BBB Year 3
3 years ago this past month (October 16, 2018) I was hospitalized due to a manic episode. I hadn’t slept in days, and the excitement of a new puppy, combined with an obsession over a work project set me into full blown mania. In hindsight, I’ve had blips, as I call them, of mental health episodes all throughout my 20s. But nothing as serious as 2018. My parents brought me to the emergency room at the advice of a friend in the mental health field. I was barely clothed, and clearly having a mental break. I remember a few officers having to help carry me to a hospital bed where I was strapped down and sedated so my brain and body could rest. I was pumped with fluids to help the dehydration, and a little over 12 hours later I was transferred by ambulance to Rogers Behavioral Health in Oconomowoc Wisconsin.
I technically signed myself in, but I was barely conscious being wheeled on a stretcher. I scribbled my name, and had no idea what was happening next. By some small-world miracle, my inpatient doctor was a man named Tim Levenhagen, and he went to catholic elementary school with my dad in the 70s. He talked to me briefly when I was first admitted, and told me that I had bipolar disorder. He explained that I was hospitalised due to a manic episode, and we would talk more the next day, but at that time, all I needed to do was sleep.
My parents said goodbye, full of fear and tears with no real understanding of what was next. I was taken to my room where I slept for nearly 24 hours. After that, I joined the daily group activities. A full day of programming that they don’t force you to go to, but are highly encouraged. I had no issue going! I went to everything. I was still hypo-manic at that point, so TELL ME WHAT TO DO! Time to eat? Show me where. Different types of group therapy with different lead therapists? Sign me up! The next 2 days I felt like I had been given the golden ticket for a timeout from life, but to me, my situation wasn’t that serious. Maybe I had gone a few days without sleeping, but I was better now! If they wanted me to take some pills, I would, and I’d start getting more sleep.
By Friday though, I was itching to go home. “If you don’t get out today, you’re stuck til Monday at least” Willie told me. That set me into a panic alright. Sitting in a family meeting with my parents and Dr. Levenhagen, I remember asking, so when do I get to go home? And all 3 of them asked me what the rush was. “What is the rush? I don’t need to be here anymore! I want to go home! There are things I need to do, I can’t stay in here forever.”
“Where do you think you’re going to go when you leave?” someone asked me. “HOME! Where else would I go?”
“This is the last time you’ll have a chance to do things for the first time, Emily. Just remember that. The last time, it’s the first time. So let's do it right.”
I wasn’t happy about it, but I had accepted it. In many ways I was privileged and fortunate, and I needed to realize that. Being in treatment with so many different people, experiencing wildly different mental health events made me wake up to the fact that I had a chance. I had insurance taking care of my treatment and medications. I wasn’t asked to leave my outpatient program until I was ‘ready to graduate’ and that’s a privilege.
On the best days, I was challenged and had life changing realizations. Like the day our experiential therapist told me that I always needed to plow through options, and take action to see if something works, instead of pausing to think and consider solutions before diving in. I think it’s a bit of a broad stroke observation, but on a deeper level it speaks to my leadership skills, as well as my shortcomings. If no one else wants to lead, I’ll happily take charge, but I can be pushy. If I have an idea I just want to try it. I’m willing to be wrong, and open to other suggestions, but if people aren’t willing to take charge or jump in, I will.
On the flip side, if I’m in a bad mood, or I don’t have the energy, I may be more of an observer. But also a sulker? Picture me sitting quietly on the side, watching my team try things with judgement painted all over my face. Visibly working to ‘hold it in.’ This is much more pronounced when I haven’t gotten good sleep, or I’m frustrated or short fused. Remember, all of these different therapy types, and challenges were on a loop Monday to Friday for about 6-7 hours each day. So in a work setting, I would never act this way, but I will certainly play out a tempered version.
When I returned to work I was welcomed back. Treated and valued the same as before my hospitalization, and I recognized that as an incredible privilege right off the bat. I had a relationship with my boss that allowed me to be open and honest about my diagnosis and what I had gone through during my medical leave. That wasn’t required of me, and I like to remind everyone that you never need to disclose medical information like that to your employer - mental health related, or otherwise. That’s your business and no one else's. But in my case, the open honesty with someone I trusted felt like a privilege I should take advantage of to my benefit.
My treatment team had communicated clearly with me that my job wasn’t necessarily the most ‘healthy’ lifestyle for my mental health and disorder. But it wasn’t impossible. Since it was something I loved, and had been doing for a few years successfully, they decided going back would be healthy - given I set some strong boundaries in place to prioritize myself and my mental health.
Sleep is a non-negotiable for me, and while that is mostly solved through medication, I also have NO problem canceling a meeting, or saying no to an early morning request because I need to get ample sleep to be my best. And if things are off, if I can sense myself getting frustrated more easily, or being short with Oscar when he’s just doing dog things, I know I should take my medication a little early that night, and ensure I get some extra sleep before my alarm goes off the following morning.
Being in a mental health hospital woke me up to the severity of my situation. 7 weeks of working on myself, instead of going to work. Adjusting to medication, learning about my brain, determining what my triggers are and what things I have control over when it comes to balancing my life, my wellness and my brain. I don’t have a choice anymore. I have to choose myself and my health over all else. And I do it willingly. When I returned to work I was scared. How could I possibly get all my work done, be successful, go on work travel, and abide by the strong boundaries I agreed to set in place, and that I now knew I needed to live a healthy life?
I had to at least try it. With no breaking of the rules. I mean really really do it. Especially in the beginning. And I learned! I proved to myself that if I didn’t multi-task in meetings, and if I set timers to wrap up projects and as a signal to move on to the next task, instead of hopping from open tab to open tab, to reply to text messages, to paying online bills all within minutes, my brain would be happier at the end of the day. It wouldn’t be so frantic and scattered. And I could finally get the sense of quiet mind I had been searching for in such unhealthy ways the few years prior.
3 months after returning to work my boss gave me my annual review. He honored the raise I had been working towards, even though I had to take leave and didn’t work the prior quarter. He told me that I was doing a great job and my work life balance was paying off. I seemed focused, happy and surprisingly I felt the same way! I was shocked to receive the raise, but I was grateful that we both agreed I was getting just as much done, with little to no multitasking, and a whole lot more sleep.
Fast forward 9 months later and I decided to launch this blog, and my mental health advocacy instagram account @bipolarbroughtbalance on my 1 year anniversary of hospitalization. The combination of my treatment, my family, my partner, my friends and my job accepting and supporting me brought me to a place where I felt comfortable sharing with the world. Too often in our society, mental health is misunderstood or mislabeled as people who are crazy or can’t help themselves. In reality 1 in 5 Americans will experience a mental illness in a given year. And remember! You don’t need a diagnosis to care about and prioritize your mental health. You can do it just because you have a brain. And if you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for your family and your friends. We could all use a little less stigma, and a little more support when it comes to getting help and helping ourselves with mental health.
I’ll continue to celebrate October 16th as the day that my life was forever changed, and I had a reason and an excuse to start prioritizing me. My health, my sleep and my sanity come first before almost everything else in my life, and for that I’m grateful. My bipolar diagnosis created the call to action I needed to take care of myself. Let this post be the call to action you need, to take care of yourself, and reach out to someone you love just to see how they’ve been doing.
