Kat 7 Mar 2010 @ 8:22 pm

These images could be used to represent a number of various emotions like sadness, hurt, guilt, frustration, loss, betrayal, despair, feeling unworthy etc.

On the other hand, I like the idea that having a perfect body or a pretty face doesn’t stop you from feeling depressed. So many people think that if only they could look attractive, all their problems and loneliness will disappear at once…

Kat MacKinnon
LiftMyDepression.com

james 8 Mar 2010 @ 9:28 am

I have to confess that this post was tongue in cheek. Stock photos like these are usually contrived. I interpreted these as being more like marketing images, but marketing what I don’t know. Yes, beautiful looking people don’t have an exemption. However in my experience when you’re depressed you’re not so worried about your makeup or how your tats are looking.

Insensitive post?

Anna 8 Mar 2010 @ 8:01 pm

The intensity of T must be draining at times. I would really love to hear your strategies for maintaining you own sanity and emotional strength when you are worn out by him.

release_the_bats 12 Mar 2010 @ 11:32 pm

I have loved someone with rapid cycling bipolar disorder. I am an experienced researcher in psychoneuropsychology and other areas of psychology, which helped immensely. When we met he was badly misdiagnosed, which became very clear to me early on (those intense and sudden “arguments” were illogical & betrayed signs of hyopmania.) His diagnosis was “generalized anxiety disorder”. He was unmedicated, had lived a horrific life – alcoholic abusive father, mentally ill but never diagnosed mother who was in & out of the biggest mental institution in the city regularly. His memories of her were sketchy – cooked & kept beer for his father well stocked. His memories of his father were far more vivid. His only other relationship scarred him so badly he never dated again. I have lived with Major Depressive Disorder my entire life. At times a good day was getting out of bed. A great day was getting out of bed and brushing my teeth. At other times I won scholarships & topped the Dean’s List (always with tremendous struggle because depression never left-it merely..well, that’s another story). When I met him I found him easy company: His quick wit, offbeat humor & keen intelligence made me laugh & was good medicine. But I warned him that people with GAD didn’t wake up in psychiatric hospitals having stumbled in after losing time. There was mutual attraction but the point was never pressed & we were both shy about it. One day after sharing a coffee, bundled in his big parka, he gave me a big, long hug, our usual parting gesture. Then another. Finally he turned to leave, took about 8 steps, then rushed back, gave me a chaste peck on the lips and ran away quickly as if terribly embarrassed. I was smitten. Our courtship was difficult to say the least. And not just the “turning on a dime” temperament. The excitement of falling in love was fuelling his mania. I had to learn to be vigilant for small indications he was beginning to spin out. He had to learn to listen to me – which was very hard for him – and take such observations seriously. I had to set boundaries, which I was always notoriously bad at. And we fought! We eventually started to live together. I had already been helping him set up psychiatric appointments with specialistsand accompanied him every time, most of the time being allowed to sit in. He rarely suffered from depression – more “melancholy” or “pensively sad” occasionally than seriously depressed. He was mostly manic – VERY HIGH manic. As bad as anyone I’d every seen, even in teaching hospitals. Most phenothiazines were like candy to him. He slept poorly but often drifted off with his head on my chest listening to the regular beating of my heart while I played with his unruly hair, both of which soothed him. One day I noticed my credit card was gone. He didn’t come home. I cancelled the card although very little had been charged to it – a case of beer for some friends. I phoned every hospital, every shelter, every acquaintance..I was frantic. Two days later I got a call from the only purely psychiatric hospital in the city: Did I want them to mail my credit card to me? I asked if he was there, if he’d been there. That was confidential. I raced down there in a taxi, walked into the ICU and asked to see him by name. They pointed to a room at the end of the hall. When he saw me he wouldn’t look at me. “Why didn’t you just let them mail your card back?”, he spat out., “Why did you come here?” It wasn’t anger at me – it was at himself. Manic people have very poor impulse control. The card was on my purse – it was an unthinking gesture. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I ruined everything. I know…over nothing! Just leave me alone, please…don’t make it worse!” He looked so small (he was not a large man) and vulnerable – fragile even – in his hospital gown. I took his head in my hands and forced him to look at me. “Why?”, I asked. “I don’t know!!” And I knew he was telling the truth. I held him close and kissed him gently. He looked confused. He couldn’t understand how I could take him back – how I could still love him? He started to weep openly. I hopped onto the bed, put his head in my lap and stroked his hair…I don’t think anybody had ever forgiven him for anything.

