I have bipolar and I lie. I have bipolar and I often feel my life is a lie. It isn't lying about where I've been or what I've done -- honesty about those things is easy -- I lie about bipolar disorder. I lie about how I feel. I lie about what goes on inside my brain....
I have bipolar disorder and I say “I’m sick” a lot. One could argue that with bipolar disorder constantly trying to kill me, I’m always sick, but “sick” is a sliding scale for someone who is, essentially, sick every day. Other people with chronic illnesses will likely back me up on this. (And yes, it’s true that not eveyone with bipolar disorder is chronically sick in the traditional sense.) So considering bipolar disorder, when I say “I’m sick,” what do I mean and how am I bipolar-sick right now?
Radical self-care is a thing I was thinking about this morning when I came up with the most radical self-care option for those with bipolar disorder (or any serious illness). It’s something some of us have tried but many of us don’t do because we’re often told we’re not supposed to. But radical self-care is about moving self-care up on your priority list and doing some of the things that society tells us not to do. So here’s the most radical self-care option those with bipolar disorder should consider.
Can your diet actually impact your depression or bipolar disorder? This is the question. While people claim that certain diets do help with mental illnesses like depression and bipolar disorder, the evidence just hasn’t been there. About the only thing the research can say is that eating an unhealthy, processed diet can lead to nutrient deficiencies and this can make mental illness outcomes worse. That’s it. And that makes perfect sense. But can your diet actually improve your bipolar disorder, depression or other mental health issue? Here’s what we know today.
Parents always tell their kids, “You can be whatever you want to be.” We grow up with this notion. Moreover, we grow up with the notion that if we just work hard enough, our dreams will come true. We are supposed to “never stop dreaming.” We are told, “If you can dream it, you can do it.”
Oh for god’s sake. What a pile of tripe.
You cannot just “be whatever you want to be.” And if you aren’t sure about this, just ask bipolar, it’ll confirm it for you.
At some point, those of us with bipolar need to tell others we have bipolar disorder; but the question is, how do you tell someone you have bipolar disorder in a way that avoids negative outcomes? This is something I have wrestled with and it’s something I get asked about a lot. Here are some tips on how to tell someone you have bipolar disorder.
I have spent many holidays seasons being unhappy. Usually, this is thanks to bipolar depression. Depression strikes as it wishes, and it often wishes to do so at the holidays, thanks to stress. This might be the most wonderful time of the year, but it’s also one of the most stressful times of the year for many. And, of course, unhappiness can be a product of a myriad of situations and not just a mental illness. So if you’re handling an unhappy holiday season, read this.
Mental illness affects the family in more ways than I can count and, certainly, a failed intervention of any type is part of that. I recently have had to view the effects of a failed addiction intervention on my own family members — and I have to deal with the effects of mental illness and a failed addiction intervention on me too. This has been wildly unpleasant.
I have spent holidays without family before — on purpose. I have found that at times, my mental health is better when I’m not spending my holidays with family. I know that sounds harsh and foreign to some, but I know that some of you out there know exactly what I’m talking about. Avoiding the drunk uncle, the abusive brother, the controlling mother or whatever, can be just what your mental health needs over the holidays.
Bipolar disorder is a chronic illness, a severe one for me, and I’ve found it requires chronic (read: Herculean and constant) effort. And no, I don’t just mean the effort needed to take medications or go to therapy and psychiatry appointments, I mean the effort required to do all the little things in life. I mean the fact that I need to somehow locate a massive amount of effort to get through the day — every day. Chronic illness requires effort that just doesn’t stop.
I get variants of this question all the time: My friend with mental illness stopped talking to me, what do I do? It is both incredibly sad and very heartening question to get asked all the time. It’s incredibly sad because it means there are so many people with mental illness refusing to talk to people who care so much about them. The heartbreak when this happens is very, very real. On the other hand, it’s heartening in some ways because it means that these loved ones want to reach out anyway. These people asking me this question clearly care and are showing empathy to the person with mental illness and want to help. That’s a beautiful thing. So today I’m going to try to answer the question: Why would a person with mental illness stop talking to you?
For me, today is the first day on a new antipsychotic. It’s a sucky day. Even though I swapped out an antipsychotic and even though I started on the lowest dose possible, this antipsychotic is wrecking havoc with my day. I wish this wasn’t so predictable, but it is. For me, it’s just a fact that the first day on a new antipsychotic is terrible.
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