After a while, you notice that there are some people on your tour bus that you just don't want there anymore. So you kindly express your desire that they scooch their derriere off your bus. Some take the hint, others require a gentle shove, and still others need to be thrown off while the bus in motion.

In an angry fit, you jettison more than half of the cast of your bus. For a while you drive on, feeling the high of a crazed dictator. But a tour bus is not intended for a few. So you end up driving in reverse, apologizing, and picking a few back up. You leave the meanies though. They can get picked off by zombies for all you care.

While talking to your therapist one day, you ask what the final destination is. "There is no destination. Only a journey." You contemplate punching everyone, but that seems impractical. After a lot of thought and plenty of tears, you come to terms with this arrangement. You do get to ride around with a group of amazing people and see some beautiful sights. It's not ideal, but it's not a death sentence either. It's a different way of living.

By the way, you're all invited on my tour bus.

Thank you for reading my blog and supporting me.

Love,

Jenna

Dealing with Diagnosis

I want to start this post by thanking everyone who has read my blog in the last week. The outpouring of support I have received after sharing the fact that I am bipolar has been overwhelming. Family, friends, and even acquaintances have reached out to me, and I have felt so loved. 

I know everyone has a unique situation, but if you are struggling with whether or not to share your own diagnosis, I would encourage you to share with even just one person. You don't need write a public Internet post like I did. You might be surprised with the reactions you get - and if someone gives you trouble, I can only advise you to be patient with their lack of understanding.

This week I want to talk about getting a diagnosis, because it can be one of the most critical steps to helping you find balance in your life. I am not a mental health professional, and I am merely sharing my own story. If something you read strikes a chord with you today, I would encourage you to talk to a licensed therapist or psychiatrist. 

***

I wasn't born with "bipolar" tattooed across my forehead.

There was no special note on my birth certificate.

No extra stamp in my passport.

There weren't even symptoms until a few years ago. 

I had a normal, very happy childhood marked by some moves around Europe and strong friendships. I loved school, was a perfectionist, and liked drama and acting. I enjoyed performing in school plays and writing school newspaper. 

Yes, I hated aspects of middle school, but in that aspect, I believe I was like most tweens.

A religious conversion charmed my entry into high school. I continued to be a high achiever with a large friend group. I was passionate about life and excited about future possibilities. Unfortunately, I was forced to leave my comfort zone as we relocated for the sixth time in my life.

We decided to try online schooling to allow for some continuity in my academic career, but I wilted without adequate socialization. My eating disorder worsened, and I became depressed. The kind of depressed where you can't get out of bed, vacillate between eating everything and eating nothing, and cry constantly.

Consequently, I enrolled in a local school in the middle of the school year.

Although initially things were alright, I had difficultly making friends. The depression I had homeschooling didn't magically lift when I started going to school. I doubt my teachers or fellow students knew anything. When some of them found out that I had been hurting myself to cope, they were shocked and confused. The face I put on at school to avoid attention put extra pressure on me that resulted on crumbling when I got home. I had a very negative reaction with the first medication we tried, and I felt like I was sliding down the rabbit hole. I wrote morose poetry and dark short stories that reflected the pain I felt. Before long, I was back to not functioning. Back to laying in bed. Back to not coping.

I moved back to the States in the spring of 2010 in order to care I needed. The therapist I first met with believed I was bipolar, but the psychiatrist I met with thought that it was probably just situational depression that would end now that I was removed from the "situation."

I'll fast-forward to now, where I have an excellent new team consisting of a great therapist, a talented psychiatrist, and a supportive family. We were able to track my moods in a way that we could see clear patterns. Things didn't get better just by moving to the States. A lot of the same problems moved across the Atlantic with me, but we targeted them and alleviated the ones we could.

I only got my official "bipolar" diagnosis while I was in the hospital this past Christmas.

Now I do have a piece of paper that says "MOOD DISORDER: BIPOLAR" on it.

I can carry it around like a badge, scrapbook it, frame it, burn it.

Though none of those ideas are very helpful.

It may seem after all of that that getting the diagnosis was the tricky part, but what's really tricky is what's ahead. It's what I do with this diagnosis.

While I am bipolar, I am also, most importantly, 

Jenna.

Bipolar disorder explains my mood swings and some of my behaviors and thought processes.

But it does not define me.

I'm still the girl that likes drama and writing, but now I have new interests to add to those.

(and Barbies and PollyPocket have been left at the wayside)

I'm still the perfectionist and high-achiever. I'm still passionate about life, and I want to change the world.

Some days, I cling more closely to my bipolar label than I want to; it's a process developing daily.

Some days, I feel like THIS IS ME.

Other days, I don't want it. I shirk it. I hate it.

But it doesn't change the fact that I am what I am.

Bottom-line: We all have our labels. Even labels that aren't related to mental health affect how we perceive ourselves. Daily, we try to reconcile these labels with our ever-expanding ideas of who were are. 

My hope is that we give those struggling with mental illness the same respect and time to reconcile, and that we give them the support they need to be who they are, diagnosis and all.

Mental Health

I haven't hit the "New Post" button in weeks. I haven't even checked on my blog.

Kind of funny, considering my blog is my favorite thing.

I can't think of a creative lead, so I'll just explain my absence plainly:

Bipolar disorder is caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain that results in extreme mood fluctuation between depression (lows) and mania (highs). It's more than feeling up and down; it's a loss of control. The roller-coaster metaphor is used a lot, but I would say that in my experience, it's pretty appropriate. You surge upward with inflated self-importance and self-esteem, huge plans and extravagant schemes, boundless energy and no sleep. Then you crash downwards at breakneck speed with hopelessness, thoughts of self-harm, and loss of will to keep going.

The good news is, it can be managed with the right combination of medications and therapy. 

I've spent a lot of time figuring of what triggers my episodes of depression and mania, and what helps me recover from those episodes. Improv, one of my favorite activities, turned out to be a trigger right now, so I've had to take a break.

 I also realized that blogging is a huge help. It makes me passionate about creating original content and creating a dedicated online community. I want my blog to give attention to mental health concerns. I started that with my Eating Disorders post, but I think it needs to be a more regular feature. 

My message today is that if you have thoughts of ending your life, there are people and places that can help you.

Call 911. You will be taken to a local hospital and evaluated. They will keep you in a safe place and determine a course of treatment for you. This may or may not include an extended stay at the hospital. Staying at the hospital allows you to get intensive therapy alone and in a group, get your medications in order, and be away from outside influences while you rest and heal.

Tell an adult. A parent, a teacher, a guidance counselor, a therapist, a doctor, a family friend. For my younger readers: friends your own age will want to help you, but they might not know what to do. 

If you don't feel like there is anyone you can tell, try a hotline, such as 

1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433) or 1-800-273-TALK (1-800-273-8255).

*Note: If you go to my high school and are experiencing mental health issues, I would recommend going to see Ms. Gallagher. She is a wonderful, kind woman with a plethora of resources to help you through this difficult time. She stayed with me while I contacted my parents and made arrangements to go to the hospital, and she helped me get back on track when I returned to school. Your individual counselor can also help you when taking care of yourself has to become your first priority. School is important, but your life and health is more important!

In the future, I will write a post about what's it like to stay at the hospital, removing the stigma from taking medication, and a more personal post about bipolar disorder, depression, and anxiety. I will still do outfit posts and Vintage Photo Monday, but I will also be an advocate for mental health. If there are any posts you would be interested in reading, please let me know! If you would like to share your story, please contact me. Just click the "Contact Me" button under my banner. 

I hope you are all safe and well.