The moment of truth for me came when he had his first psychotic break. I woke up one morning and he was gone.He showed up two days later covered in mud and confused. I’d been sick with worry. I called an ambulance but he became openly hostile (though he was NEVER EVER physically violent with me or anyone else, he could cut you with words…that ugly argumentative belligerence so typical of mania or rising mania.) The police were dispatched and he was handcuffed and made to ride in a cruiser. Ugh! I will tell you there is almost nothing worse in the world than seeing the person you love most in life-someone who is part of your soul (because this happened several times through the years) completely delusional with 2 200-lb security guards leaning on him while someone else fastens him to a hospital bed with big leather buckles in the 4-point position. Straining until the veins on his head were popping, he was under the impression it was a secret black-op mission and I was the spy who turned him in for reasons I never understood. I was terrified, horrified – no training or research had ever prepared me for this. I bent over to kiss his forehead and he spat in my face spewing a string of vulgarity at me that I’d never heard him use. (He later claimed it was impossible he had used that language with me; he refused to believe he was capable of it. I said I understood he was in a world of fear that didn’t correspond to reality.) I wept softly outside his room. He didn’t want me there. The nurses said I wasn’t welcome if he didn’t want me there. I left my University windbreaker with his name written in it and a note saying I loved him. It was the 5th month we had been living together. That was when I made my decision to not cut bait. Many wonderful (and often horrible) times ensued. Years..Overdoses on anything he could get his hands on to ease his anxiety (I eventually bought a small safe to keep my own drugs in to prevent this). Once he was almost unconscious in ICU for 12 hours. 2 hours later, after rousing to full consciousness he’d been moved to a room. One hour later he flew into a psychotic manic state yelling into the phone he’d been taken prisoner, ripped the IV out of his arm so violently that long blood streaks lined the hall he ran down in hastily donned jeans and hospital gown and tore off into a stairwell. The nurses assured me security had been alerted and would catch him. I shook my head with tears in my eyes and said, “No they won’t”. “Sure they will – they’re waiting for him and it’s 2 am.” At 2:30 I was standing in a hospital parking lot yelling his name into the darkness. Three days later he turned up at a psychiatric hospital, confused and unsure what had happened. We were never married in a church, but we did exchange vows and rings, with a friend as witness. I told him I promised that no matter how ugly things got I would not run away; I would never abandon him. I asked if he could honestly say the same thing. He did. I know friends who exchanged traditional vows (which i believe our sentiments sum up) in a church ceremony who were divorced after having childlren when my man and I were still going strong. Through a severe depression and some ugly family and chronic physical problems, he was always there for me. He was attentive, sensitive, and free of any machismo or need to do anything but BE with me. I loved him like my own life. I’d been betrayed by men before. With him *I* noticed beautiful women. He didn’t even take a second look. I once asked if he ever thought of suicide (a place I’ve visited many times). His answer was, “No – I”d never kill myself. Never. But I do believe that when death comes, it will be the only cure for what’s wrong with me.”

An understandable opinion: The constant merry-go-round of medications, the combinations, the side-effects, the drugs for the side-effects. His mania was extreme and intractable, and I don’t need to remind anyone who has loved someone with mania how long it can take to get an even mildly adequate combination.) He had to take leave from work. It was a difficult time. But there was something wonderfully childlike in his wonder at just being loved. He doted on me when I was sick – and often when I was well. He was unashamed to go buy me tampons or ask if my period was troubling me…it didn’t matter to him. It was just part of what love meant. He always had my latte ready and every morning without fail greeted me: “Good morning Sunshine! NOW the sun is officially up!”

There was something zenlike about him just being in the moment all the time. I learned so much from him. I learned to have a real relationship – an honest, vulnerable, no holds barred relationship.

