Hey, is depression meant to be sexy these days?

I’ve been browsing around stock image sites, searching on the word “depressed”. Here’s what I came up with.

I like to look like this when I’m depressed:

How about you?

I knew very little about bipolar disorder when my son was diagnosed. My knowledge was limited to the assumption that there were tremendous, manic highs…followed by deep moments of despair. I don’t know how I came upon this preconceived notion…but I’d never realized that depression could manifest itself in the form of annoyance and intense irritability.

Extreme, prolonged, intense irritability.

Yikes.

I’d written off T’s seething annoyance as everything from fatigue to hormones…and I still believe that a lack of sleep is a recipe for disaster. Or at minimum, it sets the stage for one hell of an argument.

I’ve learned over time that arguments with T are frequently dramatic, regularly intense and oftentimes draining. I used to panic at the depth of his anger…I’d have this sense that our relationship was on the brink of devastation and I’d fear that we’d never be the same again.

I’ve since realized that like a summer thunderstorm, his anger is powerful…but it blows over quickly. I also recognize that most of the time, my unconditional love makes me the perfect verbal punching bag for his frustration and mood swings.

And yet. This is the same guy who’s wickedly creative, with a wry sense of humor and the ability to deliver a joke with remarkable comedic timing. He’s charming, sensitive and will spend an inordinate amount of time helping a friend work through his problems, without any expectations or agenda. He cares deeply…about everything.

That intensity seems to be at the crux of his personality. There is no middle road with T…he moves at warp speed and lives his life with unbridled passion. You can’t help but to get caught up in his enthusiasm…to find yourself being swept up in the wave of emotions that make up a typical day in his life.

This spectrum of characteristics makes T one complicated guy. Being in a relationship with him can be exhausting…and exhilarating all at the same time. He challenges you to love him for who he is…and he has high expectations for himself and those around him.

If I said I didn’t have some concerns for his future, I’d be lying. T can be unrealistically impulsive…and he’s very much a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kinda guy. I’m not sure how that will translate into adulthood. I hope that with age, he may become a bit more practical…and a bit less reckless. But I hope he can maintain the qualities that make him the unique and extraordinary person I’ve grown to love.

As I’d expect, there may not be a middle of the road…for it’s all or nothing in the world, according to my amazing, complex boy.

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This is the second of two posts written by Kathryn on loving someone with bipolar. The first post is Your Mood Swings are Giving Me Whiplash.

Many readers have similar experiences – living with and loving someone who has bipolar. I would love to turn this post into an ongoing conversation. Please leave your comments below!

I love my children.

It’s ironic how I feel the need to open with a disclaimer…but parenthood has not turned out to be the fairytale experience I’d imagined. Maybe it’s never wise to go into any situation with pre-conceived ideas of how it should go…you’re just setting yourself up for a whole lot of confusion.

I’d always wanted children, so after two surgeries to correct infertility and two unexplained back-to-back miscarriages, I’d begun to wonder if motherhood was something I’d ever get to experience.

The irony that our first-born son was diagnosed at 2 ½ with autism is not lost on me. Neither is the quirk of fate that led me to discover I’d become pregnant with our second-born son right around the same time.

The night T was born, he lay on the table as they cleaned him up and he screamed as if in excruciating pain. It was alarming. I remember asking the nurse if something was wrong and she replied, “No honey…nothing’s wrong. He just wants to be picked up. You are going to have your hands full with this one.”

Truer words were never spoken.

T has always been a willful child. I’d chalked most of his mood swings up to being a second-born, especially since his brother required quite a bit of attention. It wasn’t until around age 10 that we first heard the word bipolar. By this time, he’d become obstinate, irate and at times, downright belligerent. I remember wondering how a child so young could feel everything so…deeply. And, if he had to feel angry and upset…then so did I. He gave new meaning to the phrase “you always hurt the one you love”. I felt like I walked around with a permanent knife sticking out of my back…with a sign that said “twist here whenever you like! I’m here for you, babe!” He’d perfected early on the ability to use his words like weapons. That, combined with his above average IQ meant a whole lot of hurtful words that almost always hit their mark.

