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.
Why Do People Say ‘You Can Be Whatever You Want to Be?’
The idea that you can “be whatever you want to be” is a quaint one. It’s a nice one. It’s a cozy one. It’s like a bedtime story: “Don’t worry kiddies, your future is yours to create. Just work hard, read the right self-help books, meditate and you’ll be rich, beautiful and achieve your dreams.”
So it’s a nice thing to say, but kind of like there is no Santa Clause, the above bedtime story isn’t true either. And no matter what we’ve been told, as adults, we really need to accept this.
Why Can’t We Be Whatever We Want to Be?
Look,
But the same is true for many, many goals. Take the dreams of kids: being a firefighter or pilot or astronaut. Those jobs have very specific requirements that many people could never meet — no matter what. And accepting this isn’t a big deal for most people.
Bipolar Won’t Let You Be Whatever You Want to Be
And if you happen to have a serious chronic illness like bipolar disorder, be prepared to abandon many dreams because of it.
For example, my goal for my work life was to work my way up through a big company and eventually become the head of a division. I planned on being powerful and making a lot of money.
Um, yeah. I can’t do that. Bipolar has shown me very clearly I can’t be that. I can’t even work at a full-time job. I can’t even work outside of my apartment. I will never come anywhere near that dream. That dream is dead.
And people who are severely ill with bipolar disorder all have similar stories to tell. Maybe having children is off the table because of bipolar disorder. Maybe having a relationship is impossible because you’re so sick. Maybe you can’t work at all. Maybe you can’t afford to send your kids to school because you’re on government assistance.
And so on and so on and so on.
Learning You Can’t Be Anything You Want to Be
And while these things are losses and thus, tend to be inherently negative, the idea itself is not about being negative, it’s about being realistic. Being realistic about your life may not be as fun as envisioning yourself as a princess/prince, but it is more important.
As they taught me where I used to work, it’s about “managing expectations.” This is a thing you do with management (and clients, for that matter). You tell them what to expect in a realistic way so they aren’t disappointed when you deliver. If they expect X and you deliver Y, there is dissonance and unhappiness. Expectation management attempts to avoid said unhappiness.
And the same is true in all aspects of life. If you expect perfection, you will of course never attain it and be forever disappointed and unhappy. If you expect something realistic, though, you can work within that framework and find happiness.
So, no, you can’t be “anything you want to be.” That’s not real. It never was. And if you have bipolar, the boundaries around what you can be are likely even more restrictive than for the average person. I know this about my life. I can live with it.
I know people would argue with me in the ways bipolar limits one. People, in fact, get mad when I say that bipolar harms one. All I can say is: you’re not in my brain. You’re not in the brain of those who are severely impaired. If you’re lucky enough not to have a disabled brain then understand that’s exactly what you are — lucky. Other peoples’ disabilities are real and really impactful.
Don’t Tell Me I Can Be Anything I Want to Be
What bothers me is when people tell others to “dream big” or “never stop dreaming” or “shoot for the moon.” Those are ridiculous things to tell someone, especially someone with bipolar disorder. (In case you were wondering, I don’t tend to dream anything. Anhedonia is like that.)
Doing your best is a much better goal. Working with what you have is a much better goal. Understanding that bipolar disorder has removed some of your life’s options but working to thrive within its boundaries is a much better goal.
Because while I do believe you can’t be anything you want to be, I do believe you can still be something you want to be. Goal-adjustment is necessary, but meeting some goals is still possible.
And people need to respect this. They need to respect that telling people to “reach for the stars” is ableist rhetoric. They need to understand that how one is disabled is real and in many cases, immovable. Because one thing I know we can all be is more understanding.
Image by Flickr user Live Life Happy.
Wonderful reflection and observations. I was a teacher for eleven years, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve had more extreme mood episodes, so I chose to be a teaching assistant. I have been told by several people in my field that I should be a teacher, or they ask me why I’m not anymore. I’ve told a few people the truth, but most of the time, I just say it’s more stress than I want.
Natasha,
When I was a child, people used to say things like “anyone can be president” or proclaim that you will be much more successful and earn more money with a college education.
Well, not anyone can be President, only one person can. And I’m not going to get into that whole horrible mess about college debt and “where did all those jobs go”?
But what I want to say is, many people seem to get so hung up on TITLES, that the whole idea of what they actually want to accomplish gets lost.
You mentioned your goal to be in business management. I don’t know what your mission behind that was, but if it had to do with leading and influencing others or being a Voice Of Reason (VOR), then I would argue that you have accomplished much of it, but in a different way. As for working out of your apartment, that is a contemporary reality, as businesses are not building those big infrastructures anymore.
More to the point of your essay, I agree that “sky is the limit” thinking and “dream big” ambition is way overdone. Maybe it helps some people feel good by generating serotonin, but what goes up, must come down!
