Hi, my name is Kim. I am 20 years old. The first time I wanted to die I was 11, and the first time I was VERY close to an actual suicide attempt I was 14, but I never told anyone about it. (I had a blowdryer turned on, standing in front of a sink full of water, but tried to think of ONE good reason to live or else I'd stick the blowdryer in... I remember that I had almost given up on thinking of a good reason, when finally my church youth group came to mind.) I spent my childhood up til now with depressions that got worse and worse. I didn't have many friends at school cuz I thought everyone hated me, and that there were a million reasons that everyone SHOULD hate me, like I was fat, ugly, boring, and didn't have nice clothes. Then as I got a little older, there where times I was so happy and hyper and knew that I was just an incredibly intelligent and cool person, and if people didn't like me they could kiss my ... you know!!! I made a lot of new friends in other age groups, and participated in as many activities as I could. Since my parents never let me play sports, I had to do other things, like becoming the editor of the newspaper and the section leader of the percussion section in band. But then I would crash again and become depressed, stop talking to my friends and stay home from school and work. One day when I was on a computer I decided to look up some information about depression. For a month or so I wrote letters to a depression forum almost every day, because I was depressed almost every day. But then, suddenly, I went to the computer like usual and realized I wasn't depressed, and that there were times when I was actually "just fine" and loved life! So I decided to read a little about bipolar disorder, and thought that maybe I had that.
During all this time, I know I haven't given you much detail, but my mom knew there was "something" wrong with me. I was anorexic for a couple years, and even though I was pretty thin I would cry whenever she took me to the store to buy a pair of jeans, because I had to buy size 5 instead of size 3!!!! And she knew there were times when I would cry for no reason, sleep all day, or simply not talk to anyone and live in my own little world. The times when I first had depression problems, there weren't any family problems or anything, but at this time, I was 15 and my parents had just gotten divorced. I wanted to talk to my mom about my problems, but it seemed like every time I turned around, there were too many other problems for her to deal with, either with my dad, or my younger brother and sister starting to do drugs, or something like that, so I kept it to myself. But with each year it seemed like I was getting worse and worse.
When I was 18 I went to college in another state. It was so awesome! I made friends very easily, made great grades, slept about 4 or 5 hours a night, and was having the time of my life. I did decide to talk to the campus counselor about some personal problems that had to do with religion (it was a Christian college), but at that time, I didn't think I had bipolar, or any problems like that at all. However, just by talking to me, and asking me questions, and observing my behavior at the meetings, one day the counselor started asking me questions "Have you ever felt like this" etc. and asked me if I'd ever heard of bipolar disorder. He said that it might be a good idea to talk to a psychiatrist. I didn't want to, but a few weeks later I was staring to feel down, and having terrible thoughts in my head, and remembering that there really WERE times that I have been very depressed! So, I got diagnosed with bipolar, even though I had never been to the hospital or anything. I was put on Lithium and Wellbutrin, but a couple weeks after I started taking it I felt so good, probably from the medicine starting to work, that I figured I didn't even have Bipolar so I stopped taking it. February of 2000 was my first hospital stay, for being suicidal. It is kind of scary to think about it, I had been suicidal like that before, but usually I just locked myself in my room or tried to think of reasons not to die and it would pass. I started taking my medicine again, and thought I would never have to go to the hospital again.
In October of 2000, I was back in college, and was having even MORE fun than EVER before! Making straight A's, I had the best roommate ever, I was always coming up with crazy schemes or pranks to pull on people and getting my friends to go along with me. There was hardly ever a dull or quiet moment in my dorm! I was taking my medicine like clockwork. However, I started going to a different psychiatrist, because she was less expensive than my other one. This time, I was told that I did NOT have bipolar. I was so relieved, and then I got mad, thinking of all the money I had been wasting on medicine and doctor visits. So, I stopped taking my medicine once again, and once again I ended up in the hospital. The last time I went, I went voluntarily, but this time they called 911 and I had a police escort. I didn't want to go, and had been trying for days to get my friends to leave me alone, so I could disappear with out a trace and run in front of a semi, and no one would ever know that I had died. (!!!) This time, it was so drastic, I got kicked out of my college for being a "danger to myself and others" which was SO WRONG!! They told me I could come back when I was "better" and even the doctor who treated me at the hospital couldn't convince them that now that I was taking my medicine again, I was as much "better" as I could ever get!! That's like if a diabetic stopped taking his insulin had to go to the hospital, and starts taking his insulin again, but they tell him that he has to go home until he's "better" but as long as he's taking his insulin he is "better"! It was ridiculous! I had to move back home, and made my problem worse by doing a lot of drugs.
