Sober and Bipolar
At 3 years of sobriety, I'd come a long way. I'd gotten off hard drugs and booze, cleaned up my life, and landed a job making more money than I'd ever made in my life. I'd also made poor personal choices and threw away my hard-won personal freedom with both hands. I thought being sober would be enough, but I suffered from a severe mental disorder. Being manic makes for impulsive, disastrous decisions.
As young as 11, anxiety and what I can best describe as Spiderman senses bloomed up. Noises, light, people...everything was exaggerated. It was like the world had an intensity knob and someone had turned it up. WAY up. I sought ease and comfort, secretly guzzling vodka and bourbon. I also smoked marijuana and drank codeine cough syrup. Slight, far-off noises would keep me awake at night. Altered perception (in my case sensitivity to noise and light) is one of the symptoms of the onset of mania. I'm not sure how much self-medication started or if it was part of the cause of my addiction. Cart, horse, dual diagnosis addict. Just throw it all in the cart, that's me.
I self-medicated from ages 11 to 26, the age I made that fateful trip to rehab and got my start in 12-step recovery. For most people, a moment of clarity followed by cleaning up, learning a new way to live and having some of spiritual awakening is enough. For those of us with an organic brain disorder, it's both a miracle and a ticking time bomb if we don't treat our pre-existing psychiatric disorders.
When I was 23, I sought psychiatric help, was diagnosed bipolar and prescribed Lithium and Zoloft. Unfortunately, they didn't mix well with bourbon and cocaine. When I got sober, I listened to a few AA old-timers "if you take psych meds, you aren't sober." My detox was excruciating and I went into a severe bipolar depression, which I attributed (at the time) to my cessation of crystal meth.
A manic or depressive state can last for many years. As I'm a "rapid cycler", I alternated between depressive and manic states. For my first year and a half sober, I fought severe depression. I worked a really excellent recovery program and held on for dear life. And I suffered needlessly. The inevitable mania set in just before I turned 2 years sober.
The altered perception had returned. At night, my refrigerator sounded like a fully loaded semi truck in low gear, laboring up a long grade. I became obsessed with noises my neighbors were making and the sirens on Colorado Boulevard, a major thoroughfare near my Glendale apartment. I fixated on them and started obsessing about moving. The music my neighbors played was the deal breaker, I decided. Sleep had become more elusive. Like many who are manic, my sexual desires were off the charts and for a short period, I became compulsive. Since the evil dripping faucet all the way in the kitchen was like a fire alarm, might as well find something to do at night. I also took on another job. Furious activity, euphoria, compulsive sex, trademark of someone who is manic. Day job, night job, recovery, chasing boys...I had energy for all of it, and was often filled with euphoria.
So...I met a psychopath. He was pretty and he was nice to me. In those days, all I wanted was for someone to put their arms around me and tell me everything would be OK. I was filled with fear and anxiety and sought others to help me walk through it. He stepped up to the task. Like most psychopaths, he put me on a pedestal and gave me the flood of attention I desperately required.
One of the first clues you're with a sociopath/psychopath is that things move VERY quickly. I was like a wounded gazelle on the Serengeti. He tagged me, told me the right things and 3 months after I met him, I threw my hard-won independence in the garbage with both hands and we moved to another state. He got what he wanted--made his kill and mounted my head on his wall. He was my "everything": personal trainer, best friend, "tour guide" of the world. He paid for things. He insisted. He was more than ready and seemed to enjoy the position. In my state, I created a fantasy of who he was that had little to do with the piece of shit who had taken control of my life, because I was sick and weak.
Fast-forward a year, I was living in Las Vegas and I was in a disastrous, abusive relationship with my Prince Charming. What happened to the affectionate, doting, perfect man I met? He was a fantasy and a sick fuck who saw me coming a mile away. In the beginning, he showered me with attention and "love", romantic gestures, "it's you and me against the world" (which is a mantra for psychopaths). He'd bought me and cut me off from everyone after getting me to discard my life. Fortunately I started making money of my own but as my mania had continued to get worse, I was in no position to leave him. I couldn't believe I was sober and living this way.