What is missing is an actual and realistic understanding of what do we actually want to accomplish in life, combined with realistic and achieveable means and resources. We all have limitations and I agree that by telling young people they can “be/do anything” it’s going to be a set up for a big let down for many of them.
Wouldn’t it be better to help our children understand more about the world and form life goals based on what they would like to accomplish?
I began my career working with mentally and physically challenged adults, many lived in sheltered settings and never worked. I was responsible for helping them learn how to find a job and support themselves, live independently and attain some pride and self respect. I never told any of them they could be “anything they wanted to be.” I helped them see that working and earning money could get them a place in life that enabled them to contribute. Some actually married, one bought his own home, others did what they could.
But what would we all do if nobody washed dishes, worked in a factory, cleaned or helped recycle paper? The truth is we are all important. The problem is, our society is too fixated on youth, glam, money, fame and dreaming. No wonder so many want be an instant CEO, Media Star, Mogul and Mega-rich icon. Be the best you can be, no matter what you do.
Steven B. Uhrik
Thanks for telling it like it is without the coating Natasha. I understand and identify with your written words easily. I read your book and look forward to your burble, finding that I like to reread them to realize I’m not unique with these feelings I have.
Hi again, Natasha –
I want to thank you for actually printing my far roo lengthy bipolar II history, and let you know that I bought the Kindle edition of your book the same day that I discovered your blog. Naturally, I loved it, and I’m certain that I will end up reading it several times.
I did actually want to comment on the topic of this particular blog (surprise, surprise,). As my children were growing up, our message to them was always the same: “Follow your bliss.” We encouraged them to explore, eventually find the one pursuit that gave them true emotional and mental satisfaction, then go for it.
Because he ultimately dropped out of college after his dad left, my son was unable to follow his his original dream of becoming a sound engineer and designing audio speakers. So he had to change course. For the past 15 years or so he has been designing and installing home audio and home theater systems, and he loves what he does.
My daughter wasn’t quite sure where it would lead her, but she had always been a math prodigy, and so went for her degree in Pure Mathematics. (Back when My Space still existed, there was a space on her profile page for “the thing that would most surprise people about her”, and she wrote that she could produce a seven-page mathematical proof, and love every minute of it. lol What she ended up doing – after never having taken a single course in actuarial science – was to buy a study guide, then go in and take the first of the many actuarial exams. Not to sound like a total mom, but my little prodigy passed the exam on her first try. Even though her degree was not in Actuarial Science, she had an amazing mathematical background, had passed the first exam on her first try, and quickly found a position. She absolutely loves her career, has said many times that she absolutely never dreads having to go to work, and has been thrilled over the years that her husband is a stay-at-home dad, and she gets to go to the job she loves every day, rather than cooking and cleaning.
So you really can encourage your kids, and support their dreams, without feeding them unrealistic fairy tales. If a young person is intelligent and emotionally healthy, they will have dreams and goals that are realistic and attainable.
(One quick question that’s completely off topic: You have mentioned in a few of your blogs that certain things act as “triggers” for your bipolar moods. Do you mean – jeez! I feel like a completely uninformed 22-year veteran of this disease! – that certain behaviors or outside influences can push you into either hypomania or bipolar depression? I strongly suspect, given what a good place I’m in on the rare occasions that I’m actually interacting with other people, that the experience puts me into a very short-lived hypomanic state. The warm “wow, I actually had a great time!” Sense lingers for a couple of hours afterward, but has always faded away by the following morning. I have believed, all through the past 10 years of hell, that it is just THAT GOOD for me to be around other people. Given my recent awakening, combined with your comments, I am now wondering if I may indeed be going into ultradian hypomanic episodes. Any helpful information?)
Thanks, as always,
Georgia
Hi Georgia,
I’m glad you got the book and like it :) I’m glad you’re able to find a balance when encouraging your kids’ dreams.
Here’s what I always say about mental health problems — if they’re not problematic, then they’re not a problem. And if they’re not a problem, then you don’t really need to overanalyze them.
This is my way of saying that if you’re in a “warm” mood and you’re enjoying it and it’s not causing problems, then just thank your lucky stars and fully enjoy it. (And hopefully look to recreate it.)
I understand the desire to figure out what every mood is and what causes every one but the fact of the matter is we can’t. We want to because we want understanding and control. So, are you ultradian cycling? I don’t know. I know that when I cycle like that I feel mood “whiplash” the moods are so severe and fast. But if your moods are warm, maybe you’re okay? Only you know that, of course.
As for triggers — yes, I mean things that happen that induce a mood or, more likely, a mood symptom.
I hope that helps.
Now I have a favor to ask: if you can (and want to) could you leave a review of the book on Amazon and/or GoodReads? I would really appreciate it. (It’s totally okay if you don’t want to for any reason.)