Two days before we were finally financially able to manage our own small one-bedroom we were packed and excited. He had been dong much better for a year – back to work, far more stable, in a CBT group, trying meditation with me. He still had terrible panic attacks. He still had to be very careful. He still slept poorly. You can only take so much medication. But it was better. No more disappearances, no more frantic “where could he be” nights for me. That night we barely slept and woke up early. He was joyous, danced with me, delerious with finally “being able to properly provide” a decent place for us. But no sign of mania whatsoever. Just happy. We had breakfast and took a nap so we’d be fresher to meet the realtor that afternoon. I fell asleep with his arm around me and his breath on my neck.

An hour an a quarter later I woke up and found him dead, in our bed.
He was still warm.

I dragged him off and furiously started compressions with a phone under one ear calling an ambulance.

Hours later, those terrible words.
“I’m sorry ma’am…there’s nothing else we can do.”

He was 38 years old.

The official cause of death was sudden unexplained cardiac arrest.
“Fibrillation – it happens to us all sometimes. Usually the heart gets rhythm back again. Very rarely it doesn’t.”

A little over a year has passed since then – that first year during which I almost never left bed and wanted to die. I took a lot of sedatives to dull the pain enough to live through. I miss him. I MISS HIM WITH MY WHOLE BEING.

I don’t believe in a soul that survives death. I wish I did. Most days I feel like I”ve been in shock for the past year. That I’m just realizing he’s not coming back this time. Like part of my very self has been ripped out. I’m not sure who I am anymore. I see his beautiful face lying cold in that horrible coffin. I cry every day. Perhaps one day memories will be a consolation, but right now they are like acid – like stingers spearing my heart mercilessly.

I don’t regret one single moment. One night of worry. One huge fight. One horrific episode. Nothing. He taught me to look at the world with the wonder of a child – not childishly, but with a childlike heart. He taught me so much. I felt so loved. I had something, if only for a brief time, that some people never know their whole lives.

In memory of my beloved husband, and dedicated to anyone who knows the intense joy as well as the frustration and pain of loving (and being loved by) someone with bipolar disorder.

james 13 Mar 2010 @ 1:14 am

Dear F.V.

I feel deeply saddened by your story, as I know other readers will be too. Words feel so inadequate to express sympathy.

Thank you for sharing yourself here, and then helping Lynn with your valuable comments.

James

Shanna 13 Mar 2010 @ 3:03 am

F.V. – Thank you for sharing your poignant story; my heart goes out to you. I know my impulsivity drives my poor fiance to the brink sometimes – we have not been able to pay rent because I blew an entire paycheck buying books online once (it was a wild, rash impulse and I just *had* to have those books in that moment). Another time our electricity was cut off because I forgot to pay the bill (I am the epitome of the absent-minded professor).

Each time he quietly fixed things – his silence more damning to me than any angry words he might have thrown my way. Then we would sit and talk and he would ask me to try harder, to not do this again, etc. He was angry, of course, but he also understood it was part of my mental illness.

That does not in any way excuse my actions; please don’t think I mean it like that! I did – and do – very stupid things that put the both of us in a bind; I feel very selfish and awful because of it. But in the moment, when I’m doing it or buying those books or whatever, it all seems so crystal clear – so *needful*; saying ‘no’ to myself is almost not an option. It’s hard to explain…

Anyway, I think you are wonderful for standing by your husband and making the difficult decision to have him stay where he could get help. You did the right thing. I am truly very sorry for your loss, but I am sure that you made him happy while he was here. To have that kind of support, love, and compassionate understanding from your partner – well, it’s priceless. We know we can be very un-loveable sometimes; we know we are difficult, a lot to handle, infuriating, selfish, and all of that – we understand that we hurt our partners with our actions, even if, sometimes, we cannot help but do it anyway. When that partner loves us unconditionally – despite all of that – it gives you an inner peace that is indescribable; it gives you a sense of acceptance and compassion you feared you would never experience from another human being. I know that you gave this and more to your husband, because you sound like my Baret.