The intensity knob of the world was now turned all the way up. My Bipolar anxiety had reached a point that it was affecting my work. I'd become startled and drop things. I'd start shaking. Sometimes I'd jump or even yell out. I must have looked insane. I now realize Bipolar anxiety had ruined a good chunk of my life. Slight noises in the restaurant would startle me. I'd drop expensive wine and break glasses. I was union so they couldn't fire me. At my worst, I once started having a Bipolar anxiety induced panic attack and swore I could hear the heartbeat of the other person in the elevator. it was like Joan Crawford in the movie Possessed, where everything was loud and she'd dramatically pull her face back. I knew I was really fucked up and needed help.
Something happened next that I'm not going to discuss here (no, I didn't get arrested) that changed the course of my life. Let's just say it was really, really bad, enough to make me seek treatment. At 3 years sober, I found myself in the office of a psychiatrist. He prescribed me Seroquel and Olanzapine, "either take these or I'm going to have to institutionalize you for your own safety." Yes, I was that bad. I'd never been in a psych ward, not even in my addiction. At first, all I did was sleep, go to work, come home and go back to sleep. Manic, I had been in great physical shape but the meds made me put on some weight. My psychopath never let me hear the end of it.
As I started to recover and get some distance from my mania, it was like waking up from a drug binge. I surveyed the damage. I mourned the life I'd worked so hard to build and threw away to move away with this psychopath. I was angry at myself for letting all this happen. I was angry at myself for listening to people who were not doctors and avoiding psychiatric treatment.
Leaving the psychopath was ugly. He set out to ruin my life. I rented a nice apartment with a secret address but he found me. I'm going to write a whole blog about how to avoid psychopaths. He stalked me for a year after I left.
In the process of recovering from my 1997-1999 manic episode, I re-committed to recovery. In my mania and hooking up with the psycho, I had drifted from AA. I didn't have a sponsor, I had no home group, no support in the town where I lived. I found my home group in Vegas and made wonderful, life-long friends. It was a miracle I had stayed stayed sober, isolated and without solid recovery.
With psychiatric care and recovery, life took on a new dimension. for the first time, there was no "a man, a man, I can't be alone, can't be alone" desperation. I was fine with me. For the first time, I was the captain of my own ship. I didn't need anyone to lead me by the hand. The anxiety was gone. The noises were turned down. All the sharp edges in the world had been dulled. Medication did what nothing else could--turned that intensity knob down to a manageable level...and for the first time in my life, psychopaths had no interest in me.
Finding the right medication was trial and error and is like sailing by hand on the open sea, requiring periodic course correction and steadfast monitoring. I remain transparent with my loved ones, knowing that if they say something like "you seem manic" or "have you been taking your meds?" I need to look at what's going on with me. Medication is just one piece of the puzzle. Exercise, nutrition, work, spirituality and play must get proportionate attention. I let my life get out of balance and unfortunately experienced another manic episode in 2006. It was bad. My medication wasn't right and I wasn't listening to anyone who was telling me I needed help. What I learned from that one was, listen to my body, balance, listen to my loved ones and no more workaholism.
In recent years (after a series of losses), my struggle has been grief and subsequent grief related depression. In the time it takes me to walk from my bedroom to my front door depressed, I could have met a new man, new job and remodeled my apartment. Not really, but you get the idea. .
Mania is addictive. We can get plenty done.We can stay thin. We can work an extra job. What we don't realize is how crazy we look to others. People told me later how hard I was to be around on my bad days. Stumbling over words, loud speech, irritability, restlessness, difficulty sleeping, unable to concentrate, erratic behavior, all those loud noises...and the catastrophic poor life decisions make it a bad bargain. I was addicted to my mania like I was cocaine. If I wanted it back, I know exactly how to cultivate it. But it's a monster that will consume my life and kill me. People become so addicted to mania that they won't seek treatment. They don't realize that in being balanced, they will accomplish exponentially more and no longer be...insane.