One day, around his 11th birthday I was taking him for a “Part 3” of a psych evaluation. He initially refused to get out of the car. When I finally cajoled him into entering the medical center, he refused to follow any of the doctor’s directions. He then made a crucial mistake: he casually announced to me that he’d rather kill himself and me…than ever deal with any of this again. He’d said it so matter-of-factly. If this was a mood swing, we’d hit rock bottom.

The doctors took his threat seriously and sent him to a psychiatric hospital for an unprecedented (by today’s insurance get ‘em in, get ‘em out as quick as possible practice) 7 ½ weeks of treatment. During that time, they tried an array of medications, talk-therapy (the doctors and parents talked, T simply sat there and dozed) and group therapy. In the end, he was released with a diagnosis of bipolar and was on several medications for the mood swings, including lithium.

Today, T is almost 18 years old. He graduates from high school in June and plans to go to college. Medication and diagnosis are always in the background, but he’s still done well in school, has a circle of a few very good friends and even has a serious girlfriend.

Still, the mood swings persist. I’d say 80% of the time he’s a fun-loving, witty, dynamic, creative, fabulous kid. But if he’s tired (and he often has trouble sleeping), he makes Jekyll and Hyde look like Bambi and Thumper. He’ll become challenging and combative and will argue circles around you…seemingly reveling in the experience of the argument more so than looking to make an actual point. His frustration and sense of entitlement are palpable…and intense. Arguments with him leave me feeling bloody, exhausted and immeasurably concerned for his future.

And then, it passes. Hours later, he’s calm…will probably have gotten in a long nap…and he’s apologizing for the outburst. My witty, loving son has returned. It’s like the sun peeking through the clouds after a surprise, intense thunderstorm…and the air is fresh and sweet…and full of…hope.

I’ve got a good feeling that he’ll be okay. As for me, my love for him allows me to practice the parental-refined art of selective amnesia when it comes to healing the emotional scars left by his razor-sharp words. That, and a lifetime supply of antibiotics…and I hope to be just fine as well.

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This is the first of a couple of guest posts on loving someone with bipolar. The second post is Loving Someone with Bipolar. Thank you Kathryn!

After speaking at a recent mental health conference I left behind some business cards, so that anyone wanting more information about our Optimism products would feel free to contact me.

The next day I received a note which said, ‘Dear Mr. Bishop, I would very much like your help. I’m aware that the new DSM is coming out and I do not wish to be in it. Your guidance would be appreciated.’ I asked her to come in so we could discuss this further. The following is the transcript from our ‘meeting’”:

James: “Good morning…I’m sorry. Does…is your name Midge? It sort of looks like ‘Smidge’ here…”

Interviewee: “No, it’s ‘Smidge’. My mother claims she gained a ‘smidge’ more weight than any of her friends whilst I gestated and I apparently arrived in this world a ‘smidge’ earlier than she’d have liked. Evidently, there was a Bob Hope special on that night that she’d been looking forward to for months. Hence, the name.”

James: “Huh. Well. Welcome. It says here you’re a single mother of two?”

Smidge: (Confused) “It says where? What are you reading? (Eyes grow wide) Have you been following me?”

James: “No! No…of course not! You filled out this form…(waves paper in front of her)…the other day?…at the conference?….”

Smidge: “I don’t think so…I mean, I know I’m busy…I’ve got a full plate…many balls in the air…but I’m sure I’d remember filling out an entire form! (Frowns…trying to remember). For the record, I’d like it to be known that the only reason I went to that ‘Winter Mixer’ last week with my brother was because I needed a designated driver. I’m not pathetic, or anything. Is that on the form? Write that down…”

James: “Um. Okay….(scribbles on bottom of sheet). So, do you live with your brother?”

