It's been a while since I have blogged anything,
I suppose all the excitement of summer time and expecting a second baby has distracted
me from thinking on paper. Normally, I blog about political issues but today, on World Mental Health Day no less,
something happened that made me angry enough I'm not sure what else to do. So I
am going to write just a little bit about mental health, mostly my own history
of questionable mental health and its accompanying lifetime of baggage.
When I was younger I was diagnosed with numerous
mental health conditions by various psychologists and psychiatrists, and eventually
it was determined that I had Manic-Depression, now commonly known as Bipolar
Mood Disorder, after seeing a psychiatrist who specialized in juvenile
psychiatry. The immediate course of action was a prescription for Lithium,
still the gold standard for treating Bipolar, and regularly scheduled
psychotherapy. For more than two decades now I have been living with this
label, this condition, this affliction, this fall back excuse for bad behavior.
As an adult I have been known to participate in
psychotherapy, take prescription medications, use illicit drugs, consume
unreasonable quantities of alcohol, and isolate myself from family and friends
in a constant effort to deal with this diagnosis. Most recently in 2006 after
recognizing how my alcoholic tendencies were damaging my marriage I quit
drinking and started therapy again after more than 10 years of self-medication
and self-management. The prescription medications and regular psychotherapy
helped me re-center myself and regain control of my life; a series of insurance
changes at work eventually connected me with a new therapist at a time when I
was having difficulty sticking to my medication routine and needing more
effective psychotherapy. While I wasn't melting down or freaking out, I wasn't
taking my pills and I couldn't get over the mental hurdle to start taking them,
even though I was acknowledging that I was straying from my treatment plan in
ways that have traditionally bordered on dangerous.
Just two days before my first appointment with my
new therapist I learned I was pregnant with baby Nykola. And when I met the
therapist and explained the problem with my medication schedule, and confessed
it had been more than three months since I had taken any pills she was thrilled
- telling me that it was my body's subconscious preparation for pregnancy, and
how wonderfully in tune I must be! I was a little surprised and a little relieved
that her reaction was not geared towards getting me back on medications, but
rather at managing this diagnosis without medications during pregnancy and
nursing.
We worked hard at recognizing the difference between
having emotions, and reacting to emotions - it's totally normal to experience a
wide range of emotions throughout your lifetime, what's sometimes not so normal
for me is my reaction to those emotions, and therein lays both the problem and
the solution. The hard work paid off and I am now pregnant with number two, and
still medication-free after three years, without any of the "normal"
problems associated with people who have a Bipolar diagnosis and aren't taking
their medication. Mostly because I focus on experiencing my emotions,
evaluating how they make me feel, and creating a thoughtful response, rather
than just reacting to them - the difference is huge, dare I say it's even
noticeable.
The problem that has me upset is that anytime my
response, no matter how controlled and thoughtful, is unpopular with the
listener suddenly I become this diagnosis: unstable, in need of counseling and
medication, and expected to grovel an apology to whomever was offended that
includes the standard, fall back excuse of having this Bipolar diagnosis. Never mind the fact that my diagnosing
psychiatrist is now a felon after being convicted of implanting false memories
of cannibalism, Satan worship, and baby sacrifices into multiple patients.
Never mind that my both my previous and current therapist doubt the diagnosis'
validity, both noting that I still benefit from regular psychotherapy but fall
short of exhibiting symptoms that require, or even benefit, from medications. And
never mind that the point of therapy, of putting in all this hard work, isn't now, and has never been to make other people happy with the responses to my emotions.
As a human being I am entitled to experience the
full range my emotions without shame, I am entitled to respond to those
emotions without shame, and if on any one occasion someone is unhappy with my
response well that's too bad - because I am happy, happier now than I have ever
been, and completely unapologetic about being happy without medication, even
when it upsets others. If it makes
people feel better to blame the diagnosis when I speak my mind I guess that's
fine, as long as they realize this is the behavior that perpetuates the stigma.