Two years ago, a dripping kitchen faucet was suddenly a thud, thud. The amplified noise thing was back. I immediately called my psychiatrist and he changed my medication. I've become really good at listening to my body and haven't had a manic episode in 10 years. My current challenge is getting better health care. I do my best to do something besides work and sleep every day, even if it's just to stop and smell the roses. To "normal" people who will never deal with this issue, me being un-medicated is like you taking meth or downers. My natural body chemistry is broken. Properly medicated and balanced, I feel good. Psychiatry is in the dark ages. Until we come up with something better, this is the best deal in town.
I've buried friends due to mental illness. An actual and official symptom of Bipolar mania is denial, "there's nothing wrong with me!" I've had people yell more times than I can count. I've yelled it too. My best friend committed suicide in 2012, I believe she was an untreated Bipolar as she exhibited all the symptoms of both mania and depression in the years I knew and loved her. She believed (as many do) that being mentally ill is a moral shortcoming. I dug my heels in and she finally caved and agreed to see a therapist, who she subsequently manipulated "I don't have Bipolar Disorder or anything else". Within 2 years, she killed herself in what I believe was a Bipolar depression, due to the ramifications of actions during a prior manic episode. I've lost others who sought treatment but weren't diligent about it. Some will manipulate doctors to give them medications and doses they have effectively prescribed themselves, without the supervision of a psychiatrist. It's easy to go to an MD and say "my psychiatrist prescribed me ____." Congrats, you're your own Psychiatrist. Some buy psych meds from the internet. We have the legitimate fear of being improperly medicated or getting shitty doctors, that's why it's important to be proactive in our own treatment and to seek a better doctor if ours sucks. There are many people with mental illness who have never had proper treatment and don't know any better. I wish they'd listen.
The disease is insidious but my quickest clue is the good 'ol knob of intensity. If the world suddenly gets hard and loud, there's something wrong with me, not it. All the "out there" stuff matters a lot less if I'm healthy. Missing sleep, eating shitty food, isolation, overwork, not going to meetings, skipping recreation...all turn the intensity knob up if I'm not careful.
Bottom line--I wish I would have sought dual-diagnosis treatment when I first got sober. There's less of a stigma these days so I hope more do. It takes work to get to a good place if you're Bipolar but it can happen. 1/3 of Bipolar people end up dead by their own hand, either by suicide or doing something really stupid while manic. In this day and age, there's no need to suffer. I hope I was able to help at least one person by writing this. If you have any questions or need help (I'm obviously not a doctor, just a fellow human), feel free to message me.
As young as 11, anxiety and what I can best describe as Spiderman senses bloomed up. Noises, light, people...everything was exaggerated. It was like the world had an intensity knob and someone had turned it up. WAY up. I sought ease and comfort, secretly guzzling vodka and bourbon. I also smoked marijuana and drank codeine cough syrup. Slight, far-off noises would keep me awake at night. Altered perception (in my case sensitivity to noise and light) is one of the symptoms of the onset of mania. I'm not sure how much self-medication started or if it was part of the cause of my addiction. Cart, horse, dual diagnosis addict. Just throw it all in the cart, that's me.
I self-medicated from ages 11 to 26, the age I made that fateful trip to rehab and got my start in 12-step recovery. For most people, a moment of clarity followed by cleaning up, learning a new way to live and having some of spiritual awakening is enough. For those of us with an organic brain disorder, it's both a miracle and a ticking time bomb if we don't treat our pre-existing psychiatric disorders.
When I was 23, I sought psychiatric help, was diagnosed bipolar and prescribed Lithium and Zoloft. Unfortunately, they didn't mix well with bourbon and cocaine. When I got sober, I listened to a few AA old-timers "if you take psych meds, you aren't sober." My detox was excruciating and I went into a severe bipolar depression, which I attributed (at the time) to my cessation of crystal meth.
A manic or depressive state can last for many years. As I'm a "rapid cycler", I alternated between depressive and manic states. For my first year and a half sober, I fought severe depression. I worked a really excellent recovery program and held on for dear life. And I suffered needlessly. The inevitable mania set in just before I turned 2 years sober.
