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I was just diagnosed with bipolar recently, and I can't begin to explain the feelings i am having right now. I am 33 years old. My diagnosis followed a hospital stay which was caused by me taking 26 sleeping pills and washing it down with a double size bottle of wine. The scariest part of my suicide attempt is that i PLANNED it... I had thought about it for weeks -- how i would do it, when i would do it. I had quit my job and not left the house at all for almost a month. I looked up the sleeping pill on the internet to make sure I knew the lethal dosage, and went out to the store, bought the wine, picked up a super size bottler of these over-the-counter sleeping pills (yes, they are lethal!), and went home to carry out my plan. What I didn't realize is that under the influence of all those pills and the wine, I got SCARED.. I couldn't feel my legs, i thought i was paralyzed and I thought.. I have to get to a hospital -- it would be just my luck to end up crippled instead of dead.. and so, i made a phone call that ended in my hospital stay and diagnosis. (More embarrassment and humiliation, being taken away in an ambulance in front of all your neighbors whispering).
Prior to that, my story is similar to a lot of bp's i've seen and spoken with online. I've lost jobs because I thought I could do things "so much better than anyone else - these people are idiots", or i didn't show up at all because i was home in bed for 6 days. And I've quit jobs because i was ashamed of the erratic behavior I've displayed.. I've even gotten in fistfights with other managers at the office which is totally inappropriate considering I am a marketing manager. I had a boyfriend for 4 years (god bless him) who put up with me for 3 1/2 years too long. I cant count the number of times I've thrown fits, jumped out of cars, called the police on him, verbally and sometimes physically abused him - my mood would change on a dime, he never knew when or what was going to hit him. Since then it's been a downhill spiral of drinking, drugging (mostly cocaine cuz it keeps me "up"), more jobs, and blatantly shameless promiscuous behavior.
I've had dozens of deep depressive periods which I've affectionately termed "the dark days" and several manic/psychotic episodes which resulted in hospitalization or massive shame and embarrassment.
I never knew what was wrong with me. I can't keep friends, and i've just about pushed all of my family away. They think i am lazy, flaky, psycho, wacko, irresponsible, you name it. I once received a $10,000 inheritance and spent it on materials for my "new business" - which as you can gather, never went further than my mind's racing thoughts at 3:00 am. (all that junk is now sitting in storage. There are so many times i thought I would be better off dead, because what kind of a horrible person could do these things, could continue to disappoint and hurt my family and friends? I would ask God what did I do to deserve this.. why am I such a horrible person?? Well, now at least i finally know what is wrong with me, but that still doesn't change the hurts and shame from the past. When I am feeling more stable i plan to contact most of the (important) people that I've hurt over the years, and explain what was going on with me -- though it's not an excuse. In the meantime, I am still processing the idea of being mentally ill and all the stigma and prejudice that goes along with it. Not to mention the fact that I will have to live the rest of my life on medication, and I may possible pass this horrible illness onto my children, when and if i have them.
Thanks for letting me vent a little. It is great to have a site where you don't feel different. :)
My story isn't exactly like everyone else’s. I had a normal childhood, actually great if you ask me. I have a very loving family, who's very supportive. I grew up on an island out in the Gulf of Mexico with my grandparents, my aunt, and my mom. My mom & dad were divorced, but I still saw him a lot. He had a really bad coke problem though, so most of the time when I saw him, he was high. I don't really remember a whole lot of my childhood, except that my dad was absent for about 3 years, then reappeared with several new girlfriends, or new "stepmoms". My mom says I was the best kid she's ever seen, I never cried, I never whined, she says I never even asked for anything!
I remember in about 4th grade, I started getting into fights at school, and getting into trouble. I'm white, but the only people I seemed to connect with was black girls. We were sent up to the office almost everyday. I was still making straight A's though. In fifth grade, it was the same thing, even though I lived in an upscale neighborhood & went to a really rich school. I was really embarrassed at school though, because I was the only girl who had already went through puberty.
