My Personal Experience With Manic-Depression (Bipolar Disorder)

[Note: I wrote this page in 1997, which describes the course of my first episode of mental illness. Rather than change it I’ve added an update as of December 2002]

I was diagnosed as having Bipolar Disorder in 1996. Until that year I had had no mental health problems. In Mid-may we went away as a family and everything seemed fine. In the two weeks following Memorial Day I was sleeping gradually less and less and very excited about various things. I was enjoying life; I was “on a high”; I had no idea that anything might be wrong. By June 10 I had had two nights with only two or three hours sleep. On June 10 I was having extreme mood swings and major delusions in my thinking (I know this now but at the time I didn’t realize it). My husband Steve was becoming more and more aware that I was talking and behaving strangely and he finally called my Mom early in the morning on June 11. Steve had no idea what was wrong but my Mom was sure from the symptoms that I was manic. She is familiar with them since my Dad is Bipolar. She suggested Steve take me to the emergency room of a hospital with a psychiatric unit for diagnosis and treatment.

So we went to the emergency room at around 7 a.m. after making arrangements for someone to look after our children. I was diagnosed as being manic and it was recommended that I was admitted, which I agreed to. Soon after my admission I was forcibly taken to the “quiet room” (this is a room with no furniture, with a mat on the floor and two cameras to watch you, which is locked from the outside) because I grabbed another patient (I did this because I wanted to tell her something and she was going the other direction so I ran after her and grabbed hold of her). I didn’t know there was a “no touching rule” until then. In fact I don’t think that anything had been explained to me about the rules and procedures of the psychiatric unit, at that point. A psychiatry resident came and talked to me shortly after that, in the quiet room, with my husband still present. Then it was 1.00 p.m. and all guests had to leave, so all the hospital staff and my husband left me alone in the quiet room and three nurses came back and forced me to take some medication which I didn’t want to do – since they had given me a sheet when I was admitted that said I had the right to refuse medication – but in spite of this they told me they’d inject it with a syringe if I didn’t take it orally, so I took it, not having any choice. I still think they violated my patient rights by forcing me to take that medication and a few months later I wrote a letter to the doctor about this and about my general dissatisfaction with the way I was treated in the hospital.

After I was forcibly given the medication I was left alone in the quiet room for a little while which was actually a good time for me since I prayed and sang a worship song and felt very much assured that whatever was happening, God would take care of me. I wrote a poem about this day, especially my quiet room experience, a couple of months later.

Then a nurse brought me lunch and right after that I fell asleep and was not aware of being conscious again until the next morning. (Steve said I talked to him a little in the evening when he visited, and it is on my records that I talked to a nurse in the night but I don’t remember any of that, which is a known side effect of Ativan, one of the medications they had made me take).

The day I was admitted was the day I was most ill. I was not having hallucinations but I was interpreting the outside world very differently from other people. I was very preoccupied with my own thoughts. I believed that God had singled me out for some very special purpose and was trying to figure that out. And everything I saw and heard that day had a deeper meaning and significance that I was also trying to figure out. All this figuring out took a lot of time, especially since I kept changing my mind or finding that my current “theory” needed some modification! When the social worker asked me some standard questions in the emergency room, I thought that these questions were “in code”, that they had a deeper meaning than their apparent literal one. So I answered them accordingly and proved myself in her eyes to be definitely manic. I suppose that is the proof but the sad thing is that when you get into psychiatric hospital people ask you such strange questions and treat you in such unusual ways that it is very confusing and I believe it encourages people to stay in their own unreal world and to wonder why the professionals are treating them so strangely and so disrespectfully. It is very disorientating to go in five hours from being in one’s normal environment to having one’s life controlled by people who will not answer your questions and have no interest in hearing that they are not acting in accordance with the little information they did give you – the patient rights sheet. Patients in psychiatric units are treated in ways that would be unthinkable anywhere else in our society. The staff probably assume that they are too ill to know the difference; well, that’s simply not true. Having a mental disorder does not take away a person’s ability to perceive whether they are being treated with kindness and respect as a human being, or as something less, that must be forcibly subdued and controlled, that will respond only to medication. Of course it saves a lot of time and money to handle patients this way. But I am convinced that it is not right and sets people up for future problems in accepting their diagnosis and finding the appropriate balance between taking personal responsibility for their wellness and seeking help and treatment as needed.

In any case, one of the questions the social worker asked me (which is known to them as “serial 7s”) was “What is 100 minus 7?” I heard the question and interpreted it to be a symbolic question about absolute truth and said something like “You tell me what it is and that’s what I think it is”. I think I could have given the answer 93 but it didn’t occur to me that that is what she was looking for! I wanted to convey to her the concept “I am on your side – I affirm your answer to the question” To answer the question assertively without hearing what she had to say would have implied that I was not interested in her perception of the world. I wanted to see what she thought the answer was and then agree with her – I was being “sensitive” to her way of looking at the world. I had “reasons” for everything I said but to the other people in the room my answers were silly; I was out of touch with reality. By the time I was in the quiet room I was thinking that maybe my current view of the world needed some major adjustments. I stopped looking for the deeper significance and tried to relate to people normally. What really hurt was that then it was too late. They weren’t listening. They didn’t bother to try to give me an answer when I said “Why must Steve leave at 1 O’clock? Why do you have a rule like that? I need him to be here with me!” And then they left the room and the three nurses came back with the medication that they gave me no choice about taking. I was very upset when I realized that I was absolutely powerless in the hands of these people, as they told me to take the medication. But in the same moment, I also realized that if I really believed that God was in control, then I could relax because He knew what was happening and had chosen to allow it in my life. In fact I realized that all morning I had been trying to figure out and do what was right – and that’s not easy when you think everything has a hidden meaning and you’re not sure what it is! And now I had no choice – well, hey, this was easy! I knew what to do! I didn’t like it but I believed that God had allowed me to get into this situation and decided to trust that whatever consequences ensued from me taking this, it was part of God’s plan for me. I really did think this at the time and it did reassure me. Then I was further assured that God was going to look after me, as I prayed and sang alone in the quiet room, as I mentioned already.