– Natasha Tracy
Best book EVER on bipolar disorder, and told from an insider viewpoint. An easy 5 stars!!!
Natasha is extremely knowledgeable in her field, from both an empirically educated and a deeply personal point of view, and is brilliant at combining these two viewpoints into a concise, deeply visceral, and easily understood guide that connects strongly with both those (such as myself) who share her illness, and with those who do not, but are searching for a true understanding of this serious and often crippling disease.
I have struggled with this disease for 22 years, and have never before encountered another individual – from either a personal or a professional viewpoint – who has helped me to discover such a deep and empathetic understanding of my own behaviors and bipolar thought processes.
She has a true gift for describing what it actually FEELS like to be inside the mind of a person with bipolar disorder.
(Just posted the above on Amazon. Very happy to help out and, after reading some of the other reviews, have decided to give a few copies out as gifts to the people I love.) ?
Hi Georgia,
Thank you so much. I’m blushing :) I really appreciate it. You wouldn’t be the first person to hand it out to others :)
– Natasha Tracy
Hello. I’ve been reading for years now and this is my first time commenting. I don’t communicate much, even online, so please forgive me if I’m verbose or awkward.
What I’d like to ask about is when mental illness limits you from living out dreams like work, education, and relationships. Stuff that others may not categorize as “shooting for the stars” but more as basic life experiences or milestones. I’ve mostly accepted these limitations and let my dreams go but now I need to find other things to do with my time here.
How do you do this without it just feeling like bad consolation prizes in lieu of what you actually want? Should I maybe let go of the idea of goals altogether and hunker down deeper into the “one day at a time, focus on what’s in front of you” mentality? I feel like this way of living is becoming so corrosive…
Thank you for giving some of your time to listen to me.
Hi Jenna,
Well, I can admit to the fact that I’ve given up most — but not all — goals. I am a one-day-at-a-time person. When people ask me for a life-plan I say I plan to be alive. That’s about it. All those job interviewers that ask you where you’re going to be in five years can, quite frankly, bite me.
All that being said, I do have things on the go. I have a second book in the works and eventually, I’d like to move somewhere nicer. The book I had planned on already having written, but it’s not done. The moving thing? Well, it’ll happen, maybe, eventually.
I try not to get caught up in deadlines is my point. (I have deadlines for work, obviously, however.)
But realism is critical. I got my degree back before I was this sick. I don’t think I’d even try today. That’s just a fact. (I kind of marvel that it happened at all.)
And I believe that no matter who we are and how sick we are, there is a goal that is right for us. I can’t say what that is for you but what I can say is start small. Like, really small. And then work up. You want to build on success.
There are things to do with your time here. I don’t know what they are for you, but look around and pick a hint of something. Move forward from there.
– Natasha Tracy
I didn’t get bipolar II (and like you, I’m an ultra rapid cycler) until I was 38 years old, and I had used those years – at least the adult ones – to truly “be as much as I could be”. I had my children very young (18 & 22) so I was fortunate enough to have my son completely raised, and my daughter nearly so, before I became ill.
I had spent a few years during my mid-twenties going through psychotherapy. NOT cognitive behavioral therapy, but the version where you dive into all of your baggage, work through it, and – at least for me – come out the other side as a centered, self motivated and self disciplined, high-functioning woman who had healthy self esteem, a healthy, nurturing inner parent, and a butt-load of energy.
When my daughter started first grade, I started college full time. I started as an English Lit major, as I had been a voracious reader from the time I learned how to read, I was a writer, and had always, always felt a calling to teach. Much to my surprise – and my ultimate joy – I took an intro geology course my first semester in school as one of my gen-ed requirements, and fell madly in love with our planet.
I immediately discovered that I – in addition to my major course work – would need a year of general chemistry, a year of calculus based physics, and three semesters of calculus with analytical geometry. Now, I had grown up in the late 60s and early 70s, and I was a true, arts-loving hippie. I had won the Outstanding English Student award for my graduating class of more than 500 students, but, not only had I never had even a chemistry or physics class for dummies, I had even managed, in those ultra-liberal times, to have never even taken an algebra course!
But I wanted to be a geologist with all my heart, so I did a 180°, taught myself intermediate algebra over my first Christmas break, and went right into college algebra with trig in the spring. To the amazement of both myself and my instructor (who thought I was going to do a major crash and burn) I aced the course, and discovered that I actually loved math, as long as it was INTERESTING math! I dove into calculus and chemistry the following fall, and amazed myself yet again by not only pulling straight A’s in all of my courses, but falling in love with the physical sciences as well as with advanced math.