The altered perception had returned. At night, my refrigerator sounded like a fully loaded semi truck in low gear, laboring up a long grade. I became obsessed with noises my neighbors were making and the sirens on Colorado Boulevard, a major thoroughfare near my Glendale apartment. I fixated on them and started obsessing about moving. The music my neighbors played was the deal breaker, I decided. Sleep had become more elusive. Like many who are manic, my sexual desires were off the charts and for a short period, I became compulsive. Since the evil dripping faucet all the way in the kitchen was like a fire alarm, might as well find something to do at night. I also took on another job. Furious activity, euphoria, compulsive sex, trademark of someone who is manic. Day job, night job, recovery, chasing boys...I had energy for all of it, and was often filled with euphoria.
So...I met a psychopath. He was pretty and he was nice to me. In those days, all I wanted was for someone to put their arms around me and tell me everything would be OK. I was filled with fear and anxiety and sought others to help me walk through it. He stepped up to the task. Like most psychopaths, he put me on a pedestal and gave me the flood of attention I desperately required.
One of the first clues you're with a sociopath/psychopath is that things move VERY quickly. I was like a wounded gazelle on the Serengeti. He tagged me, told me the right things and 3 months after I met him, I threw my hard-won independence in the garbage with both hands and we moved to another state. He got what he wanted--made his kill and mounted my head on his wall. He was my "everything": personal trainer, best friend, "tour guide" of the world. He paid for things. He insisted. He was more than ready and seemed to enjoy the position. In my state, I created a fantasy of who he was that had little to do with the piece of shit who had taken control of my life, because I was sick and weak.
Fast-forward a year, I was living in Las Vegas and I was in a disastrous, abusive relationship with my Prince Charming. What happened to the affectionate, doting, perfect man I met? He was a fantasy and a sick fuck who saw me coming a mile away. In the beginning, he showered me with attention and "love", romantic gestures, "it's you and me against the world" (which is a mantra for psychopaths). He'd bought me and cut me off from everyone after getting me to discard my life. Fortunately I started making money of my own but as my mania had continued to get worse, I was in no position to leave him. I couldn't believe I was sober and living this way.
The intensity knob of the world was now turned all the way up. My Bipolar anxiety had reached a point that it was affecting my work. I'd become startled and drop things. I'd start shaking. Sometimes I'd jump or even yell out. I must have looked insane. I now realize Bipolar anxiety had ruined a good chunk of my life. Slight noises in the restaurant would startle me. I'd drop expensive wine and break glasses. I was union so they couldn't fire me. At my worst, I once started having a Bipolar anxiety induced panic attack and swore I could hear the heartbeat of the other person in the elevator. it was like Joan Crawford in the movie Possessed, where everything was loud and she'd dramatically pull her face back. I knew I was really fucked up and needed help.
Something happened next that I'm not going to discuss here (no, I didn't get arrested) that changed the course of my life. Let's just say it was really, really bad, enough to make me seek treatment. At 3 years sober, I found myself in the office of a psychiatrist. He prescribed me Seroquel and Olanzapine, "either take these or I'm going to have to institutionalize you for your own safety." Yes, I was that bad. I'd never been in a psych ward, not even in my addiction. At first, all I did was sleep, go to work, come home and go back to sleep. Manic, I had been in great physical shape but the meds made me put on some weight. My psychopath never let me hear the end of it.
As I started to recover and get some distance from my mania, it was like waking up from a drug binge. I surveyed the damage. I mourned the life I'd worked so hard to build and threw away to move away with this psychopath. I was angry at myself for letting all this happen. I was angry at myself for listening to people who were not doctors and avoiding psychiatric treatment.
Leaving the psychopath was ugly. He set out to ruin my life. I rented a nice apartment with a secret address but he found me. I'm going to write a whole blog about how to avoid psychopaths. He stalked me for a year after I left.
In the process of recovering from my 1997-1999 manic episode, I re-committed to recovery. In my mania and hooking up with the psycho, I had drifted from AA. I didn't have a sponsor, I had no home group, no support in the town where I lived. I found my home group in Vegas and made wonderful, life-long friends. It was a miracle I had stayed stayed sober, isolated and without solid recovery.
With psychiatric care and recovery, life took on a new dimension. for the first time, there was no "a man, a man, I can't be alone, can't be alone" desperation. I was fine with me. For the first time, I was the captain of my own ship. I didn't need anyone to lead me by the hand. The anxiety was gone. The noises were turned down. All the sharp edges in the world had been dulled. Medication did what nothing else could--turned that intensity knob down to a manageable level...and for the first time in my life, psychopaths had no interest in me.
