I Am Bipolar
Treat us with respect. We’re real people. We don’t want to be condescended to. We don’t believe you know better than we do—except when we know we are having some kind of episode. But don’t hospitalize us against our will. We may never trust you after that. Even if we think we trust you, there’s a part of us that may try to make things hard on you by just letting it go the next time, forcing you to deal with it again. So don’t baby us.
The people I’ve seen who remain sick the longest are those whose caretakers believe they have to do everything for us. We want to be responsible for ourselves and we can be, but if you take over, it kind of backfires.
You should provide support, but not be a nanny. Sometimes that can seem like a subtle difference, but the key is to always make sure we are on board with what you think we should be doing. We want to get better, but we don’t want to be forced to get better.
I got sick about four years ago, and I did a lot of things as part of my process of healing that hurt my wife. The process seemed, at many times, like it was more destructive than constructive. I pushed my wife away. I wanted her to hate me because it would confirm my own view of myself. I acted out sexually which threatened her, of course.
But I also always loved her and wanted to fix things between us. My acting out was a symptom, not a real desire for divorce, although it was not always clear to me that was the case. I was not, however, the person I had been before I was sick, nor the person I became as a result of being sick.
The sick me—wow. I don’t know what to say. I was so different. I was upside down and backwards in my thinking. Pushing my wife away to see if she loved me. Pushing everyone away to see how they really felt. Feeling bad about myself because I wasn’t getting better no matter what I did. Feeling less human because the meds were the only thing between me and death. The meds changed the way I thought (and still do), and it makes me feel powerless.
I got better. One day at a time (wundayatta time). I remain well the same way. I do not take for granted that I can remain well, but for today, I can.
Encourage your person to get therapy and do group therapy and to take meds and make all the arrangements for him or her. But let us choose whether to go or not. If you pressure us, it probably won’t work.
Above all, tell us you love us. Over and over. We don’t believe we are lovable. Not when we’re sick, anyway. All we really want is to feel like a person—lovable, cared for, like we matter. When you don’t matter, you often just want to get it over and die. It hurts so much you can not possibly understand without being there. We just want the pain to end and sometimes it seems endless. Only death seems like a salve. But we don’t want to die. We just want the pain to end. That’s all. And love, too.
The people I’ve seen who remain sick the longest are those whose caretakers believe they have to do everything for us. We want to be responsible for ourselves and we can be, but if you take over, it kind of backfires.
You should provide support, but not be a nanny. Sometimes that can seem like a subtle difference, but the key is to always make sure we are on board with what you think we should be doing. We want to get better, but we don’t want to be forced to get better.
I got sick about four years ago, and I did a lot of things as part of my process of healing that hurt my wife. The process seemed, at many times, like it was more destructive than constructive. I pushed my wife away. I wanted her to hate me because it would confirm my own view of myself. I acted out sexually which threatened her, of course.
But I also always loved her and wanted to fix things between us. My acting out was a symptom, not a real desire for divorce, although it was not always clear to me that was the case. I was not, however, the person I had been before I was sick, nor the person I became as a result of being sick.
The sick me—wow. I don’t know what to say. I was so different. I was upside down and backwards in my thinking. Pushing my wife away to see if she loved me. Pushing everyone away to see how they really felt. Feeling bad about myself because I wasn’t getting better no matter what I did. Feeling less human because the meds were the only thing between me and death. The meds changed the way I thought (and still do), and it makes me feel powerless.
I got better. One day at a time (wundayatta time). I remain well the same way. I do not take for granted that I can remain well, but for today, I can.
Encourage your person to get therapy and do group therapy and to take meds and make all the arrangements for him or her. But let us choose whether to go or not. If you pressure us, it probably won’t work.
Above all, tell us you love us. Over and over. We don’t believe we are lovable. Not when we’re sick, anyway. All we really want is to feel like a person—lovable, cared for, like we matter. When you don’t matter, you often just want to get it over and die. It hurts so much you can not possibly understand without being there. We just want the pain to end and sometimes it seems endless. Only death seems like a salve. But we don’t want to die. We just want the pain to end. That’s all. And love, too.
By:
wundayatta
Age:
56-60
,
Male