And what an amazing experience it was! I had spent my entire life focused on the arts – had even CLEPed out of two semesters of basic composition, and a semester of mixed humanities. But now I had this incredible opportunity to expand and grow in a direction that I had never explored before. The opportunities for personal growth were exciting, and I was able to stretch and utilize a part of myself that I never would have guessed I would love madly, and that I would excell at beyond my wildest dreams.
So, in four-and-a-half years, I became an excellent geologist, as well as an all-around accomplished scientist. And I was going to teach my students to love this planet as much as I did. I was offered a fully paid ride on the PhD track at the University of Chicago, and I dreamed of being a university professor. Well. My still – after years of marriage and his having gone through intense therapy as well – insecure and intellectually threatened husband, after only three weeks of course work at U of C, told me that, now that he had become a residual partner in his investment firm, he was going to have to be traveling more for work, and that since the money had (finally!) started rolling in, we didn’t really need me to bring in a substantial income, and that he REALLY needed me to help keep the fort held down with the kids, rather than disappearing into my office all weekend every weekend. (I will say that the curriculum was in fact incredibly grueling.)
Still, it was the opportunity of a lifetime at one of the best universities in the country – or the world, for that matter – and I argued with him. So he simply told me that he was withdrawing all emotional support in regard to my pursuing my doctorate. He suggested that I continue going into the city a couple of days a week and continue doing the graduate research that I had already, as an undergrad, begun with my advisor, then take less grueling graduate courses one or two at a time, and slowly finish my degree that way.
I had already begun teaching labs at the local community college – it only requires a B.S. to teach labs – and had fallen even more in love with teaching than I had always known that I would. Ok. I decided that I was actually happier with the idea of an M.S., and teaching community college, rather than killing myself for six years getting my PhD, then killing myself for another seven years in the publish-or-perish nightmare of shooting for tenure at a four-year university, when my first love was the teaching, anyway.
I did continue to commute into Chicago two days a week for another two years, working with Alfred T. Anderson on a fascinating and groundbreaking high-temperature geochemistry research project, traveling to Geological Society of America national meetings every year to present talks on our work, and ultimately publishing an amazing paper with Fred in the most prestigious journal in our our field. And because it was just the two of us, I was actually listed as coauthor on the article, rather than being a virtually overlooked “et. al.”
I was in heaven, and started taking one class a semester at my undergrad university, loved my part time teaching beyond belief, and was still able to spend the large amount of family time that my husband and I had always devoted to our kids, both of us always believing that raising emotionally healthy children was the most important thing that we would ever do in our lives. I was truly happy. I was married to the love of my life, my soulmate, I had two incredible children that I loved with all my heart, and I was enthralled with sharing my love of the Earth with the students in the three labs I was teaching each semester. And even the money seemed to be rolling in faster and faster.
I was 33 when I had completed my B.S. and began to work with Fred in earnest. I was 35 when he and I had our journal article published, and 36 when my husband told me that he wanted a separation and was moving out. As his income had increased exponentially over just a couple of years, his ego had also grown exponentially, and he wanted to be footloose and rich. Oh, and he had just turned 40 and bought himself a red sports car.
I was so far beyond devastated that there really aren’t words to describe it. And our kids were absolutely crushed with despair. We had always – even through our son’s high school years – adored our children, spent every weekday evening, year round, with “family time”, and I had never known a family as close as ours was. But he simply turned the three of us off like faucets, and walked away. My son failed every one of his college courses that semester, and ultimately quit school altogether. My daughter absolutely hated her father for over a year, and the kids and I just huddled together in agony and incredulity.
Even though he was raking in a very sizable six-digit income by then, he was obligated to pay me both child support for our daughter and maintenance for me. And, even though his income was still increasing at an incredible rate, he was so anxious to be spending his weekends in jazz clubs in Chicago, that I was able to manage to have both his support and maintenance based entirely on a direct percentage of his income – including the same percentage of his enormous yearly partner share bonus – and so my income would follow his, without my ever having to take him back to court to fight for more money. It was a piss-poor consolation prize, but it was something.
I gave myself a year-and-a-half to agonize, then I went back to my undergrad university, talked the graduate committee into accepting the paper Fred and I had published in lieu of a Master’s thesis, and rolled up my sleeves for a year of extremely difficult course work – especially considering that I had been away from the classroom for nearly five years. I took a T.A. position to cover my tuition, which meant that I was teaching two labs. Then, my original mentor and dear friend from the community college I had attended for two years, called and threw himself at my mercy. One of his full time instructors had resigned with virtually no notice, and he was scrambling like a lunatic to find people to fill in. He said that he knew that I was taking a full load of graduate courses, plus teaching two lab sections, but could I please, please, PLEASE help him out and pick up three labs for him? He even promised to find me an ex-student to do the grading for me. All I had to do was show up in the classroom and make my magic (although I realized, even at the time, that I would still have to grade all essay questions, and record and do final grade calculations).
