How I Live with Bipolar Disorder

Bipolar disorder runs in my family. My father and five of his six brothers and sisters had it. For most of my life I feared it would get me also. But by the time I was 55, I thought I was going to be lucky and bipolar disorder wasn’t going to get me. What follows is an account of my struggles with bipolar disorder and how I live with it.

I had been feeling great, even better than great. I had lots of energy, lots of ideas, worked hard without getting tired. Then I suddenly had bouts of intense, zooming anxiety about nothing at all. I saw a psychiatrist who had treated me for depression about a year previous. At the time he was treating me for depression, he also wanted me to take a mood stabilizer but I would have none of it. A mood stabilizer meant bipolar disorder and I didn’t have it. The doctor prescribed Xanax and it helped.

Then one night I went to bed and a sudden almost uncontrollable urge to hit and hit and hit my husband got hold of me. I had to get out of the bedroom for fear of attacking him. I couldn’t sleep and felt wild, raging, despairing.
The next morning I felt great and wanted to go fishing, something I hadn’t done nor had any desire to do for 30 years. I ran around town buying a pole and tackle, a fishing license, and bait. The drivers of other cars seemed to always be getting in my way and I just wanted to smash them. People in line at the stores seemed rude and loud and I just wanted to smash them with my fists.

Suddenly, as evening came on, my mood changed. I dropped into a bit of agonizing despair with a psychic pain that seemed to cut into my very soul. I couldn’t sleep with my husband. I couldn’t sleep. I sat on the porch, smoking. I tried to light fire to a bunch of corn stalks. I pushed the cigarette into my skin and the physical pain of it brought relief.