Happy World Mental Health Day

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.