I was 20 years old the first time I realized something was wrong. I was young and full of spunk. I was carefree, drifting from place to place without attachment. I moved frequently and quit jobs on a whim. And this indecisiveness—coupled with what I would eventually learn was my first bout of mania—led me to the corner of Market and Arch Street, where I inquired about a dancing gig. With lingerie in hand and six-inch heels in my bag, I asked for a job. An all-nude, call me “Candy” sort of job. Of course, I didn’t know impulsivity and hypersexuality were symptoms of bipolar disorder, not at the time. Looking back, it’s obvious. My mood was elevated. I was giddy, happy, carefree. My thoughts were large and grandiose. They came frequently, and I didn’t need sleep, or want it—which was different than my baseline. Most days, I was depressed and didn’t shower. I drank excessively, blacking out every night. I never could recall what I said, what I did, or who I saw. And I rarely left my bed. It was a never-ending cycle: Bursts of mania, followed by an epic crash. But I had no idea. There was no diagnosis. No explanation. No medication. No name, and this was frustrating. I was exhausted and exasperated. Days before my 21st birthday, I made an attempt on my life.
Asking for help
The good news is that after months of cycling and dancing, of drinking and carrying on in a reckless way, I sought a new psychologist—I had moved one year prior and had no therapist. I begged for help, telling the physician that something was very wrong, but the diagnosis I received didn’t fit: I was told I had depression. Depression, and nothing else. Make no mistake: At the time, I was depressed. I was sullen and morose, paralyzed by pain and fear. I was sleeping more and eating less. My physical health was taking a hit, and I was (still) suicidal. For months, ideations were a regular part of my life. But there was more to it than depression. I could feel it, but I didn’t know what “it” was, or how to advocate for myself, and my silence is probably the reason my bipolar diagnosis was missed. Scratch that: It’s the reason why many bipolar diagnoses are missed, because people with bipolar disorder tend to seek help when they’re depressed, not manic. They reach out in the dark, but not during periods of blinding light. Many with bipolar disorder do not know about bipolar disorder. Growing up, it was a condition that I never heard mentioned. It was never discussed. Plus, bipolar 2—my diagnosis—was a relatively new condition. It wasn’t added to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, or DSM-IV, until 1994. I am not alone. According to research, 69 percent of patients with bipolar disorder are initially misdiagnosed, and more than a third remain misdiagnosed for a year or more, and I can understand why. In my case, I left out a lot of important details. I never told my therapist about the hypersexuality. I was riddled with guilt and shame. I blamed alcohol and myself. I never told her about “Candy” or the acts she performed. Dancing was never discussed, and I didn’t bring these things up because I didn’t think they were pertinent to my treatment. I was sad and wanted to feel better. Discussing what I considered to be a major lapse in judgment seemed silly and pointless. Plus, she never asked. I’ve had more than a dozen psychologists and psychiatrists and most of them never asked.
Working to find answers
I took medication to “manage” my symptoms. I tried Zoloft, Wellbutrin and Lexapro. I cycled through pills frequently and changed therapists regularly. I never felt like I was making progress. No one seemed to “get” me. Nothing seemed to be doing the trick. And after a few years of ongoing mood swings and suicidal episodes—episodes which I hid from my friends and family, from my psychologists, psychiatrists, colleagues and peers—I quit therapy altogether. I was 26, and all I could think was, Nothing is working. What’s the point? I started drinking again, this time to dull the pain. I experienced regular bouts of depression and sporadic moments of euphoria. I traveled frequently, racking up thousands of dollars of debt in days. I re-enrolled in college before quitting on a whim. I decided I was going to write a book instead of going to college, and while I tried to find a new therapist, nothing seemed to stick. No one could help, at least not until I found my current psychiatrist because he was the first in a long line of mental health professionals to ask me probing questions about my past. He was the first to sit back and listen. He gave me time, heard my struggles, and understood my plight. I was also manic when I met him, which meant I was able to convey my symptoms. He saw me, erratic and incoherent. He then witnessed my manic crash. And then he said the words I didn’t know I needed to hear: My symptoms mirrored that of bipolar disorder, not depression. A quick Google search confirmed he was right.
Freedom through diagnosis
For 10 years, I was given a diagnosis for nearly every disorder but the one I had: I was told I had an adjustment disorder and depressive disorder. I heard acronyms like PPD, PDD, and SAD. But when I finally received a bipolar diagnosis, everything started to fall into place. I started a medication regimen almost immediately. I took (and still take) a mood stabilizer and an SSRI. I speak with my therapist weekly. My psychiatrist and I touch base a couple of times a month. And with that, my illness is well-managed. I have a solid treatment plan in place, and it works. So, does all this mean I’m cured? No. I still live with bipolar disorder and fight every day to keep my mania in check and keep the demons at bay. But because I have a proper diagnosis, I have the tools and weapons I need to win this war, and the words to describe what I’m experiencing and to tell others how I am feeling. But it took time—a long time—and a lot of resilience. If you’re struggling to find help or feel there is no hope, trust me: There is. The tunnel may be long, but there’s a light at the end of it, so talk to your therapist about things that seem normal but may not be. Impulsivity and hypersexuality are usual markers of something deeper, for example. And get a second opinion, or third, or fourth or fifth, because you deserve health and happiness. You deserve a proper treatment plan. Next up, here are the 30 best mental health apps of 2021.
