If you have ever experienced any type of severe mental health issues that caused you to behave in ways that weren’t you and that might have also done other things to you – like, for example, mess with your physical health or instill misguided beliefs in your mind – then you’re in good company.
When September 2017 rolled around, my physical and mental health were both down in the dumps. I had unintentionally lost more than 50 pounds over the prior few months. Although I had the weight to spare, the way I shed it without any effort on my part was far from healthy. And I have no doubt that one of the culprits in my unhealthy weight loss was the destructive distaste for food that I had mysteriously developed. Because food now disgusted me, it was all I could do to eat just enough to keep me puttering along. And the malnourishment that resulted had me beginning to look like I was preparing for a zombie role in The Walking Dead.
On top of the extreme, unintentional weight loss, I was exhibiting all the signs of a bad stomach ulcer. As a result, I was put under and scoped, but as the scope searched, it uncovered no signs of an ulcer. It seems that my body had pulled a fast one on me!
If the decline of my physical health and its mean-spirited fast ones weren’t enough, depression was a regular part of my life.
If the decline of my physical health and its mean-spirited fast ones weren’t enough, depression was a regular part of my life. I had been dealing with deep, dark episodes of depression for as long as I could remember (which, I did my best to keep hidden from others because of how ashamed I was of it), but the depression that I was stuck in back in 2017 was especially deep and dark. It was the kind of depression that left my wife worried that she would be widowed.
When I wasn’t in the depths of depression, I would experience episodes of hypomania – a revved-up state of mind that, for me, causes behavior that I’m less than proud of. For example, the obsession to buy and hoard more plants than I can physically house or believe that I could take on whatever I wanted only to have my motivation and energy dry up as quickly as they sprang.
And then there was the uncontrollable anxiety. It didn’t matter what my state of mind was – depressed or hypomanic – anxiety was with me like a loyal sidekick. I don’t think I actually knew what a day without the intense, palm-dampening, armpit-sweat-inducing, gut-wrenching anxiety was like at that time.
And to add to the angst and shame, I had absolutely no clue as to why I had no control over these things.
I was not in control of my faculties during these episodes and that worried me. It worried me that I couldn’t control my own thoughts, feelings, and behaviors – the very things I should be able to control because as adults that’s one of the basic things that we grow up learning to do. And to add to the angst and shame, I had absolutely no clue as to why I had no control over these things.
It was also at this time in my life that I had nearly given up all hope of ever turning my health around. I had been a patient of a primary care physician for many, many years who in the end, I learned the hard way by blindly following along, ultimately didn’t have my best interest and health in mind (which is a whole other story). In search of a new physician with the hope of one last-ditch effort to discover a way of turning my health around, I received raving recommendations from some trusted colleagues to go and meet with their primary care physician.
I made an appointment to meet with this recommended physician and after meeting with me for the first time and learning about my turbulent health history, she was genuinely puzzled that my prior primary care physician had never once referred me to a psychiatrist for the proper evaluation of my mental health. And so that was her first order of business as my new physician – to refer me to a psychiatrist for a proper evaluation of my mental health.
On the 5th of September, 2017, nearly two months shy of my 37th birthday, I met with a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with bipolar II disorder.
On the 5th of September, 2017, nearly two months shy of my 37th birthday, I met with a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with bipolar II disorder (pronounced “bipolar two disorder”) – a serious, life-long, pendulum mood-swinging mental illness that can also manifest physical health issues if left unchecked – much like the ones I had been experiencing. Finally! I had an answer as to what had plagued me for so much of my life.
Now, you would think that this would have been a joyous moment for me. In hindsight, it most definitely was. At the time, it most definitely was not. Rather than being overjoyed and accepting of this diagnosis, I felt dejected and deflated. Being diagnosed with a mental illness, especially one I knew nothing about other than there was a stigma attached to it, immediately led me to believe that I was inherently broken and a failure. My belief of being broken stemmed from me viewing the diagnosis as a defect in my makeup. And my belief of being a failure stemmed from me not being able to control my own faculties.
I reflected on how often this illness had made me believe that ending my life was a better option than living it.
In the days after being diagnosed, I moved forward with taking the new medications I was prescribed as directed (and even nowadays, because of their necessity, I still continue to take my medications as directed, although my dosages are significantly higher now than they were back then). I also did a lot of self-reflection. I reflected on how often this illness had made me believe that ending my life was a better option than living it. I reflected on how often this illness had made me feel so alone and that nobody else would ever understand what I was going through because I didn’t even understand what I was going through. And I reflected on how often this illness had filled me with frustration and anger and even caused me to regretfully lash out at my loved ones because of the lack of control I had over the direction and severity of my rollercoaster moods.
On the flip side, however, I also began reflecting on all the good in my life that I had despite the pains brought on over the years by this illness. I met and married my wife, who, if it was not for her and her continued love, support, and never-ending encouragement to seek medical care, I would not be here writing this today. I reflected on my daughter and how much I love her and how much she loves me. I reflected on how, despite everything this illness has thrown at me, I was able to work full-time while at the same time attending college where I eventually earned my bachelor’s degree in computer science. Along the same timeline, I kept working my way up the ladder of my human resources career, where I ended up managing and leading an incredible team of human resource professionals.
This acceptance was essential in allowing me to replace my misguided beliefs about having bipolar II disorder.
To fill the knowledge void I had about the illness, Google became my go-to. The more I learned about this disorder, the more it explained my life and why I do the things I do. This learning and life explanation, paired with the budding, mood-stabilizing benefits of the medications I had begun taking along with my deep self-reflection, gave me the courage I needed to finally accept my diagnosis. This acceptance was essential in allowing me to replace my misguided beliefs about having bipolar II disorder. First, I’m not broken at all, rather, I’m just wired differently. And second, I’m not only victorious, but I am far more resilient than I ever believed I was because I not only survived living with undiagnosed, untreated bipolar II disorder for the majority of my life, but I managed to live a prosperous life despite it.
As of this writing, it’s been just over five (5) years since I was diagnosed with bipolar II disorder and my life is forever better because of being properly diagnosed. I would love to say that the much-more-stable and improved mental health that I’m experiencing nowadays is a simple result of acceptance paired with prescribed medications, however, that’s more than wishful thinking.
The diagnosis, my acceptance, and the prescribed medications weren’t a cure-all, fix-all giving me a smooth ride down Easy Street after that; instead, I have had to dig, not put, my nose to the grindstone to get to where I am now with my mental health – I even took a huge leap of faith back in March of 2021 by quitting the career in human resources I previously mentioned because my mental health had again found itself on the path leading to the dumps.
And while I’m not yet where I’d like to be with regard to my mental health, I could not be more grateful for where my mental health is now compared to pre-diagnosis, acceptance, and medications.
And while I’m not yet where I’d like to be with regard to my mental health, I could not be more grateful for where my mental health is now compared to pre-diagnosis, acceptance, and medications. Because of this, I’m deeply motivated to continue digging my nose into the grindstone of improving my mental health. And that’s not all! Because of all that I have endured as a result of this illness, it’s my sincere hope that sharing my experiences of living with bipolar II disorder and all that comes in its wake, will help you avoid and/or get through some of the same pain and suffering.
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