Thank you for being an advocate for those of us that suffer from mental illness; for caring, accepting, and loving. Thank you, too, for sharing your story.

release_the_bats 13 Mar 2010 @ 10:51 am

Shanna:

Thank YOU for sharing your wonderful story – the view from the other side. I hear you saying how guilty you feel for being “selfish and awful” for your impusive actions that lead to financial troubles, etc. It disturbs me a bit. To be sure, there was ALWAYS something coming up, as you point out…it’s one heck of a roller coaster ride! And you have to be ready for almost anything. It helped that I know a lot about mood disorders, not only because I have one myself but it’s my chosen field of study – though it didn’t mean he didn’t drive me crazy sometimes!

But I used a method of assessing things, because sometimes his mania manifested as unbelievable arrogance, derision, megalomania…and since he knew my real Achilles’ Heels, he could cut my down to nothing with just a phrase. And if I cried, he’d laugh. And yes – later he wouldn’t believe he’d said those things.

My method was this:
I always asked myself what actions that have been hurtful or destructive can be directly linked to his mood disorder? Can this (x or y..whatever) be in that category? Is it typical of him (because everyone can manifest differently)? Is it typical of variations of the disorder in general?

If the answer was yes, we talked about it, we had some great help from a friend, a psychologist who has helped me with my depression for years – I mean, after the storm was over. And we talked about ways to help prevent it again. Which didn’t always happen – but…

Then there were about 2 occasions when I think his actions began with paranoia (I was having an affair, in his mind) but moved to truly malicious, with real intent to hurt – to take something away I loved. (He packed my 3000 plus CD’s into backpacks – some signed by dead artists, some limited editions…you name it), left the house while I was asleep, and sold them. He was not big on possessions – he’d spend a ton of money on things and lose them…cell phones, ipods, you name it. And he really didn’t realize how much music was – well it was a collection I spent 25 years and more building. I love all kinds of music. It ripped away part of my soul – and we didn’t have the money to replace them. Later, after the delusion passed, HE FELT TERRIBLE. REALLY REALLY – JUST DEVASTATED when he realized HOW DEVASTATING it was FOR ME. We tried in vain to track them down – they weren’t at any used CD shops and he coudln’t even remember if he traded them for something else – just a street transaction. He honestly couldn’t remember. He pounded the pavement with me looking for them, but they never turned up anywhere. To his dying day he felt terrible about this, and I think it’s because he knew there was real malice behind it, and it hurt more than he realized it would.

On one other occasion he did something similar: Again it was fuelled by a really stupid argument the day before over giving him some money because he (almost) always gave me his check since he knew it would be gone in 15 minutes if he didn’t. He was already half-way to another dimension and I knew he would spend it on something self-destructive. I take a considerable amount of medication. People can say what they want, but I can get out of bed. I have a severe chronic pain disorder, so some of that medication has street value (and I couldn’t phsycially get out of bed, even if I was feeling emotionally ok, without it). I learned to keep it in a locked room in a lock box. This time I had thrown in my wallet and all my ID plus our spare cash (though he didn’t know this).

We were packing up my mother’s old house – 40 years of stuff, it was backbreaking and emotional hell and he almost always made it easier because of his energy and willingness to help. I was exhausted, but I remember him coming in and putting my coffee down beside the old mattress we were using for a bed. I woke up an hour or so later and found him gone…damn. What was going on? But I continued to work because we had a deadline. At midday when I needed my 2nd dose of meds, I opened the room with a key I kept in a secret place. The lock box was gone. The whole thing. Just gone. I was in such shock I actually fell down. I get sick without that medication. I don’t abuse it, but you still feel withdrawal effects without it. Without benzos and the antidepressant I take you can have seizures. MY HEALTH WAS JEAPORDIZED. He had picked the lock with a thin knife, taken the box, and relocked the room. I ended up in the hospital trying to get just a weekend’s worth of meds until I could talk to my doctor. I’m lucky I had the prescription tags. Now THAT was deliberate AND malicious…and put my health at risk.

So that was my standard:
Was there DELIBERATION behind it?
PLANNING?
WITH MALICE – INTENTION TO HURT?

It only happend twice in almost 8 years.

But they were events that were serious enough to make me sit down with him and say we had to re-evaluate the relationship. He could not do things like that to me. They weren’t mere acts of impulse.