Smidge: “Uh-huh. And my mother and my dad and my aunt. Do you know she puts ketchup on everything? Don’t you think that’s odd?”

James: “What? Who are we talking about? Ketchup? Well, I guess it would depend. Does she put ketchup on food items only….or literally, everything??”

Smidge: “Ew. That would be really gross. Auntie puts ketchup on everything from oatmeal to roast beef….Mom buys the ketchup in those 12-packs from the bulk store. You know the ones I mean? And we live in one of those two-family, side-by-side units….me and my boys on one side and my brother, parents and ‘ole ketchup-lover there on the other. I refuse to share a bathroom with my brother ever again, after the unfortunate hamster debacle of 2005.”

James: “……. …….. ……… ……… ……….. …………”

Smidge: “Hel-lo? Are you okay there, buddy? I think I lost you for a minute. You look hungry. Do you want half of my scone? I think I have some extra ketchup packets in here…(rummages around in her bag, muttering to herself). Now I’m sure I’m going to wind up in that ‘Deeply Scatterbrained Menagerie’. I’m hopeless…”

James: “The what? The ‘Deeply’…what?”

Smidge: “The ‘D.S.M.’ (Rolls eyes) Haven’t you heard of it?”

James: “You know what? I’ve just remembered a prior engagement. I want to thank you for stopping by…”

Smidge: “But. Don’t you want to know what happened to Harvard?”

James: (Confused) “Harvard? The school in Massachusetts?”

Smidge: “Nooooo…Harvard the Hamster. I’m not sure you were listening. My brother? The bathroom? 2005??”

James “I thought I was…(rising)…but I’m afraid we’re out of time.”

Smidge: “Shall I stay and jot down some of my questions?”

James: “Um. How much paper would you need? I’m guessing Harvard the Hamster is just the tip of the iceberg here…”

Smidge: “Oh, you have no idea….”

I read two kinds of books. Quick, enjoyable, check-the-brain-out, junky fiction, and books that need to be read slowly, thought about, re-read and then considered some more.

Therese Borchard’s new book, “Beyond Blue”, is in the second category.

Personal accounts of mental illness have formed their own genre in recent years, and for many people there isn’t much room left on the bookshelf. But “Beyond Blue” is different.

Therese has sewn helpful and factual information seamlessly through the book, without being narrow or preaching. Her chatty, humorous, self-deprecating writing style makes this heavy topic easier to read and, in my own words, more digestible.

In the first part of the book Therese recounts her story thus far. It is intense. Perhaps for this reason she inserts “Sanity Breaks” in every second chapter. An excerpt from a poem, a collection of tips (“9 Ways to Stop Obsessing”) or a different angle on a topic (“30 Ways Motherhood Is Like a Mental Illness”).

A sanity break for her or us? I’m not sure.

Something that really sticks out is the succession of psychiatrists she saw in a brief period, who failed to treat her adequately. Number 6, “Pharma King”, tried 14 different medications in 3 months! Thankfully number 7 helped get her out of the psych ward and on the road to recovery.

In the second section of the book Therese takes us for a tour inside her brain.

“I introduce you to some of the demons that live there rent free. I share some techniques I’ve used to evict the cheap guys, and how I go about erecting all those damn boundaries in my life…so I can continue down Recovery Lane.”

The section also contains plenty of factual info, sound advice and of course Therese’s trademark wit in good measure.

If I was disappointed by anything, I was left wondering how the kids are faring now. I also wanted a chapter from husband Eric at the end. But they are small complaints!

Therese is never slow to point out her faults, making her easy to relate to and far from aloof. Her recount of tragedy and great sense of humor somehow fit hand in hand. The book’s subtitle is “Surviving Depression & Anxiety & Making the Most of Bad Genes”. As a reflection of the content and writing style it couldn’t be more apt.

I would definitely recommend “Beyond Blue”, especially if you are interested in mental health, don’t mind a bit of intensity, and enjoy a dry, witty sense of humor.