I was worried about the workload I was taking on – plus the university was an hour commute. Each way. And the three courses I was taking were Radioactive Isotope Geology, Stable Isotope Geology, and Advanced Metamorphic Petrology. Yeah. It was sooooooo not smart of me to take all of that on, but I just couldn’t say no to my dear friend.
I was so completely overwhelmed, that by late October I had contracted walking pneumonia. I was staggering around with a fever, sick as a dog, and stressed beyond anything I had ever experienced. But there really wasn’t any feasible means of reducing my workload. All three of my courses were extremely difficult, and all three were basically geochemistry courses, which I hadn’t dealt with for years. I had received only one B all the way through my undergrad degree, and had a perfect 4.0 in my major. I knew that that situation was definitely going to be changing, and was reduced to praying that I wouldn’t end up with a C in anything, as a C is considered a failing grade in grad school.
The walking pneumonia was NOT letting go of me, but I did manage to get through all of the teaching, and somehow managed to squeeze by with two As and a B in my coursework. I staggered out of the university, drove the hour home with a raging fever, and pathetically collapsed into bed – where I stayed for several days. I was only just beginning to feel slightly better when I came down with an extremely virulent case of the flu. I thought I might just curl up and die. And, in a way, that’s exactly what I did.
When I finally recovered from the flu, I could immediately tell that there was something wrong with me. I didn’t feel like myself, and I knew myself very well. I had lost something, like an intrinsic piece of me had shut down, like a switch somewhere inside of me had been turned off. And I was never myself again. Not even close. But I had no clue at all what had happened. I knew that it had to somehow be the result of the ridiculous stress, then the flu right on top of the pneumonia, but I had no idea how to fix it.
That was December of 1996, and I spent the next 10 years trying to find my way back to myself, and trying to figure out just what was wrong with me. I barely scraped by spring semester with three Bs, and spent the entire weekend before finals obsessively playing Minesweeper on my computer instead of studying. Never in a million years would I have ever even dreamed that I had pushed myself into bipolar II disorder. My hypomania was so mild (and still is) that not even my psychotherapist – who I had desperately begun seeing again – caught on to what had happened to me. But I had lost my spark. I no longer possessed my self-motivation, or my self-confidence, and even just having to face making out the monthly bills – despite having more than enough money – filled me with anxiety and dread. For many years, even the depression was bearable, and I didn’t have my first depression-based hospitalization until 2003 – nearly six years after I got sick – but by that time the black bipolar abyss was starting to make itself known. Yet it still took three hospitalizations and a total of 10 years of wondering where the hell my old self had gone, before I was finally diagnosed.
The rest of my story just gets worse and worse, so I won’t go into it here. I did actually get to teach full time for a few glorious years before I became too sick to function in front of a classroom any longer. 10 years ago, when I was going through the throes of losing the last thing in my life that I just couldn’t live without – my bliss and my calling – that I fell into the hell that is a mixed-mood episode. And it lasted, without a break, for more than 18 months. I just discovered, this past November, that my psychiatrist during that time was as inept as I can possibly imagine any educated, responsible, supposed expert in her field could possibly be.
I was in absolute hell – so depressed over the end of my beloved career that I could barely breathe – but bouncing off the walls and staying up all night sometimes two or three nights in a row. I would burst into hysterical sobs at the drop of a hat, I stopped cleaning my house (which I had always maintained very nicely), and spent at least 12 hours a day obsessively playing Spider Solataire. I was completely non-functional, and thought that I was going completely insane. My oh-so-wise doctor told me over and over and over again that I was having a full blown manic episode and, as I was out of necessity seeing her quite frequently, she also asked me constantly if I were having “racing thoughts”. I had no idea just what a “racing thought” might be, but I was sure that I wasn’t having them. Every time she told me how severely manic I was, I told her that I couldn’t possibly be manic, as I had never been so depressed in my life. She wouldn’t listen to me at all, and actually officially changed my diagnosis from bipolar II to bipolar I. Then, just to add insult to injury, she had me forcibly committed over a silly, facetious comment I made about some days not being sure I could even take care of myself (I had been chuckling over the amount of work that my 3 dogs and 2 cats were). Yeah, she and I were permanently done with one another after that little nightmare.
I had never heard of a mixed-mood episode but, clearly, she must have known what they were. How could she POSSIBLY have watched me, talked to me, and listened to me, and NOT known what was wrong with me? I had read up on bipolar disorder online when I was first diagnosed in 2006, but I had never seen any reference to mixed-mood episodes. I also never found anything about ultra rapid cycling. Until this past November, when I made my first suicide attempt by eating a great number of clonazapam tablets and, consequently dragged my very sorry self in to see a new therapist, I had truly and honestly believed that I had not had a manic episode for 10 years. The inept ex-psychiatrist had so successfully convinced me that what I had gone through 10 years ago was now how I manifested mania, and I have DEFINITELY never experienced anything like that again. I am perpetually in various levels of depression, but once in a while, for one or two days, I feel ok, and can actually even do something other than the perpetual reading I do to keep my mind as engaged as possible. It’s the only way I can get through the day.
