Note from Dr. Psych Mom: This is a great guest post that takes us behind the scenes into what happens when you are given the incorrect diagnosis for your disorder.
With bipolar, this is unfortunately common, because providers usually only see you in a depressed state, and when you look back, your manic or hypomanic episodes seem like times of productivity rather than mania.
I’m guessing at the timeline because it has been so long since I was diagnosed. I think the journey began in 2005. Almost ten years ago. Man, I didn’t realize it was so long.
I had expressed concern to a friend, who also happened to be a therapist, that I was continually thinking of suicide. He suggested I speak to my primary care doctor and to a therapist who was nearer to me.
Both the PC and the initial therapist believed I was in the grip of clinical depression. The PC prescribed one of the more popular anti-depressants. The therapist saw me weekly for 1.5 years.
At first, the anti-depressant lessened some of the depressive feelings.
Colors were more colorful. I was interested in eating again. I wasn’t ignoring my kids.
But the suicidal thoughts weren’t lessening. At times they seemed intensified.
And then everything changed.
I recall randomly deciding I needed to go hiking. On a canyon rim. While there was a windstorm happening.
I wasn’t actively suicidal at the moment I made this decision. It just sounded like a really awesome idea, and I thought that I would completely enjoy everything about the short trip. I could also get some awesome photographs while traipsing about.
It took a few months, but the anti-depressant had tripped a manic switch in my brain.
I was right about the photographs.
My creativity does fluctuate during my mood swings, but there is no real baseline for it. Sometimes I am super-creative while depressed; sometimes I am not. Often I am when I am manic but, it doesn’t always translate well because I can’t focus for long enough to be great at my chosen creative outlet.
I also nearly was blown into the canyon by a particularly strong gust of wind.
I was lucky then (and so many other times, more than I can count). The wind gust did knock me from my perch on top of a 40′ boulder, but I stopped my fall one-handed and was able to right myself and climb down (and I kept the camera safe).
When I got home and finally got some sleep — chronic insomnia plagues me, no matter my mood state, but I do recall I hadn’t slept in about 60 hours at that point — and gradually returned to a more normal mood, I started to wonder if there was something other than clinical depression going on.
I picked up a book, An Unquiet Mind by Kay Redfield Jamison. So much of her story resonated with me, and I brought it up with my therapist (along with my escapades in the canyon).
My therapist agreed that Bipolar disorder seemed more likely than depression, and he gave me the number for a psychiatric nurse so I could investigate the myriad types of drugs used for treatment.
After visiting with her a number of times I discontinued the anti-depressant I was taking and began taking three different drugs — and was newly labeled as Bipolar I.
Fast forward two and a half years. I stopped seeing that psychiatric nurse and started seeing another (because the first one actually gave up on ever being able to successfully treat me. It was a significant blow to me).
I stopped seeing that therapist and found another (the first one could no longer really help me as he was out of his depth).
After another one and a half years of changing meds, trying different cocktails, and eventually trying lithium — which I happen to be allergic to — the new psychiatric nurse, after consultation with a psychiatrist, and careful conversation with me, made the decision that I am also medication resistant.
I tried multiple therapies. Being drug resistant meant I had to work harder to stay stable. And even hard work doesn’t always pay off. Thus far though, it is all about regularly speaking with my therapist, performing activities that are stress relieving (meditation, yoga, photography, coloring, listening to music), and, when possible, avoiding triggering situations.
My diagnosis has progressed quite a lot. The official one (now) is Bipolar I, Rapid Cycling with Mixed States, Hallucinations, Suicidal Ideation, and Medication Resistant.
It’s a mouthful. And I don’t really need the official label personally to deal with the illness. Very few people ever even get to hear the whole thing, because it isn’t really relevant to most people I come into contact with.
I’m lucky, by the way. I’ve never put myself into financial ruin or completely ruined a friendship.
Generally in the midst of mania, I tend to start and stop projects as frequently as one should shower. I also put myself into some really rather dangerous situations because I don’t really believe I can die.
Part of me is thankful, by the way, for the initial mixed diagnoses.
I was lucky that I was able to find professional people who took what I was saying seriously.
Even though the initial diagnosis was wrong, the medication likely forced the mania, and that was also a blessing of sorts. A different path to find the right treatment for me.
It wasn’t, incidentally, the first case of mania I had experienced, but no one around me knew what the heck was happening when I was a teenager.
The correct diagnosis explains an awful lot of behaviors though, which is a good thing I think.
So, I’ll keep slogging along as I do now. My therapy and coping skills largely keep me stable-ish — which is really what I’m looking for.
I’m a great mom, a valued employee, and an awesome friend to those who have stuck around and can handle me…and sometimes…sometimes, I lose my s***.
Dr. Samantha Rodman Whiten, aka Dr. Psych Mom, is a clinical psychologist in private practice and the founder of DrPsychMom. She works with adults and couples in her group practice Best Life Behavioral Health.
This article was originally published at Dr. Psych Mom. Reprinted with permission from the author.
