My
name is Jennifer Stevens, I live in northern NY state, and am
diagnosed with bipolar 1, rapid cycling, with psychotic features.
Here is my story.
Looking back on my childhood, I was an extremely moody kid for as
long as I can remember. Some days it was enormous temper tantrums
followed by hours of hysterics, other days, the world was perfect,
and I loved everything. My family was mostly normal. Mom and Dad
divorced when I was 12, following years of my father's drinking, my
mother's nagging and the constant fighting. It was actually a relief
when they split up, so I didn't have to listen to it any more.
In my family I was the vocal one; in fact, a good portion of the
time, I would talk incessantly, for hours, about disconnected
things, and people didn't interrupt, as that would generally result
in hysteria on my part. My brother was the quiet one, who sat
back and watched all my theatrics. I honestly did not see
myself as different; I guess I thought all kids acted that way.
I lived with my mother with weekends at Dad's. Mom was extremely
authoritarian, Dad was the polar opposite. He let me do anything I
wanted, he was too busy with all the chaos he created in his own
life (six wives in about 20 years, most of whom were very unstable
for a variety of reasons). One stepmother (who was only 10 years
older than me) set the house on fire twice, and killed three of our
cats. Ironically, she was the only one who was kind to me and my
brother. If it wasn't for her supervision, I would have gotten in
lots of dangerous situations.
So while mom and dad spent their time criticizing each other's new
lifestyle, I (now a teen) was vaccilating between taking huge risks
and being the A + student. My moods were way out of hand at this
point, although I do not believe I had yet experienced a manic
episode. Mom sent me to therapy several times, but I just played
like I was fine so they would discharge me. Meanwhile, I continued
with deep depressions alternating with extreme irritability and
grandiosity.
I think I had my first manic episode in my second year in college. I
was six hours from home and my long term boyfriend (now my very
patient husband) was at home. I think it started with extreme lack
of sleep driving back and forth to see Glenn, and got worse when I
decided I didn't need to go to class because I was too smart. The
hilight of this episode was when I stayed up all night painting my
suite canary yellow without my roommate's consent. Things went
downhill from there. For no reason, I broke up with Glenn and
started this relationship with a clearly highly unstable, dangerous
guy. Ultimately it resulted in me being placed on a medical leave
halfway through the year. I still had gotten no real help, and
really didn't believe anything was wrong.
Following this, I returned home to live with Glenn. I slept all day,
wouldn't talk to anyone, and generally felt I had destroyed my life.
I
had a full scholarship to the college I had been attending, and lost
it
when I left due to my failing grades. This put my mother and her
nagging into high gear, which only made it worse. I went to a local
college with multiple loans, and worked part time.
Things went fairly normally; I had become used to my moods, and
although others saw it, I denied it. I graduated with a Master's in
Social work several years, one son, and a marriage later. To an
outside observer, all was fine.
However, I had decided in my head that I was a lesbian. Now, I was
not really attracted to women, I just declared that I was. Off I
went into another manic episode, one that lost me my first job as a
social worker, due to my instability. Then I had my second son, and
had a very intense episode of postpartum depression. Here was the
first time anyone had attempted to treat this.
Following this, I stayed home with my sons for two years. Relatively
uneventful. Then I took a job as a state parole officer. I loved it,
and it certainly fed my need for constant chaos and craziness. I
worked in a supermax jail with murderers and rapists and worse. I
loved it, though. Unfortunately, all the stimulation and chaos
of this job sent me into another episode. After about nine months, I
became involved with a coworker, who was twice my age, extremely
unstable, and violent. Glenn found out, had a fit, and I wound up
taking a three month medical leave, where I was hospitalized at an
excellent facility. I was diagnosed with bipolar 2, and placed on
antidepressants and topamax.
I returned to work, but after that I became very paranoid, and I
began to see/hear things, especially when I was alone at night. My
moods shifted to highly irritable to extremely depressed. I lasted a
year back at work, and wound up in the hospital again. This time I
was diagnosed with bipolar 1 rapid cycling with psychotic features.
I was placed on 1200 of lithium, 600 of Seroquel, prn Klonapin, and
300 welbutrin.
I resigned from work (permanently), as I feel that the stress and
triggers that that environment caused was highly toxic for me. Now I
am home with my sons Alex (10), and Nick (6). Glenn has stuck by me
also, for which I am hugely grateful. He and the boys have been my
rock, and my reason for going on dispite this nasty illness.
So far, my sons show few bipolar traits. They both have ADHD, and
have an excellent psychiatrist. I also have both an excellent
therapist and psychiatrist. Despite all these supports, my moods
continue to shift rapidly, although it is not as severe as before my
treatment. Some days, bipolar just makes me want to give up,
because, even though I am doing all the right stuff, it is still
there, and that really is discouraging.
I wish there were support groups in my community, because this
disease can make you feel very alone. Family and friends try, but
unless you live it, you don't really understand it.
Thanks for listening. If anyone wishes to respond, my email is
jenncsw@msn.com |
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