All the other craziness – yes…impulse, manic behaviour, even the really malicious language …I could see it wasn’t intentional.

We got through it. We both learned a lot about respect and boundaries and how love DOESN’T mean never having to say you’re sorry. It was tough to say the least. And it changed us both for the better. It changed our relationship for the better, ultimately.

But the things you’re talking about – they sound very much like classic manic behaviour – I know there’s that “need” for something unnecessary. It’s not logical, but it’s real for you at that moment. And absentmindedness – whoo! I mean, I could write a book about some of the stuff that went on with us. I don’t think you should consider yourself “selfish and awful” because the consequences are bad. I think the yardstick is, is it truly symptomatic of your illness? And it all sounds like it is. You can talk about how to try changing or reducing this behaviour – with your wonderful sounding fiance, your psychiatrist, your therapist – whoever you trust and can help. I don’t know if you’re taking meds, but maybe it’s … it’s your choice, and it’s a big pain in the butt to get the balance right (I don’t think you ever do), but it helps. Maybe if there are places you spend the money on regularly you could talk about locking you out of that account – e.g. Amazon – unless your fiance is helping you choose. Sounds like I’m saying you’re a child who needs supervision, but guess what? I even asked my credit card company to lower my limit, because it’s just too easy to buy stuff you can’t afford. We do what we can to make life as best as it can be. And it sounds like you’ve found a real pearl – a rare man with patience and boundless love. And it’s partly your boundless love that keeps him there, I’m sure. It was my husband’s boundless love, and appreciation of just being loved that was a huge – well it was just beautiful. It shone…it glowed.

I don’t know if that helps, but you can’t beat yourself up for things that are classic manic moves – they’re not really in your control. It takes years of CBT like I said, of whatever works for you to even begin to learn to control those urges. It really is like a state of possession. Like my severe depressive episodes. I’ve always told my phych friend it feels like being possessed by something dark, something malevolent that wants to destroy you. And in many ways, it IS exactly like that.

You sound like a beautiful person. An intelligent and aware person. And a very loving sensitive person. And also someone with bipolar disorder. And you know, I saw my husband change throughout our relationship…I saw him look to me for that acceptance which gave him the strength to keep trying. To be there for me the way I had been there for him. AND HE WAS – SO MUCH, at the worst times…

I think we made each other better in many ways.
We BOTH became better human beings. And for that alone, among so many other things, I will always be thankful he came into my life (in spite of the “all of that” – and believe me, there was an awful lot of “ALL of that”!).

Isn’t love powerful?
Don’t you feel so grateful that someone as wonderful as your fiance came into your life?
I’ll bet he feels grateful every day that someone as wonderful as you came into his.

I did – I mean, I never once considered leaving – no matter how often I swore up and down or cried at nights wondering if he was safe or DID think “selfish jerk!”. It’s natural. But you stop, you think, you assess, and you realize it’s not real selfishness, it’s illness.
And what a cross HE had to bear every day, just to get through the day! I had made a promise, a vow….that’s serious. I don’t take that lightly. I made it knowing full well it wasn’t gonna be smooth sailing. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a little scared.

But I knew. I think going through all those things – it helps you to know. You know you can take it, because it’s worth it. And you also know that you have love so powerful to give it can help another person feel loved, accepted, special – all the things we all want to feel, whether we have a mood disorder or not. The giving can bring as much or more joy as the receiving.

I’m just grateful I had a chance to give that love to someone who deserved it.
I wish I had room to say all the wonderful things he did for me – the times he stood up for ME. The acceptance and love he made ME feel.

I once said to my friend (an eminent psychologist, married for about 25 years with a great family) that it sometimes felt like my relationship was 2 people standing on the edge of the world holding on to each other so tightly so that neither fell off.

His response was simply:
“I think that’s what most real relationships are Fran. I mean real, honest relationships, between people who know how unpredictable life can be. It’s a good way of putting it.”

So keep holding on to each other and may life bless you both so richly in your love for each other and in your lives in all ways.

It makes me happy to hear your story.
It reminds me that I helped bring some happiness and peace to someone who might otherwise never have found it.