The next morning I woke up in a regular room in the psychiatric unit (I had been transferred from the quiet room at some point – I may have been “awake” when I moved but didn’t remember moving). I was feeling generally happy and went around trying to be nice to all the other patients. I immediately became best friends with one person and wondered why no-one else wanted to talk to me. I later realized that I had probably been on a unit with one other manic patient and the rest were there for depression! I attended a group session that morning in which we were asked to write down three goals for the day. I think this question was aimed more at the depressed patients since it posed no challenge for me – except that of limiting my goals to three, perhaps! At one point a patient said something and all the patients laughed but the nurse in charge didn’t. There was a definite sense of “us and them” in the room. Later I hugged my “friend” and got in trouble because of the “no touching” rule but I didn’t care. She drew me a picture and I told her some of my theories. I asked the staff for some colored pencils and found they had the person’s name on who I had grabbed the day before. So I gave them to her hoping that it would make up a little for what I had done the day before. I don’t know if it did or not. I have to wonder why they initially assigned me to a two person room with her. It seems like a crazy thing to do to put a manic person in with a depressed one – they are guaranteed to drive each other nuts! After my quiet room experience I found myself in a private room. I suppose they had reconsidered whether I should be sharing a room.

I had decided during my quiet room time alone the day before that I would agree to whatever the doctors said and not try to resist anything (that this was what God wanted me to do). Late that morning I met with the resident from the day before and a psychiatrist, with Steve and my Mom (who had flown in to help) present too. I could see for myself that my symptoms were symptoms of mania but I was not yet convinced that I was Bipolar rather than merely having the same symptoms by coincidence! But I kept this to myself. It’s noted on my medical records that I cried as I agreed with the diagnosis. It’s not an easy thing to agree to. That was one of the most humbling moments of my life.

The doctors decided that I could go home since I had Steve and my Mom to look after me. I was very pleased because I was expecting to be in the hospital for a while. I was a little bit disappointed to be going home after I hadn’t even had a chance to get to know anyone, but mostly I was pleased, especially because the rest of my immediate family were arriving from England in a few days (for a visit planned months earlier). I’m sure it was hard for them to see me in the state I was in and I was pleased to have an opportunity go back eight months later, in February, and see them again in a more “normal” state. The doctors wanted to start me on daily lithium medication but there was a possibility I was pregnant and so they gave me haldol (haloperidol) to start with.

They had me see the resident again three days later as an outpatient, then a week after that I went to a psychiatrist in private practice that they had recommended. Steve and I weren’t entirely happy with her because she referred to DSM-IV (the standard reference book about mental health disorders) during my visit – we thought, surely she should have known everything about something as standard as Bipolar! Between that and my next visit my father who was visiting us happened to meet someone at my church who is a psychiatrist. I asked if he would be my psychiatrist and he is, to this day. I saw him every three weeks through the summer. He was respectful of my wish to avoid medication if at all possible. By the time I went to see him I knew I was not pregnant and had stopped taking haldol. He said he was an advocate of taking as few medications as necessary and did not push me strongly to take anything at that time.

For a while after I was sent home from the hospital it seemed that I was getting better but I did have a “relapse” in early September; Steve took me to see my psychiatrist the day after it was clear that I was significantly worse again (having a lot of delusions again, emotionally very unstable). A week after that I did agree to take Depakote since I could see for myself that I was overreacting and emotionally not very stable. I started on 125 mg a day and stayed on that although my psychiatrist pointed out that that was a very low dose and said I could take more if I wanted (actually Steve’s view is that he said I should take more and I refused). In any case I didn’t take more and my psychiatrist didn’t pursue the matter further.. In mid-December he said I was clinically stable at my visit. I was very pleased to hear this! I asked about stopping the Depakote but he and Steve wanted me to continue through February since we had a big vacation planned for that month. In fact I stopped on January 3 without telling them. By the way, I don’t recommend that anyone stop medication without the knowledge and consent of their doctor, even though I did. Nevertheless I would encourage anyone who wants to try cutting down or stopping their medication to discuss it with their doctor. I would hope that a doctor would be flexible enough to allow this if a patient’s condition is stable and as long as there is no risk of harm to the person (meaning that they have friends or relatives who would notice if they had a relapse and help them to get help). By the time I did see my psychiatrist again, which was after our vacation, he said it was OK for me to stay off the medication unless I got worse.

I have not taken any medication since then and so far I have not had another episode. I don’t know what the future holds; I would like to stay medication-free but will take medication if I get ill, of course and I realize that further episodes would suggest that I start taking daily medication. I will update this page according to my ongoing state of health!