But my new therapist – whom I adore, by the way – during our second session, was listening to me describe my day-to-day life, and had just read over the emotional projectile vomiting that I had texted to my kids the night before. And she said “oh! You’re an ultra rapid cycler!” I had no clue what she was talking about, so she explained briefly, then sent me home to do research. I don’t even recall what combination of words I had typed into google, but somehow I ended up at your blog on what it actually feels like to be trapped in a mixed-mood episode.
It was my own, personal, road to Damascus event. I couldn’t believe what I was reading and listening to. It was EXACTLY what I had gone through for 18 months all those years ago. All these realizations came roaring in at me. If that hadn’t been bipolar I mania (which it very clearly had not) 10 years ago, then who was I? What was really going on with my illness? (I did know that it wasn’t anything good, considering that I had just gotten out of the hospital after my first suicide attempt.) I had connected so intensely with what you had had to say, that I just immediately went to your blog homepage, and started reading back through all of your older blogs.
I know that you always say that we “save ourselves”, but I swear, for the first time in all of the 22 years that I’ve had this miserable disease, I didn’t feel alone or isolated. I tried to find a bipolar support group when I was first diagnosed, but there wasn’t – and still isn’t – any such thing within 50 miles of me. I have never once spoken to another bipolar person, what to speak of an ultra rapid cycling bipolar II, and until I discovered your blog, I had never even read anything written by another bipolar person. I felt like I had just received a warm hug.
As I read through more and more of your articles, I was completely blown away. Of course I have continued to have manic episodes all through the past 10 years, but my hypomania is so tame and gentle, that those were just my “better days”. I have never,ever felt euphoric, I have never experienced an inflated ego or any kind of aggrandizement, I have never been irritable while hypomanic (why would I? Those are the only times that I feel even half-way human), as I mentioned earlier, I’ve never had a racing thought, I don’t have the distractibility problem, as the one and only positive thing that that first psychiatrist of mine did do for me was to have me take an absolutely horrible test for ADHD, by the end of which I had literally passed out on the computer keyboard that I was supposed to be using. I tested as a “definite” on the ADHD scale (which is another lovely gift from my disease, as I was definitely NOT affiliated prior to becoming ill). I don’t overspend – as if that’s even an option, given that I live on retirement-disability through the State University Retirement System here in Illinois. I do get pretty chatty on the rare occasions that I’m not alone, and I definitely DO immerse myself in “projects”. I can spend 8, 10, or even 12 hours working on my family tree on Ancestry, completely oblivious to anything else – well, except my pug Lily. I never neglect my girl.
So, after just the first few of your blogs, I had realized that I am an ultra rapid cycler, and that I was definitely NOT bipolar I! Then I read “How a Person with Bipolar Thinks”, and was so freaking relieved that it’s not just me! That the obsessing, the catastrophizing, the constantly trying to figure out how to act “normal”, and my occasional, awful slip-ups when my crazy erupts and lands on someone I love. A more accurate word for me than obsessing is Brooding. I brood day and night over everything that I’ve lost, over how desperately lonely I am, over how my life has completely sucked for the past 10 years. It’s why I have to constantly keep my mind engaged. If I had to listen to all that negativity all day every day, I would be on the edge of suicide every day of my life. Then I read “Chronic Illness Requires Chronic Effort”, and I was practically gasping with relief. It’s not just me! I usually feel like a feeble, pathetic invalid these days but, discovering that it’s the disease, and not just me, I have been able to pretty effectively muzzle my nasty, critical inner parent. And I even HATE taking showers! I thought I was nuts! Even my kids (now 37 and 41) would look at me strangely when I would tell them how I have to “sneak up on myself” to trick myself into showering.
I have to apologize for running on and on here, as this is obviously NOT the place to dump my life story on you. But I really did need to tell you just how much it has meant to me to find you, and to actually feel a connection, and to discover that I’m not alone or insane – I’m just bipolar after all. Thank you Natasha, from the bottom of my heart. Now I will leave you alone to either cut the daylights out of this novella, or just scrap the entire thing. ?
Hi Georgia,
Not to worry — you are welcome to share your life story. By doing that, no doubt, someone else will recognize themselves in you and that will help them.
I’m very happy and humbled to have helped you. That’s what I’m here for. If you haven’t checked out my book already, you might want to: http://bit.ly/Lost_Marbles_Natasha_Tracy
Thanks for your comment.
