I recently celebrated my 46th birthday! While this isn’t a milestone marker for anyone else, it is for me. It’s been 20 years, since my Bipolar and ADD diagnosis at age 26.
At the time of my diagnosis, I was 4 months pregnant and single. My son’s father (and partner for almost 3 years), D, left me shortly before this, and as I’m sure you can imagine, I was an emotional wreck. I thought the intense mood swings and profound melancholy were a result of my breakup – but honestly it was the other way around. It was the mood swings and depression that had fueled our breakup. I can still remember D leaving one night, while I hunched in the corner of the kitchen, bawling and pulling at my long hair until my scalp screamed in pain. His last words that night were filled with disgust and exasperation: “You need help.”
Now while I don’t condone that D left me on the kitchen floor in that state, I can fully understand wanting to walk away from the chaos that I was constantly creating and craving. I was thirsty for activity, I wanted to be the center of commotion, to have something exciting (whether good or bad) happening continually. That’s my mania, folks. It’s a craving for chaos, a craving for movement; a constant need to be in motion – physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually. To this day, I don’t blame him for not wanting to dance in my forest fire.
It might seem like a strange time to pursue a diagnosis, especially when pregnancy brings about its own hormonal changes and mood swings. But it had been my midwife that had advised me to seek help, after I expressed to her how depressed I was. My midwife had reminded me that if I wasn’t good to myself, I would be no good to the growing child in my belly.
It was as if a switch went off in my head. She was right; I needed to get myself pulled together if I was to be the type of mother that this child deserved. So, I made an appointment with a therapist in the area, and resolved to figure out what was happening to me.