Imagine, if you will, an eagle with one broken leg. While in flight the eagle can soar with the best of them. The problem is landing. Left with only one good leg, every time the eagle comes in to land the result is not pretty. And then, to avoid the rough landing, it is determined that the only reasonable choice is to keep the eagle from flying. And so, rather than being able to soar (and crash land), the eagle now is restricted to limping along on the ground.
That pretty much describes how I feel today about being treated for Bipolar II.
But first, a few notes on the diagnosis and treatment that I've experienced. First of all, diagnosis of mental health issues is not an exact science. There are no brain chemistry tests to determine what exactly is going on in there. In my case, I was first diagnosed with dysthymia (long term, low grade depression) with major depressive episodes. Later on, a lovely word was added to the diagnosis -- "unresponsive", meaning that in spite of treatment with many different medicines and a substantial amount of therapy the depression continued. It was like having a viral infection as opposed to a bacterial infection. It simply had to run its course.
After unsuccessfully trying to treat the depression with anti-depressants the decision was made to change my diagnosis to Bipolar II and use a mood stabilizer as the major therapeutic drug. This has been more successful. There is a type of backwards diagnosis going on here. If the depression responds to a mood stabilizer, but not to an anti-depressant, then the likelihood is that one is dealing with Bipolar depression, not 'normal' depression.
I wish that I could say that having the correct diagnosis, and treating my Bipolar II condition, has now restored me to health and everything is just fine. What has happened for me is that the ups and downs that I was experiencing have been replaced with a consistent low grade depression. I once told my doctor that if we were going to stabilize my mood, could we wait and stabilize it during a hypo-manic phase. A persistent state of 'soaring with the eagles' sounds a lot better than hobbling along on the ground.
This is my experience. During the ten years or so that I was self-medicating with alcohol I was functioning at a very high level. I had one of my most substantial and sustained period of hypo-mania and was accomplishing much. If that could have been sustained I would never sought treatment in the first place. And quite frankly, if I could return to that state I would do so in a heart beat. There were two problems. They both have to do with the progression, the trajectory, that I was on. With respect to the bipolar symptoms, the highs kept getting higher, and the lows lower, and the transition between the two more pronounced and in my words, violent. The second problem is that alcoholism is likewise progressive. It was taking more and more alcohol to have the same effect, and with the increased consumption came an increase in the negative consequences. Alcohol works until it doesn't and then it never will again. What happened was that I had a rock bottom, a major crash and burn, and not treating my condition, both the alcoholism and the Bipolar disorder was simply not an option.
The disturbing thing for me is that prior to treatment I was functioning at a high level. Though I have to acknowledge that in the year prior to treatment I was on a downward spiral. On October 14th, 2012, I crashed and burned and entered into treatment. But I was not in anyway prepared for what happened. The first thing we addressed was the alcohol, and I have been clean and sober since October 15th, 2012. Then the effort was made to treat the depression. However, rather than it getting better, it got progressively worse. And new conditions developed. I started having partial complex seizures. I was diagnosed with PTSD. The depression intensified until I was no longer able to function and went on disability. I began to notice that I was "rapid cycling", that is, I would awake between 1 and 3 am, and have an elevated mood, be able to accomplish a lot, etc.. But then by 3 or 4 in the afternoon it was like the San Francisco fog rolled in and I would bottom out, unable to function at a most basic level. (In the years that have passed, the violent swings in mood have been moderated, but I continue to experience a low grade depression and struggle greatly to maintain even a modest work schedule.)
Now this is the way I'm tempted to think. Life was better, as a whole, prior to beginning treatment. I would like to erase from my memory the last six months, or so, prior to entering treatment so that I could maintain the illusion of how good life was. It is tempting to think that it is the treatment itself that now shackles me, leaving me disabled. If the medication is the problem, then the solution is easy and straight forward. Stop taking the damn pills. I know fully well why so many people with a bipolar diagnosis decide to stop taking their meds. They want to soar with the eagles once again. Life on the ground doesn't feel that good.