– Natasha Tracy
I like that you said that goal adjustment is necessary, but not to relinquish all goals. It’s important to be realistic at both ends: having any kind of severe illness, like bipolar, means that some dreams that you once had may be out of reach, but it’s important to also not overcompensate and take this to mean that you shouldn’t try to stretch yourself out of your comfort zone.
-Sean
http://www.nerd-mind.com
hmmm. Interesting ideas but the repeated message not to ‘reach for the stars’ particularly if you have bipolar disorder, I believe, might not be the best advice for all those with the condition. I find sometimes that the lack of encouragement given by psych’s etc to pursue dreams because of bp to be harmful and defeating for myself and I’m sure others. I, and others including those in the public eye have found great success in pursuing dreams in spite of and sometimes even as a result of their diagnosis. Those with the condition shouldnt be dissuaded from pursuing a full and ambitious life. Everybody is limited from achieving ‘it all’ whether they are bp or not…but while expectations should probably be managed by all of us to some extent I believe it’s equally important that all of us are free to pursue our dreams.
Hi Georgiana,
You have a point about not wanting to be overly negative and what you say about doctors sometimes being discouraging to patients’ goals is true in my experience too. I do wish they would believe in us a little more but, of course, they tend to see the worst cases where people really don’t have a lot of options. All that said, it’s important to get the message of our limitations out so that we don’t beat ourselves up about them and other people don’t either.
– Natasha Tracy
Yes! Yes! Yes! A million times yes!
This is the hardest lesson for me. I was just like you – I had my career path all set. And then there were small bipolar-related setbacks (pre-dx). Then a couple of bigger setbacks and then came the doozy that knocked me right out of the workforce. Ten years later people still tell me that going back to work is possible if I just do the right things and get the right things – that’s just harmful. Finally I am understanding this and trying to build a life worth living that respects my limitations – but it’s not easy. Thanks for this post.
So well written. Last year I cut my hours in half – from 40 to 20, and it was a gut wrenching decision. I had awesome health insurance, and that meant I had to go back to Obamacare, which wasn’t as good. Luckily now I am on my husband’s policy.
I constantly compare myself to others who are Bipolar – including a co-worker who’s worked full-time with it for like 30 years. I’m not her though. I struggle. I also have co-occurring disorders of anxiety and ADHD. So my life can be a challenge. I’m impulsive and all over the place at times. I do my best working 20 hours a week.
Totally agree. I used to work for a bank where Total Quality Management (TQM) was adopted. The mantra was Get It Right First Time. There would be inquests when things were not right first time. This put immense pressure on some managerial staff and a number of them became ill and required psychological help. They had been tasked with an unrealistic objective and they punished themselves because they fell for the idea that the objective was achievable and they must be inadequate for failing to achieve the impossible
Oh THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, Natasha!!! I was raised with those ableist ideas and bought into them hook, line, and sinker, which made me utterly LOATHE MYSELF since I was in the early grades in school. I had sidling migraines since as early as I can remember – my parents having to put me in their lap and hold my hands or else I would rip chunks of hair our of my head while I screamed in pain. Eventually they would take me to the ER where I would receive a shot of Demerol and some Gravel to keep me from throwing up. I seriously doubt that is the protocol for small children these days – I’m 50 this year.
And I have been Bipolar II all of my life as well – from lat April / early May until the Fall I’m so disconnected I can barely remember my name. The depression is absolutely DEVASTATINGLY deep. But I was pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and harassed, and harangued, and challenged, and threatened…you get the idea…in every single way possible my parents and later, my older siblings, tried to force me to “be productive”.
For some reason it drove them all crazy that all I wanted – and needed to do was sleep. When I tried to stand and move around while I was in the period of depression I was dizzy, my balance was off, I couldn’t remember anything from one moment to the next, often couldn’t understand what was being said to me, and physically felt as if my whole body was covered in weights and I was moving through waist high cold molasses. And the hell, the sheer hell of being constantly threatened and abused – sometimes physically – for not being “productive enough” is difficult to even describe.
It certainly did nothing to help that I was also born with a severe sleep disorder characterized by night terrors – very different from normal nightmares – and chronic insomnia. I still live with that at 50. But at least today I’m not being forced to go to school 5 days a week without sleep…for years, and years, and years. Just try to imagine that hell. I look back on my forcer self with great compassion. Particularly regarding the migraines which were discovered, as an adult, to be caused by the fluorescent lighting in the classrooms of the schools, which was why I never made it through an entire school week without having to stay in bed because I was utterly crippled by hellacious migraines.
Today, I say that “We all have more possibilities than limitations”, and I believe this wholeheartedly, but what I mean by that is that there is so much we can do WITHIN OUR BOUNDARIES and we can learn to lead rich and rewarding, loving, compassionate lives, WITHIN OUR LIMITATIONS. If I didn’t believe that, Id be outta here.