So now I’m smiling – not crying!
Thankyou for that – and for sharing so honestly.

peace, grace, love,
Francesca

release_the_bats 14 Mar 2010 @ 6:11 am

(This post was refused by moderators because I referred to something out of your control as a cr _ p shoot, which seems a bit excessive to me since it’s an actual game in casinos – but whatever…)
____________________________________________________

Incidentally – you don’t have to be bipolar to sometimes be “un-loveable, difficult, infuriating, selfish, hurtful”.
I think the most “stable” people are that to each other often.
I think we ALL are.
Maybe it’s just a little more exaggerated in bipolar.

People hurt people they love all the time.
Maybe illness makes us think about it more & makes our relationships better.

I don’t see the “average marriage” doing too well out there according to statistics.

Just a thought.

P.S. Mary – you can’t feel guilty for the “genes” you may have given your daughter. It’s completely out of your control! You didn’t ask for depression, and you certainly didn’t (couldn’t possibly no matter who you are) have calculated the genetic material you were passing on when you conceived her.

REALLY — genetics is total roll of the dice.
You CAN’T beat yourself up for that. Please don’t!
Don’t add to your sadness over something you had no control over.

Depressed people like us often feel guilty for things that aren’t in our control.
Like – if you lose a loved one suddenly, it’s normal for a person to feel regrets.
MY REGRETS get ridiculous…every word is scrutinized, every night I spent doing research late and didn’t come to bed….every fight we had. I have to remind myself of the good things (thanks again for helping with that, Shanna!) that I gave him instead of all the things I didn’t do right or could have done differently. It’s hard.

Try to make yourself as well as possible. You can’t help her if you aren’t able to function.
I don’t know how old she is or much else except what you wrote.
I get nervous about young children getting diagnosed with everything under the sun, but you determine what you think based on your circumstances:
You CAN see if she’ll agree to see someone professional AND competent (fancy letters don’t always make you good at your job).

This could be a road to healing whatever MAY be ailing her, and also healing your relationship.

by best wishes to you both

And thank you so much Kathryn, for your eloquent but honest articles. I remember that whiplash, but boy do I miss it. And yes, unconditional love does make us “verbal punching bag(s)” for all that frustration and anger. Which can be really frustrating and make you angry sometimes – it did for me, anyways. But knowledge of what’s going on is the key to having patience, no matter what.

Thank you for giving us the gift of your knowledge and experience.

Fran

Mands 27 Feb 2010 @ 5:37 am

Thank-you so much for writing this article Kathryn and James for publishing. My son just turned 21 and finally I can see a maturing adult with lots of his potential being realised as he finally seems to have ‘found himself’. My son was diagnosed with ADHD 14 years ago after 6 months of testing and going through a panel of 7 specialists who I must admit were incredible as they dealt with me as a mom and my son. The only significance the Child Psychologist explained… was that if they scaled children from 1 to 20 for Hyperactivity… my son was off the scale at somewhere in the 100s. And his mood swings are legendary. For many years I felt like I was a terrible and inadequate mom… now I know, I am a great mom, and although I have accepted that our relationship – my son and mine… will always, probably always be rocky (more like volatile) as we both sometimes careen on a rollercoster of emotions… It does seem to have gotten better and better as he has matured… and as I have as well. (I also have an amazingly well balanced, good natured husband *Grin*).
Thanks so much for sharing.
Mands

Anna 8 Mar 2010 @ 7:55 pm

Thank you Kathryn for such a personal article. It sounds like you and T will be okay as you are so well informed and so willing to forgive and move on. That’s a skill that all parents need but even more so for you.

Barb B 25 Jan 2010 @ 9:54 am

Haven’t read the book yet, but this review certainly makes me interested in doing so! Sanity breaks are an integral part of our life style and demons are oh, so familiar. Remember when a dear friend shared her coping habit of inviting all of them (demons and angels!) to the same “board” meeting, around a round table, with rules that included everyone in sharing ( the good, bad and ugly) and ending with the continuing commitment to making it work in the present, for all involved inside as well as outside, and doing our part in creating and leaving this world a bit better for our passing through it. Thanks so much!