That's the temptation. However, ceasing meds is a cardinal sin for someone who is bipolar. In my case I am well aware that if I were to cease meds, my periods of hypo-mania would likely progress rapidly into a full blown manic state, probably requiring further hospitalization. Also, the depressive states would progress to dangerously intense levels. And so I continue to remain in treatment and religiously take my meds.
But it is like that eagle being told that the dangers of landing with only one good leg are too great, and the only solution is to never fly again. I would suppose that an eagle would not be thrilled about that. And quite frankly, neither am I.
After unsuccessfully trying to treat the depression with anti-depressants the decision was made to change my diagnosis to Bipolar II and use a mood stabilizer as the major therapeutic drug. This has been more successful. There is a type of backwards diagnosis going on here. If the depression responds to a mood stabilizer, but not to an anti-depressant, then the likelihood is that one is dealing with Bipolar depression, not 'normal' depression.
I wish that I could say that having the correct diagnosis, and treating my Bipolar II condition, has now restored me to health and everything is just fine. What has happened for me is that the ups and downs that I was experiencing have been replaced with a consistent low grade depression. I once told my doctor that if we were going to stabilize my mood, could we wait and stabilize it during a hypo-manic phase. A persistent state of 'soaring with the eagles' sounds a lot better than hobbling along on the ground.
This is my experience. During the ten years or so that I was self-medicating with alcohol I was functioning at a very high level. I had one of my most substantial and sustained period of hypo-mania and was accomplishing much. If that could have been sustained I would never sought treatment in the first place. And quite frankly, if I could return to that state I would do so in a heart beat. There were two problems. They both have to do with the progression, the trajectory, that I was on. With respect to the bipolar symptoms, the highs kept getting higher, and the lows lower, and the transition between the two more pronounced and in my words, violent. The second problem is that alcoholism is likewise progressive. It was taking more and more alcohol to have the same effect, and with the increased consumption came an increase in the negative consequences. Alcohol works until it doesn't and then it never will again. What happened was that I had a rock bottom, a major crash and burn, and not treating my condition, both the alcoholism and the Bipolar disorder was simply not an option.
The disturbing thing for me is that prior to treatment I was functioning at a high level. Though I have to acknowledge that in the year prior to treatment I was on a downward spiral. On October 14th, 2012, I crashed and burned and entered into treatment. But I was not in anyway prepared for what happened. The first thing we addressed was the alcohol, and I have been clean and sober since October 15th, 2012. Then the effort was made to treat the depression. However, rather than it getting better, it got progressively worse. And new conditions developed. I started having partial complex seizures. I was diagnosed with PTSD. The depression intensified until I was no longer able to function and went on disability. I began to notice that I was "rapid cycling", that is, I would awake between 1 and 3 am, and have an elevated mood, be able to accomplish a lot, etc.. But then by 3 or 4 in the afternoon it was like the San Francisco fog rolled in and I would bottom out, unable to function at a most basic level. (In the years that have passed, the violent swings in mood have been moderated, but I continue to experience a low grade depression and struggle greatly to maintain even a modest work schedule.)
Now this is the way I'm tempted to think. Life was better, as a whole, prior to beginning treatment. I would like to erase from my memory the last six months, or so, prior to entering treatment so that I could maintain the illusion of how good life was. It is tempting to think that it is the treatment itself that now shackles me, leaving me disabled. If the medication is the problem, then the solution is easy and straight forward. Stop taking the damn pills. I know fully well why so many people with a bipolar diagnosis decide to stop taking their meds. They want to soar with the eagles once again. Life on the ground doesn't feel that good.
That's the temptation. However, ceasing meds is a cardinal sin for someone who is bipolar. In my case I am well aware that if I were to cease meds, my periods of hypo-mania would likely progress rapidly into a full blown manic state, probably requiring further hospitalization. Also, the depressive states would progress to dangerously intense levels. And so I continue to remain in treatment and religiously take my meds.
But it is like that eagle being told that the dangers of landing with only one good leg are too great, and the only solution is to never fly again. I would suppose that an eagle would not be thrilled about that. And quite frankly, neither am I.
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