And I'm finally to the point where I'm not afraid to talk about it. I don't care about the labels or who reads this and finds out. I am who I am and I'm learning to deal with it very slowly.
I was diagnosed Bi-polar/manic depressant about 6 months ago. The story leading up to the diagnoses will surprise you. A little over a year ago I attempted suicide. I swallowed an entire bottle of pills (will not specify since it could have actually worked) and drank a large amount of alcohol. I don't think it took very long before I was down for the count. I was home alone and knew I would be for at least 2-3 hours and I thought that would be long enough for everything to take effect and for me to be peacefully gone before my husband got home.
Next thing I remember is someone shaking me asking me if I knew where I was. I didn't recognize the person but I looked around and knew enough of the surroundings to say "my house." What follows is only what I've been told, because I don't actually remember the next 5 days. My husband got home and could not wake me up, he called 911 and an ambulance came to the house. They rushed me to the hospital as I screamed at my husband and mother (who had rushed down) how much I them and I guess a lot of other nasty things because they wouldn't let me die. The surprising part... Once at the hospital they got me up enough that I could speak (again not that I remember one thing). A psychiatrist was brought down and administered a psych evaluation to see if I needed to be committed. After giving me the test he went out and told my husband that I had to be an extremely smart woman because I answer every question as if I was giving the perfect textbook answer and because I passed the psych eval. and was refusing treatment there was nothing they could do but send me home. If I has stopped breathing, gone into cardiac arrest, kidney failure they could have kept me. I spent days "asleep" on the couch in my house. From what I understand I was talking, would get up walk around, go to the bathroom etc, my husband and mother never left me alone, and finally after everything wore off I "woke" up. Woke up that I actually realized I was still alive.
I spent a few weeks being angry. A few being upset. Then I started to have good days and bad days. On the good days I would try to think things out, write stuff down. On the bad days I would curl up under a blanket for hours, spend $300-400 or dollars online, or look up new ways to kill myself. If my husband or mother tried to speak to me about it at all I would freak out!!! At the hospital they said unless they feared I was an eminent threat to myself again, let me come to grips with it in my own timetable.
It took me almost 4 months to finally call my mother one day crying that I needed to go see someone for help. I blanked out and when I "woke up" I found myself pen in hand writing a suicide note. I didn't even remember getting the pen and paper. I called and called all over, same response from everyone, we can get you in around a month from now, we can't take new patients, there's a 2 month wait. OMG, hey I've attempted suicide 2x how long can I afford to wait? On top of which while my mood was that I would go to a psych it was best to get me there before I changed my mind.
Finally got in to one after LOTS and LOTS of calls. I had to fill a very lengthy questionnaire, took over a half hour or more, then went in the psych. She went through all of the info I had written and asked me more questions about certain things. After that we talked for about 10 minutes more. Diagnoses bipolar/manic depressant and that based on timeline I had probably been that way for 6-7 years building and building but no one saw the signs.
We really need to get more people educated about it and more people who have it to step up and admit it. There is nothing wrong with admitting it, it's a disease. If more people talked about and really understood it maybe the stigma surrounding it would slowly start to go away.
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