My home life, by that time, was a bit hectic. We had 5 roommates, who all had either serious drug problems, or just serious problems. One of our roommates friends sons became one of our new roommates, and my mom's new boyfriend. He seemed OK at first. He was a paramedic, and he had fought in Desert Storm. It seemed to me that he was a little violent, but by that time, my image of men included the characteristic of being violent. After about 3 months, him and my mom had gotten engaged, and wanted to move to Virginia. I was very upset on the inside, but showed no signs of it on the outside. I put on an award winning show of being happy and excited. My mom went on vacation up to Illinois to visit my aunt, and when she came back, they broke up. She said something felt different. I was relieved. After they broke up, he continued to live with us, but he started showing his true colors. He started emotionally abusing me, by telling me that I'm too stupid for anything, and telling me other stuff. By the way, I was always told that I was an extremely intelligent child, so I kind of shrugged it off, even though deep down it was hurting me.
One night, after I'd went to the skating rink, I fell down and hurt myself, and I came home and my mom was sleeping, but my stepfather was still awake. I went in my room and fell asleep. A couple of hours later, I was awaken by my stepfather pulling down my underwear, telling me that I need to go the doctor for my hip that I'd hurt while skating. He ended up raping me. I really can't remember what exactly happened, because my mind won't let me. I was too afraid to tell anyone in fear that he'd flip out and kill me or my mom. A couple of weeks later, my mom had found out he was doing drugs. She went into his room and found all his coke and heroin, and flushed it down the toilet. He came home later, and immediately found out what she did, and beat her. I remember watching the whole time screaming and crying. The cops were called, and we still lived in the upscale neighborhood, so all of my friends were watching the cops arresting him. The cops were trying to arrest my mom, because she was trying to get away from him, and the phone fell and hit his foot. I had to tell the cops everything that had happened, while all of my "normal" friends were watching.
I wanted more than anything to tell my mom about the rape, but I was too afraid that she would blame me, or not care. I also felt that she should've known, because I was her daughter, and I was obviously depressed, which was an unreasonable feeling. She's not a mind reader. About 2 weeks after the incident, my uncle, 2 of my aunts, their boyfriends, my mom, and I all went to visit the island. We decided to go jet skiing, my mom and aunt on one, and then me and my uncle on another. My aunt was driving, and she stopped because she dropped something in the water, but my uncle was turned around talking to me, so we ended up hitting my mom in the back and she immediately fell off. The ambulance came to get her, and we rushed to the hospital. We had broken her back. I was so depressed because I felt like it was all my fault. There was also no way that I could've told her about the rape because that would've been too much for the family to deal with.
We moved back to Orlando into some apartments. That's when I started getting really bad. I was still 11, but I had started smoking cigarettes, drinking alcohol, and experimenting with boys. My first real experience was with my best friends 19 year old cousin. I now know there had to be something extremely wrong with him to be with an 11 year old. That started my long trip downhill, all the way down, depressed as hell, but not facing it. My whole 6th grade year, I was known as a "slut" and a "whore". I'd never had sex yet, but I DID have 16 different boyfriends, going a little bit farther with each one. When I just turned 13, I'd finally lost my virginity to someone I knew I didn't love yet. Fortunately enough, I did fall in love with him, but I'd tried to push him away and keep him at the same time. With him, is when I started doing heavy drugs like pot, acid, coke, special K, ecstasy, speed, and other drugs. We were on and off for about 3 years, while I'd had 6 other sexual partners. He finally hit his rock bottom, and had to go to rehab. The thing about me was, I always seemed to have everything under control even though I always knew I didn't. When he came out, we were back together, and in love again. We went out for another 9 months, and ended the relationship with him hitting me and choking me one night, this Super Bowl Sunday. That was also the day I told my mom about the rape, 5 years after it happened.
I'm 16 years old now, and I'm still having drug problems, though not as serious as they used to be. I am a diagnosed alcoholic, and I am diagnosed with BiPolar Disorder. I accept that, though, and I'm trying to live my life as any ordinary person, as hard as it is. I AM thankful, though, that I can accept it, and try and work with it. I have dropped out of high school, but I'm getting my G.E.D. and enrolling into Valencia Community College this fall. I plan to study forensic sciences, and move onto a University. It may be a little harder for me, since I am BiPolar, but I'm willing to put in extra effort to achieve my goals. My motivation is all the people that have told me I couldn't do it. When I'm a Forensic Scientist with the FBI, I think I'll toss them a quarter or two when they're sitting on the side of the street. :0)
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