Finally we come to October of 2001. I haven't gone into much detail about my previous hospital stays, because although they my behavior kept getting more and more serious, it was nothing compared to this! Up until this point, I knew for sure that I had depression, but I still wasn't so sure I had bipolar, because, yeah, I got hyper sometimes, and had some reckless behavior, but who can tell the difference between hypomania and just being hyper? I sure couldn't! But, this time, I really was taking all of my medicine EXACTLY when I should, and had stopped doing drugs, because I never wanted to go to the hospital again, and according to my doctor, as long as I took my medicine everything should be alright. This time I was taking Lithium and Celexa, because drug problems caused the Wellbutrin to make me start hallucinating. Well, I was starting to feel really "weird" even though I was taking my medicine and not doing drugs. I had never had this happen before. Usually when I took my medicine like I should, I was completely fine. So I told my doctor about it in September, and he told me to get my lithium level tested, and in my next meeting with him, at the end of October, we would talk about it.
I guess that wasn't soon enough. Because towards the beginning of October, I had the worst mood swings of my entire life. One week I was up cleaning the house, going to work every day, writing a book, and being the life of the party. The next week, I'd gotten fired from my job and slept all day long. My brother, who lived with me, said it was like I was two totally different people. I didn't understand what was going on, because I was doing everything I was supposed to do! I just figured I'd talk to my doctor and he'd tell me what was going on. But finally one night, it all came out really bad. I don't remember every detail, but I do remember, that the first half of the day, I was SO SO HAPPY! I didn't have a job, but I knew I was going to get one soon, and I was going to be the best! I wasn't in college, but I knew I was going to get in one next semester and make straight A's. My mom told me that at 8:45 pm I had written her an email saying "How are you doing? I"m great! I just finished my first book and I'm starting my second one" and other things like that.... About fifteen minutes later, I was SO MAD. I didn't know why I was mad, so I decided to take a walk, and thought maybe it would calm me down. But on my way home from the walk, I realized that I was still mad. And I didn't know why. But I was thinking pretty crazy by this point. I was the most intelligent person in this whole freakin town. Everyone in this town sucks but me. I was a "smooth criminal", and I could commit any crime I wanted to without getting caught. I ended up picking up a huge rock, throwing it at someone's house who I didn't even know, and smashing their window. I ran through the alleys to my house and arrived out of breath, and happy again. My brother and some of our friends came over, and I was once again ecstatic. We were all talking and figuring out what to do for the evening. I ended up going to the bar with two of my friends, and my brother left with some of his friends.
Yeah, we went to the bar. I am 20 years old. But I KNEW they'd just let me in! Even though I had been trying to quit drinking, I knew that a few beers didn't matter, and I could find a guy who would buy me all the drinks I wanted (that last part isn't grandiose--I HAD been in that bar before, and I HAD got some dude to buy me a LOT of beer! heh heh ). But when I walked in the door, there was a different bartender from the one who let me get away with these things. She asked me for my ID. So I told her I'd go home and get it, and be right back. Of course I didn't go back. But by the time I got home, I was enraged again, but luckily I was by myself, and no one saw me do the things I did. I ended up throwing furniture around my house, breaking a mirror, stomping on things, smashing things, and tearing things apart. Then all of a sudden I started screaming and yelling and cussing at God. Finally I started yelling "I CAN"T DO THIS ANYMORE!" I knew that I was an angel, sent to earth to help save the people of the world, but my mission had failed. I apologized to God, and told Him that I just wanted to go back to heaven for awhile, and maybe I could start my mission over again later. After my little prayer, I walked into my room, and grabbed my bottle of Lithium. It had about 20 pills left in it, so I took them all. Then I reproached myself "20 pills isn't going to kill you!" so I started trashing my house again. The next thing I remember, I was kind of lying on the floor, and looked around my house in amazement. Did I really do that? I was starting to scare myself. So I called my mom. She and her boyfriend came and put me in the car.
