| Hello, I am 36 years old,
happily married and the mother of three children. I was diagnosed
as bipolar in 1988, although I had been cycling for years even
at that point. I grew up in Chicago in a very highly achieving
family. Both of my sisters were elite gymnasts, so most of our
lives were devoted to gymnastics practice and competitions. I,
however, was not a gymnast so this made for a very boring time
for me. I was a cheerleader and an academic, although that sounds
almost oxymoronic. My Dad is an undiagnosed bipolar who self-medicates with alcohol. During his constant cycling, he was very emotionally abusive to my mother, but mainly to us children. I can remember being in second grade and feeling so numb, so mentally crushed, that I felt I wasn’t real. This feeling of numbness and being “unreal” lasted my whole childhood. When I was in about third grade, I drank from a bleach bottle. I didn’t know why, but afterwards I was scared. I told my Mom and she was upset, but said we wouldn’t tell anyone. Only now do I realize how dangerous that could have been. My first contact with the psychological world was in about fifth grade. I had started to have headaches and to “see” people. The doctors suspected a brain tumor, but when that wasn’t found, they suggested I see a psychiatrist. This definitely did not fit into my parent’s image of what our family was about, so the matter was swept under the rug. I continued getting good grades in school. I loved school. I loved the classrooms, the school supplies, and the parochial uniforms. School was predictable, and comforting, and I was good at it. I was popular and the life of the party, but I didn’t form many close bonds. I still felt unreal, and like I was on the outside, watching my life. When in junior high, boys starting becoming an issue, and I panicked. I couldn’t let anyone get close to me. During eighth grade I think I had my first manic like spell. I decided that I was supposed to go and live with Mother Theresa. I got the plane ticket and everything, but was then stopped at the airport because I didn’t know you needed a passport. I was so disappointed. Then the most devastating thing happened…I graduated from eighth grade. I wanted to go on with all my friends to the Catholic high school, but my parents said that with all the cost for private gymnastics coaches for my sisters, that they couldn’t afford it. I was devastated, these close bonds I had developed over eight years abruptly ended. I started the next year at the large public high school in town. Again I had good grades and was in honors classes. I joined the cheerleading drill team and we were excellent. We won State, but my parents weren’t able to be there, so somehow it didn’t feel like an accomplishment. It just wasn’t important, because it wasn’t important to them. I was fun and well liked, but didn’t form any close bonds. I had boys ask me out, but I was too terrified to let anyone get close to me. I decided I wanted to be a nun. By my junior year, I was officially cycling. I dropped out of all clubs and dropped all friendships. I became a loner. Then things got worse. I would skip school and walk the railroad tracks for hours. Because my grades were good, noone ever caught on. I almost wished someone would notice, that somehow they would reaffirm that I was real, that they would be able to help me. My Dad was all-powerful to me. His opinions were the only thing that mattered in my world. He is truly a great guy, but his untreated bipolar affects our family a lot. By my senior year, I was truly screwed up. Both of my sisters had gone on to Big Ten schools on full gymnastics scholarships. I was left home to get the full brunt of my Dad’s cycling abuse and alcoholism. I was so obviously distressed that I was made to start seeing the school psychologist. He questioned me for hours, but I was tight-lipped. I couldn’t let down the huge wall inside me. If I did, I knew I would never recover. Besides, I couldn’t tell him bad things about my family. It just wasn’t done. When I was seventeen, I panicked. I realized that soon I would be eighteen and noone would care about me. I swung into a huge manic cycle and ran away from home. I took the Greyhound as far as I could go with the money I had. At the bus station, I met an obvious gang member who offered to take me home and have his mom cook me some soup. I started to walk away with him, but then I saw a Church and I told him this was where I meant to go. Luckily he let me go. I walked in the church and they were having a pancake breakfast. I snuck in and ate the first meal for days. The pastor noticed me, and I ended up staying with his family for a while before I ever told them my name. Eventually I got home, and once again, it was swept under the rug. I didn’t attend my high school graduation. It was too painful for some reason, maybe because my parents forgot about it. Instead I got a babysitting job for that day and walked the baby down to the school and watched my own graduation. It was surreal, just like the rest of my life. Before college, my sisters and my Dad had driven for hours going to schools trying to get the best scholarship. It was a yearlong event, trip after trip to different schools. Much discussion, much planning. When I was ready to start looking for a school there was none of that. I wanted to be a nurse, but my Dad discouraged that saying if you were going to do it, do it right and be a doctor. He also told me about a small school in Minnesota that was “just the greatest”. Without looking at any other schools, I decided to attend that one to make him proud. I went there naive and troubled and cycling. I was still planning on being a nun. Then I met a boy. He was very persistent and I fell for his lines. I ended up in a dependent relationship way over my head. We married and I was cut off from any other relationships or friendships. He was my world. Strangely, I didn’t become pregnant, even though we never used protection. Later, it was discovered that I had a massive ovarian tumor. Deep down, I hoped it was malignant. I both wanted the attention from my parents that it would bring and I wanted to die young. I had surgery, and it was a long recovery, but it wasn’t cancer. Somehow, I was disappointed. I returned to school the next semester, we had sex once, and I was pregnant. We had the baby, and then fifteen months later, had a second one. My husband became more and more abusive. He was a drug user and dealer. He sold drugs out of our house. He spent all his time with his friends, had girlfriends, and a few weeks after my second daughter was born, he left us. I was on my own with two infants, and manic as hell. But the mania saved me. I went to school, was a great Mom, worked, and even got my pilot’s license during the next year. While learning how to fly, I fell in love with the aircraft mechanic who worked on my plane. We got married and he adopted my girls. We have now been married 14 years. Their bio dad gave up all parental rights and is not a part of their lives at all. The last 14 years have been really tough. I have had a few good periods, but mainly I cycle, cycle, cycle. I have been on every medication, been hospitalized many times, had ECT, gone bankrupt from medical bills, and on and on. My husband has stuck by me through it all. However, because of chasing after me when I was manic, or babysitting me when I was catatonic and suicidal, he has lost every good job he ever had. Now he is a saddle maker. Not great pay, but something he likes and which is flexible. Today, I am fairly stable on meds. I am seeing a great therapist and trying to find a support group to belong to. Every day is a struggle, but somehow I get through them. I feel as if I have spent years going through rapids and white water in a big river. Along the way, I have hit boulders and almost drowned over and over. Now, I have finally hit an eddy and I am crawling up on shore. I am bruised and battered, but I am alive. Now the healing can begin. |