My Life With Bipolar II
When I was sixteen, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder. At the time, it felt like my world had suddenly changed in ways I couldn’t fully understand. There wasn’t much information or support available back then, and honestly, no clear treatment plan either. It was confusing and scary to face something so big without knowing what to expect or how to handle it. Looking back now, I realize how lost I felt trying to make sense of my emotions and behaviors that seemed out of control.
Before the diagnosis, I often felt like my emotions were all over the place. Some days I would feel energetic and hopeful, almost unstoppable. Other days, sadness would hit me hard and make even simple tasks seem impossible. It wasn’t just mood swings; it felt more intense than anything my friends seemed to go through. But since no one really talked about mental health where I lived, especially not bipolar disorder, I thought maybe something was wrong with me personally, rather than realizing it was an illness.
At twenty, I got married. It was a time full of hope and excitement. I thought I had everything figured out. Marriage seemed like the next big step in my life, and I was ready to take it on. But little did I know that my journey would be much more complicated than I ever imagined. Soon after, at twenty-one, I had my first daughter. Holding her for the first time felt like pure magic. She was tiny and perfect, and in that moment, all my worries seemed to disappear.
Being a new mom while dealing with bipolar disorder was tough in ways I never imagined. There were moments when caring for my daughter felt overwhelming because my mind just wasn’t steady enough to keep up with her needs. On the good days, we would play together and share smiles that made me forget about everything else. But on the bad days, even getting out of bed seemed impossible.
When my second and third daughters were born, I thought I was prepared. After all, I had already navigated the wild and exhausting water of new motherhood once before. But this time, something felt different-heavier, darker. The joy that should have come so naturally with welcoming a new life was quickly overshadowed by an overwhelming sadness and confusion. Postpartum depression crept in quietly at first, like a shadow lurking beyond the edge of my vision. It wasn’t just the usual baby blues; it was deeper, more persistent. And then there was the added layer of bipolar disorder. Mixing postpartum depression with bipolar disorder became terrifying in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
I remember feeling completely unmoored, as if my mind were a stormy sea and I had no boat or oar to keep me afloat. Some days were marked by crushing lows where even getting out of bed seemed impossible. Other moments swung sharply into anxiety or irritability that left me feeling frantic and disconnected from myself and those around me. The emotional rollercoaster wasn’t just exhausting-it was frightening because it made me question my ability to care for my children or even understand what was happening inside me.
After ten years of marriage, my husband and I divorced. The end of our relationship was one of the hardest moments in my life. I had invested so much time, love, and hope into our marriage that when it fell apart, I felt as though the ground beneath me gave way. It wasn’t just the loss of a partner; it was the shattering of a future I had imagined for myself. The emotional weight was overwhelming, and coping with such pain while living with bipolar disorder made everything feel even more unbearable.
There came a moment in my life when I realized that things couldn’t go on the way they had been. I was tired, overwhelmed, and carrying a weight that felt too heavy to bear alone. For a long time. I tried to push through the feelings of sadness and anxiety, convincing myself that it was just a phase or something I could handle without help. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. It was time for help. So, one day, I went straight to my doctor and explained everything-my fears, my struggles, and how much it was affecting not only me but also my children.
Being vulnerable in that moment wasn’t easy. Opening up about mental health felt like exposing a part of myself I usually kept hidden from others. But as soon as I spoke honestly with my doctor, a sense of relief washed over me. It was as if admitting the truth unlocked the door to healing rather than weakness. From there, we made a plan together: medication to help balance what felt out of control inside me and therapy sessions to work through the thoughts and emotions weighing me down.
Starting medication and therapy marked the beginning of an important journey toward recovery. Some days were harder than others; progress didn’t happen overnight. There were moments when doubts crept in or when old habits tried to pull me back into isolation and despair. Still, with each step forward, each conversation with my therapist or adjustment in treatment, I learned more about myself and what it truly means to care for one’s mental health.