Two years balanced
Two years ago this morning I was transported by ambulance from Froedtert hospital to Rogers Behavioral Health in Oconomowoc. I voluntarily checked myself in with an illegible scribble on the intake form. Just barely awake and functional after the night prior when I was sedated, strapped to a hospital bed and pumped with fluids. I had experienced my first manic episode that resulted in hospitalization, and I was being admitted to an inpatient mental health facility.
I met with the psychiatrist who explained what had happened to me and what next steps were. Sleep. As much sleep as I could get. I was given a pill and told I could sleep in my room as long as I like. No nurses or faculty were to check on me, I just needed sleep. I can’t recall if I woke up late that night and ate some food, or slept through to the morning, but I definitely got a lot of sleep. Drugged up and under a 50 pound weighted blanket in the small twin bed of my private room, I sleep deeper and longer than I had slept in years.
The next morning I met with my doctor again, and he thought I was ready to digest some information. “You have bipolar disorder,” he told me. “You had a manic episode, and with your family history I think it’s pretty clear.” To say that I wasn’t shocked would be a lie. I had certainly known that bipolar disorder was in my family, but I had never thought that it would be something I would personally deal with. There were many reasons I hadn’t ever thought of the diagnosis for myself, but the biggest one was my inability to identify with the depressive side of the disorder. In many ways though, the diagnosis was an answer. An explanation for the heavy emotions I feel and the passion that runs through me. The lack of sleep I got consistently, and the peaks and valleys of energy and creative expression I have. I didn’t push away the diagnosis, but I didn’t know what was next.
Over the following days I attended and engaged in every therapy chunk. The day was broken into various types of activities and therapeutic exercises in hopes of providing a wide range of information, insight and support. I wasn’t always happy to be there. I stormed out of a family meeting on day 3 after being told I wasn't going home that night. Upset that I would be stuck in the hospital through the weekend.
As I look back now it was so silly to be upset that I had to spend 3 more days in a place with no responsibility. A place where I was fed three pretty delicious meals a day, could learn about myself, and could prepare myself to return to my life before the episode. But I also didn’t think that my circumstances were that serious at the time. I didn’t think what happened to me was as bad as my diagnosis made it out to sound. I thought I had a pretty minor episode and a relatively strong handle on how to move forward. What I didn’t know was that the next year would be one of the hardest and most uncertain in my life. My bipolar disorder diagnosis would put into question everything I knew to be true about myself, it would shatter my confidence and it would create a strength and balance in my life that I never thought I would be able to achieve.
My first 2 months after being discharged from inpatient treatment, I reported to outpatient therapy Monday through Friday from 8am to 4pm. The first few weeks I had multiple days where I don’t remember the drive out to the facility, and I fell asleep during our open group sessions in the morning because of the strength of my drugs. After sleeping roughly 4-6 hours a night on a regular basis for the past three years I was having a hard adjustment to my medication and the now 9 hours that I needed to feel even slightly rested. My body would balance out as the weeks passed, but it would also change as I gained weight from the medication and a common side effect of late night hunger. I remember feeling so grateful in those early weeks that I was able to take medical leave from work. I was constantly reminded in treatment that I had it pretty good. With a supportive partner, incredible friends and tons of family nearby I had a lot of safety nets in my life, but your brain can still play tricks on you. Anytime I went out into the world during those three months that I was not working, I would be afraid of running into someone I knew. No part of my appearance could have given away my diagnosis or recent life struggles, but if they asked me a simple question like “how’s work been?” I would have to lie, and I just couldn’t imagine doing that.
I would experience body sweats and an overwhelming ringing in my ears on a few occasions when I had panic attacks in public. No amount of preparation can help you avoid the very physical sensations of a panic attack, but being able to show up the following day in group therapy and talk through what causes or triggers may have been around really helped me to try again. To show up for myself and keep moving forward as I discovered what my new reality felt like.
After three months I returned to work and made the scary decision to disclose what had happened to my team and colleagues. With 4 years under my belt at the company, and nearly 2 years strong on my current team, I was hopeful that my work had spoken for itself and I would get a chance to prove I could return to work post treatment and pick up where I left off. I was extremely fortunate that my team not only welcomed me back but supported me as I adjusted to my new normal and worked to create new boundaries and processes for my health. I would no longer be sending emails at 10pm, or attending all of the late night fun we had on the rare opportunities to be in the same city. I would maximize our time together, but still prioritize the time I need for myself and my mental health. And no one was upset or hurt by it! They often admired or celebrated my decision to take care of myself.
About nine months after I was diagnosed, I started to talk to those close to me about launching a blog and instagram account to share my story and slay the stigma around mental health and bipolar disorder. I so often think of myself as healthier and more balanced post diagnosis than I ever was before I was ‘sick’. I wish that I had prioritized my mental health before it got so bad. I firmly believe that I was born with bipolar disorder - it’s genetic, however I also think that for me, it was the permission slip that I needed to take my mental health seriously, set boundaries in my life that benefit me and my relationships, and develop into my best version of myself.
Launching Bipolar Brought Balance in October of last year was a very proud moment. I’m so honored that people want to read about my story and are open to learning about mental health and bipolar disorder through my experiences and perspective. It’s definitely been a side hobby, and comes second to work often, but it’s a passion project of mine and something I hope I never stop doing. In the past year I’ve posted roughly one blog post a month, and one instagram post every three days. I’ve had the opportunity to be on podcasts, participate in police de escalation training, and speak out about mental health in the workplace. I’ve shared what I’ve learned, what I’m reading, what makes me happy, and what’s brought me to my knees. I shared with you when I had my first hypomanic episode, and was excited to post this piece in honor of two years post hospitalization. Every day presents a new set of challenges and cause for celebration. Whether you have your own mental health journey, a family member that’s impacted by mental health, or are simply an advocate for those who live with mental health struggles, this year has been tough on us all. Mental health is something that can be genetic and include diagnoses, but it’s also a part of our health as humans that we should all be aware of.
I’m grateful that I have another year of balance in the books. I know that this life will bring me many more challenges, and this journey won’t always be episode free but all I can do is keep moving forward. Allow myself to feel the highs and lows, and share that journey with all of you in hopes of slaying stigma and creating safe spaces for others to share their experiences as well. Thank you for supporting me and spreading my work to others in your life who may enjoy or need to hear it. The more we talk about and learn about our mental health, the happier and healthier we will all be.
