I’m a firm believer in the fact that conversations about mental health should be normalized. That’s why for my first article here at Her Campus at UCF, I wanted to share a little bit about my story and living with bipolar disorder. Of course, I am not a mental health professional and this is only my story. Everyone’s story is different, and if you’re having a hard time with anything, please reach out to a mental health professional.
When I was 18, I was put into a mental hospital for the first time. It was in this hospital that I was first diagnosed as being bipolar, though I didn’t know it yet. I guess they didn’t think to tell me, or maybe they thought that I already knew. It wasn’t until I was looking through my old paperwork, months later, that I found that the doctor had put “manic depressive” along with my other diagnoses. When I found this, I thought it meant I was just very depressed, which was something I could have told you myself. After a quick Google search, I learned that manic depressive is what bipolar used to be called. I knew then that I had to talk with my therapist — surely a mistake had been made. At our next session, I told her what I had found and she decided to test me immediately. I passed the test with flying colors (go me!), and I was officially diagnosed within the next week. This diagnosis changed a lot of things in my life, including how I thought about myself and how I viewed my relationships with others.
When I say “bipolar,” what do you think of? Probably extreme mood swings. You might even think of someone that’s “crazy.” It’s okay, I know that’s what I always thought of it as well. However, being bipolar is so much more than just going between being happy and sad. In fact, there are two different types of bipolar. Bipolar 1, which has longer manic episodes, and Bipolar 2 which is what I have. According to the DSM-5, “bipolar 2 is characterized by high episodes of euphoria and low episodes of depression, known together as hypomania.”
When I first got my diagnosis, I just sat and stared at my therapist. I didn’t know what to think. To me, bipolar was an “extreme” mental illness. This way of thinking led to a lot of self-hatred. I had thought for years that I was just majorly depressed and had anxiety. At the age of 19, I had been in two mental hospitals and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I felt like I was crazy; like there was something majorly wrong with me. I dreaded telling my family and friends. What if I was a burden on them? My roommates had to deal with past mania without even knowing what was happening. The same thing with my parents. Now I had to rely on them to be my support system during those times.
I felt horrible, especially when my mania would come, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I wouldn’t be myself, I could be mean or I could be bouncing off the walls. It would just depend. I was scared that they thought that I was crazy. I was also scared to let anyone in romantically. What if the person I was with didn’t want to deal with me? I grew to hate my brain and everything that came with it. The world seemed unfair. And for a while, it was. That is until I was able to realize a few things that I think will help others that are struggling.
I learned that I am not something to be “dealt with.” I am human, I am not perfect and I deserve to be with people who love me for me and who support me through everything. Thankfully, I have people like that in my life now (shoutout to Jackie and Jes!). Now, at the age of 20, I learned that through therapy, medication and support groups, there is a way to take control of my bipolar disorder. I was so used to letting my mental illnesses define me, but that doesn’t have to be the case. Yes, I’m bipolar. Yes, I’m on medication. Yes, I’m in therapy, but there is so much more to me than that. I’m an author, I’m a friend, I’m a sorority girl, an au pair, a daughter. All of these things, the good and the not-so-good make me who I am. I wouldn’t trade my experiences for anything. I am proud of myself for working through everything that has been thrown my way and coming out the other side better than I was before.