Raw Writing for the Real World of Bipolar

When I was thirteen I became very depressed. I wrote in my journal a lot and I sat in my closet so nobody in the house would hear me cry. I've always been a loud crier. Tears didn't merely slide down my cheeks. I sobbed. That year I wrote in my diary for the very first time that I wanted to die.

My parents were ignorant about mental health. I was only threatened that I needed to see a psychiatrist when I was bad. My stepmother found my journal that year and read it. She never saw the red flag. I continued to have depression every year around the same time in my life and it got worse when my grandmother died. I grew up thinking that what I was going through was normal.

When I turned twenty-three, I broke up with my boyfriend. I had a bottle of pills in my house from having my wisdom teeth out. I wanted to take those pills and never wake up. I finally sought out help by myself. I was scared that I would return to depression with a vengeance. I was diagnosed with depression and I went on my way.

My life was filled with going out, doing drugs and shopping, lots of shopping. I was living beyond my means, going out and paying for drinks and cigarettes and clothes to look fabulous in while doing all that. I also had anger issues. I was consistently mad at the other drivers on the road. I had hardly any friends because I always got mad at them for one trivial thing or another.

I also moved around a lot. It was hard to get along with a roommate especially because all my projects were strewn out all over the floor. I had projects upon projects. A lucky few got completed, but most were discarded because I would become frustrated with myself that I could not get them all done at once. I also continued to get depressed every year around the same time. I would visit a psychiatrist and I would get my antidepressant filled until I was sick of taking it. I also had panic attacks. A couple of them were severe enough to warrant a trip to the ER. I was always flabbergasted when they said I had panic attacks. I didn't understand them, but I just figured they were part of my life and, again, I went on my way and ignored them.

It wasn't until I began seeing advertisements on television about medication for Bipolar Disorder that I began to piece my life together. What they were describing was my life. I went online and took a questionnaire and I took it to my psychiatrist. He looked it and then looked at me and told me that he was certain that I had it.

I was devastated. My life turned upside down. How could this one word, Bipolar, define me? A friend of mine asked me if this could possibly be true. How could I have missed all the warning signs? I told her that I thought they were normal. I thought it was normal to see hallucinations outside of the corners of my eyes. I thought I was just going through a phase when I craved sex and drugs. I thought it was all normal. And, it was. For me.

About the Author: Cristina C. Fender, 34, is rapidly becoming an expert on Bipolar Disorder. She has been researching Bipolar Disorder and blogging about her own experiences for several years. At age 21 she was diagnosed with depression and saw psychiatrists for over ten years before she was correctly diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder I. Her vision for writing at Raw Writing for the Real World of Bipolar is to inform and educate the public about mental illness. Feel free to Email Cristina a comment or a question.Click here to Subscribe in a Reader.

© 2009 Cristina C. Fender