Stigma of Being Bipolar - Iris E. S-Lewis's Blog

   The term used for bipolar extremes; melancholy/mania, both have their origins in ancient Greek. It has genetic basis we're told. I've read that traumas can trigger bipolar disorder. In Belize, when I was age eight, ten, and fourteen; I felt so traumatized, I believed I had out of body experience. Of course separation from my mother at age two was equally traumatizing. My four siblings in our yard frolicking; Granny would say, "What's the matter with you why you're not out with the rest." I'd sit alone with thoughts darting back and fourth, before screen in my mind. None captured my attention. 

   Most dear to me was the sea, the lagoon where Grandpa had his mango plantation, the sight of my mother on her visits, and the scent of mango blossoms with bees swarming about Granny's garden in the City. Those and the beauty of Corozal; Belize's northern District bordered with Mexico, took my breath away, and caused me to feel alive again. The Caribbean sea washes a good portion of Corozal. From auntie's window at dawn, fishermen in small boats could be seen casting their nets. Sometimes, fishes could be seen jumping up and down in shallow blue green calm waters. Rain songs on zinc rooftops were also music that soothe away memories of traumas of the past.

   Following early abuse, I began feeling as though a part of me was frozen. Then there were days when I felt surge of energy beyond my will, and I'd be out frolicking. No one followed my isolating periods. Was there ever such a thing as being bipolar, when I was growing up in Belize? I don't think so.

   In the latter nineties in New York, I was diagnosed with manic/depressive disorder. That, to me, was not good news to share with my family. No one. I've been in several hospitals; few beyond a month. Been in denial with medication for so long, that sort of record followed me all the way from New York to Fayetteville, North Carolina. Once I had to go to court on the campus of Cherry hospital in Goldsboro, NC, to be discharged. Everything was recorded. Words against me and my freedom spilled from lips of two female Psychiatrist to the one presiding over court session. 

   I was admitted because I got manic in church one Sabbath, and couldn't stop weeping and wreathing in agony from semething like non biting ants fighting in my brain. Never any threat to anyone; nor myself, I knew when it was time for me to go home. I fought and won. On my way out the hospital campus court, I was furious and ranted right along side my husband who listened in silence on his visit. I declared all Doctors, nurses, and therapists as drug pushers. 

   In court at Cherry hospital, I heard, "Dr. so and so, isn't it true that Ms. Lewis said she exeercise at the spa, ride her bike, or jog; and that's her best meds? Didn't she also state that when she's manic, she wants to race with speeding cars, or climb high to feel breeze? And whenever depression sets in, she's bombarded by suicidal thoughts; and it feels good in that space, because at least she knows of a safer peaceful place?" I heard, "Yes, yes, and yes! Where were they going with the whole shebang of it? I was a threat to myself, and needed long term stay. But the husband and I were back together again after three days.

   I believe that the gift of life is to be cherished; and if one believes in God, suicide is not optional. It would be epiphany of disrespect to God. That's my belief; plus I intend to participate in my departure, in every quiet moment of my phasing out to unknown space, and that's final. 

   Three years had passed since Cherry hospital. I continue to be vigilant of people, places, and things that can trigger episodes. Staying on the light side of life with my faith, food, exercise, and helping family, friends, and strangers is a must. Writing, reading, needlework, and classic comedy, and Nat Geo I find therapeutic.

   At the start of 2016, I felt I needed some help. I reasoned that it was winter blues; lack of early morning light, and fast approaching darkness in the evenings that was zapping my joy. But then I recalled the husband once said, "You look so much better on the second day of hospitalization." I told him I comply with meds to get out of the dark, or out from manic state. He knows once I'm home from the hospital, no more meds.

   So now, I've been waking up feeling hopeless; and thinking what's the use of waiting to grow older. So many meds I've tried. Depakote put me in the hospital with amonia in my liver, and caused confusiion. I must stay away from depakote. I want life without meds and hospitalization. But I was also waking up to a new realization. I began taking one welbutrin each morning, and it keeps me grounded for the day. I still don't think I need it every day, but at least I am no longer in denial. It took so many years for me to come full circle with the fact that I do need a bit of help; and that I cannot comply with meds as if my one medication is like a PRN. "All things work together for good, for those that love the Lord."(Rom 8:28)

   At first my husband couldn't understand why I needed a therapist; especially a psychiatrist. He said, "Honey! I don't see anything the matter with you. If we had a baby, oh boy! that baby would be smart!" I said what's wrong with a professional listening ear? Therapist don't tell us what to do. Then I remind him that several biblical characters had their bout with depression. I can recall going five days out of a week to NYU Diagnostic on First Avenue in New York City. I was preparing to get back into a nine to five job; but one day I had to be escorted home. My mind seemed to have closed itself down for some reason I could not, at that time, process. Here in Fayetteville,NC, I was attending 8 am class at Fay. Technical College, and by the end of that week, I had to be hospitalized.

   My great aunt always say, "You're not grounded in the word; that's why your other aunt and I gave you 3-ABN. It's those programs you look at on TV." I mostly take the fifth. She knew not... that I am not a TV person. She said nothing was the matter with me, I said, ever since Eden, something's the matter with everyone to a lesser or greater degree. Dr. Flom told the husband I have a chemical imbalance. I no longer see meds as a culprit; but as a stepping stone, right along with my own holistic regiment, to prolong wellness. I trust that anyone reading my sharing, and can relate, will find something helpful within these lines. Wishing you Peace, Faith, Creativity, and Wellness. 

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