Five minutes later: "WHERE ARE WE GOING!"
"To the hospital."
"WHY?! I DON"T NEED TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL!"
We got to the hospital and I kept trying to escape. I just knew those pills wouldn't kill me, I was just fine, I just needed to go home. I didn't tell anyone about how I was an angel, because I couldn't blow my cover, but I kept resisting the wheelchair, running from security guards and nurses, and I even knocked someone's cup of coffee all over the floor. Now, usually, I am a very nice person! I couldn't believe all of the things I did! Finally, they took me to the emergency room. I got my stomach pumped, and spent the next 12 hours either puking or pooping or both, or sleeping. I was in a daze the whole time. All the fight had been knocked out of me. I still didn't realize how serious it had been to take that much lithium. When I first took it, I knew it would kill me, but then I started thinking grandiose thoughts again, and didn't think any thing could hurt me. I had to be put in a private hospital room, because my lithium level kept going up. They put padding at the side of my bed in case I had a seizure. At one point they said they were going to wait one more hour, and if the level didn't start going down they would have to do dialysis. Finally, the level went down, and I had to go to a mental health center for 3 days. My medicine was changed to Depakote, and right now that is the only medicine I am taking. My first night at the mental health center, I got up in the middle of the night crying, because I was so ashamed of myself, and scared over what I had done. I had acted like a completely different person! The thoughts in my head had been so weird! Why did I do those things? I was taking medicine exactly like I should, and I had still ended up in the hospital, which was something I had sworn would never happen again! I was told that I have Rapid Cycling, and that lithium doesn't usually work well with that bipolar... so we'll see what happens.
Now, even though I am doing great, that nagging fear still gets me in the back of my head. I was going to go into the Marines, I even had my ship out date, and I had actually only planned on going to college for one semester until time for me to leave. But after getting diagnosed, I was disqualified because of my medicine. So I stayed at college, but ended up getting kicked out because I STOPPED taking my medicine! That really makes me mad sometimes. And I wonder, will my mood swings just keep getting worse and worse every year, like they have been, or will they finally come to a point where it will stop. I am diagnosed as Bipolar II, because I have never had a full manic episode, but I read that most people don't get there full manic episode until their early 20's, and I am 20 years old. I guess what I had experienced was sort of Mixed or something. I did think I was an angel, but I didnt tell anyone. Will I end up become Bipolar I, thinking I am God, and seeing hallucinations? It's a scary thought. Right now the Depakote is working great, but will I end up back in the hospital anyway, even though I am taking it? And sometimes I think, it's not worth having kids if I have bipolar and could pass it on to them. Or what if I have terrible mood swings even if they don't have bipolar and they have to worry about whether their mom is going to start throwing things or trying to kill herself? But other times I think, well I'm glad I'm alive, even if I do have this disorder, and if I do pass it to a kid, at least I'll know how to help them and I will be able to tell whether they have it or not and get them help. (In my family history, I have an uncle who killed himself when he was 18, my real dad is in prison, so when I have been saying "dad" throughout this article, I am actually referring to my stepdad)... my parents didn't even believe bipolar was real, especially my dad, but finally my mom started to study on it. My dad thought I was just trying to get attention, and that the whole thing was BS, but he came to visit me in the hospital last time... and I think it finally got through to him, that bipolar disorder is not made up! At least I will know it is real and I won't make my kid feel even worse about something that isn't his or her fault.
I just thought I would share my situation, if anyone wants to read it. And if anyone has any similar experience, especially if you have finally found medicine that works really good and you haven't had to go to the hospital or had any dramatic mood swings in a while, I would like to know, so that I know there is hope for my future! I have a lot of things I want to accomplish in my life, and I would like to know that I will be able to do them even though I have this problem!
Return to main page