Bi-Polar: Hurray! I mean, boo!

I have bi-polar disorder. It was a frightening thing to discover when I entered college. Until my sophomore year, when I began taking psychology classes, I never really noticed there was something wrong with me. Of course, that was mostly because I have a severe anti-social personality and thus had few individuals to compare myself to. I always thought of myself as normal. Discovering there was something wrong with me...that was harrowing. Growing up I discovered the mental instability that runs through both sides of my family. My mother's side had a few relatives committed as recently as the 1950s. My father's side had one antecedent who was lobotomized. You can understand why I began to feel really uncomfortable knowing there was something wrong with me "up there".

My teenage years were highly emotional ones. I swung back and forth so readily between euphoria and depression. I was suicidal. I had dreams of grandeur (I was going to conquer the world. Didn't you know?). I'd become depressed because I hadn't conquered the world yet (fifteen is not too young, afterall). I'd run for hours around the house at one in the morning. I'd do a week's homework in one night. I'd become so sluggish I'd wear the same clothes for a week straight. The list could go on and on, quirky as it is.

Then the problems started. I had my first beer when I was sixteen. That would prove a catalyst for later life as I used alcohol as a means to dull down the pain of my depressive periods. It wasn't until two years ago, when I hit my worst period of alcoholism, that I finally began to reign in my drinking. There were also bouts of self-mutiliation. No, I didn't use the knives. I used my fingernails. Sometimes. Other times I'd simply punch the walls, usually until my knuckles were bloody...or broken.

My "problem" became pronounced in 1999. It just seemed one continuous depression. Nothing seemed to improve. Every day was so much work. I just didn't want to get up. There wasn't anything out there in the world for me. I found myself drawn to people even more depressing than I was and that only served to make me worse. Then came the car wreck. To this day I'm not completely sure if I did it on purpose or if it truly was an accident, but I almost killed myself that day.

After that I dropped out of college and just wandered. I found my way, eventually, to South Africa. That is a whole other story. Once there I found my ex-wife. I think I married her because I wanted some form of stability. For the first few years I had it. But then the depression started to deepen again. I never told her about my "problem". I couldn't. It was this stigma I didn't want to share. I hate being judged and letting her know about my bi-polar disorder, ugh, that really wasn't an option. So she began to distance herself. She saw other guys. I needed her but didn't want her to be a part of what I was going through. August 2005 I almost had a nervous breakdown because of my crumbling marriage matched with the bi-polar. Just sitting there, feeling my body tremble as I watched my hands shake: it's like a quake is going through you and you can't help but to believe you are going to shatter into a million pieces.

The only thing that has kept me together is will. Having OCD, a mixed blessing but positive in this case, has helped me to instill a sense of discipline in my life. I have to do things, follow a set pattern, or else I become agitated. So OCD helps me to keep it together, to keep pressing forward, etc. Now having OCD and bi-polar disorder may make me sound like one really fucked up guy. Trust me, it's not as apparent as I make it.

Now why don't I take medication or seek therapy. As to the former, I simply cannot bring myself to take meds. My grandmother was forced to take ten pills a day. Watching the effects they had on her when I was a kid severely curtailed any interest I would ever have in being medicated as well as instilled a strong disdain for the medical community. And therapy, I know I've got problems. I don't need someone patronizing me and helping me take babysteps. I also don't want the attention or the fear of judgment being passed by someone trying to help me. I don't want to be dependent. I can't be a burden.

So I am bringing about change myself. I have to want it and I do. I've curtailed my drinking (I do still drink but very moderately), the periods of self-mutilation haven't occurred for well over eight months, and I have taken steps to actually own up to my problem, i.e. talking to you guys.

I'm sorry if I have been a tad vague on some parts of my condition. It's not easy "owning up". If you guys want, I'd be more than happy to chat about it off the blog. Just on here, I have my trepidations. Don't be scared. I don't snap.