Truth? Rough truth? When a very, VERY stupid young therapist at the hospital outpatient clinic told me – after nearly a year of therapy wherein I was FINALLY diagnosed bipolar type II by a GOOD psychiatrist and psychiatric nurse team, who unfortunately had to go on personal leave suddenly and left me with this young twit – she told me after a short time of giving me inane advice like “Try putting on some shoes and going for a walk 2 or 3 times a week and see if that makes you feel better!” I KID YOU NOT. As I said: Stupid. I was far, far past the point of being “fixed” with a good pair of running shoes. Anyway…one day I came in for a regular appointment and she surprised me by telling me that she didn’t think there was anything more that could be done for me, that the medication was controlling the hypomania well but the depression was intractable and everything that could be done to alleviate it had been tried and failed, so there was nothing left to do for me. It was as good as it was ever going to get. I would just have to learn to live with it. I COULDN’T BE HELPED. she said she was “sorry” and wished me luck. I was told I would be like this for the rest of my life. That…that after the first GOOD psychiatric nurse had finally convinced me of the opposite, specifically telling me that NO, I WOULD NOT BE LIKE THIS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE, SHE PROMISED. But she was on leave, and her replacement said otherwise, with the psychiatrist at her side, concurring. And I walked out of that hospital that day wanting to die. And I didn’t stop wanting to die. I was suicidal for a long time. I won’t go into the details for fear of triggering anyone, but there are very good reasons I shouldn’t be here right now. It is by grace that I am, and today I am grateful that I am. I WANT TO BE HERE AND TO STAY HERE. I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO MY LIFE. Because I have found so very many wonderful things that I can do and enjoy…within the boundaries of my limitations. Fuck “productive” Just BE.
Hi Natasha,
Oh if only we could get this fact through our own heads, then into the heads of others. But we only have control of ourselves.
Your words are so true. The limitations, trying to live with them is hard enough. Accepting them is even harder. Working within those limitations, wow, well done if you can. Push the boundaries each day, and then accept them. It’s so hard to keep pushing and not just sit on your butt and give up. I still haven’t made peace with myself or my bipolar, or having, being bipolar (let’s start a huge argument with that one) and I don’t think I ever will. Because it is not the person I want to be. It is so hard to be one person one day with more abilities for coping and then based on today, thinking you can do the same tomorrow. It’s soal destroying. I have to be prepared to have goals at the start of a day and then let some of them go, knowing that most days I will hit a wall and shutdown before accomplishing everything. So hard to accept. Some days it stops me even trying. You don’t bother. You push everyone away who believes in you more than you believe in you. Other days you are ready to fight. The need to surrender to yourself, how you do that whilst being ok with it, I honesly don’t know. Bipolar, mental illness robs you of life. What is even more painful I feel, is when someone compares someone with bipolar with someone else with bipolar. I know I tend to do it myself, as in why is my friend coping better than I can. Am I weak or different. I know the answer, but am I weak, there is a fight in itself. Turning off those thoughts and doing your best.
Sometimes your best is eating something for the day because it requres getting out of bed. Brushing your teeth. Or having a shower. Going out in public is a whole new ball game. Heck, that is a whole new planet to go visit. For me outdoors with people, it’s like being a Martian on Earth. You feel every set of eyes, see a world you don’t fit into, and despite your best efforts, know that the best you can hope for is to be a good Martian. You will never be human.
It always amazes me that there is a part of the brain that cannot cope beyond a certain point, and yet the part of the brain that limits us. One part can analyze the other.
Thank you. I have been told I’m cynical and in some things, yes, but not disability. I’m a realist with regards to my limitations and until I stopped listening to all the over the top sunshine talk I continuously felt like a failure and the process of mourning and accepting my Bipolar diagnosis was severely stuck. I’m having to learn what my abilities and limitations are which is hard and I really don’t like it but it’s better than living the lies that others were feeding me and I was consuming that all was just as it was before and I will come back a better, stronger, more improved me… I just want to be me, accepted for warts and all and find a place in my world again without being judged better or worse than before.
Hi Natasha! You so write it as it is. I suffer Schizo Affective disorder and I get depressed. This makes me confined to the house. On days when my mood lifts I go out. I find now I am isolated but my care coordinator seems to think me not joining a group is holding me back. When I am not depressed I can motivate myself. Would a nurse tell a cancer patient to go join a group to alleviate someone’s condition. Depression is just as disabling. I am always fighting it this she recognizes but sometimes it’s so hard.
Good article, Natasha. It’s kinda like telling a kid who just lost in the soccer game that there are no losers. Very good article. Thanks for taking the time to write it.