Finding the right medication was trial and error and is like sailing by hand on the open sea, requiring periodic course correction and steadfast monitoring. I remain transparent with my loved ones, knowing that if they say something like "you seem manic" or "have you been taking your meds?" I need to look at what's going on with me. Medication is just one piece of the puzzle. Exercise, nutrition, work, spirituality and play must get proportionate attention. I let my life get out of balance and unfortunately experienced another manic episode in 2006. It was bad. My medication wasn't right and I wasn't listening to anyone who was telling me I needed help. What I learned from that one was, listen to my body, balance, listen to my loved ones and no more workaholism.
In recent years (after a series of losses), my struggle has been grief and subsequent grief related depression. In the time it takes me to walk from my bedroom to my front door depressed, I could have met a new man, new job and remodeled my apartment. Not really, but you get the idea. .
Mania is addictive. We can get plenty done.We can stay thin. We can work an extra job. What we don't realize is how crazy we look to others. People told me later how hard I was to be around on my bad days. Stumbling over words, loud speech, irritability, restlessness, difficulty sleeping, unable to concentrate, erratic behavior, all those loud noises...and the catastrophic poor life decisions make it a bad bargain. I was addicted to my mania like I was cocaine. If I wanted it back, I know exactly how to cultivate it. But it's a monster that will consume my life and kill me. People become so addicted to mania that they won't seek treatment. They don't realize that in being balanced, they will accomplish exponentially more and no longer be...insane.
Two years ago, a dripping kitchen faucet was suddenly a thud, thud. The amplified noise thing was back. I immediately called my psychiatrist and he changed my medication. I've become really good at listening to my body and haven't had a manic episode in 10 years. My current challenge is getting better health care. I do my best to do something besides work and sleep every day, even if it's just to stop and smell the roses. To "normal" people who will never deal with this issue, me being un-medicated is like you taking meth or downers. My natural body chemistry is broken. Properly medicated and balanced, I feel good. Psychiatry is in the dark ages. Until we come up with something better, this is the best deal in town.
I've buried friends due to mental illness. An actual and official symptom of Bipolar mania is denial, "there's nothing wrong with me!" I've had people yell more times than I can count. I've yelled it too. My best friend committed suicide in 2012, I believe she was an untreated Bipolar as she exhibited all the symptoms of both mania and depression in the years I knew and loved her. She believed (as many do) that being mentally ill is a moral shortcoming. I dug my heels in and she finally caved and agreed to see a therapist, who she subsequently manipulated "I don't have Bipolar Disorder or anything else". Within 2 years, she killed herself in what I believe was a Bipolar depression, due to the ramifications of actions during a prior manic episode. I've lost others who sought treatment but weren't diligent about it. Some will manipulate doctors to give them medications and doses they have effectively prescribed themselves, without the supervision of a psychiatrist. It's easy to go to an MD and say "my psychiatrist prescribed me ____." Congrats, you're your own Psychiatrist. Some buy psych meds from the internet. We have the legitimate fear of being improperly medicated or getting shitty doctors, that's why it's important to be proactive in our own treatment and to seek a better doctor if ours sucks. There are many people with mental illness who have never had proper treatment and don't know any better. I wish they'd listen.
The disease is insidious but my quickest clue is the good 'ol knob of intensity. If the world suddenly gets hard and loud, there's something wrong with me, not it. All the "out there" stuff matters a lot less if I'm healthy. Missing sleep, eating shitty food, isolation, overwork, not going to meetings, skipping recreation...all turn the intensity knob up if I'm not careful.
Bottom line--I wish I would have sought dual-diagnosis treatment when I first got sober. There's less of a stigma these days so I hope more do. It takes work to get to a good place if you're Bipolar but it can happen. 1/3 of Bipolar people end up dead by their own hand, either by suicide or doing something really stupid while manic. In this day and age, there's no need to suffer. I hope I was able to help at least one person by writing this. If you have any questions or need help (I'm obviously not a doctor, just a fellow human), feel free to message me.
This is a really touching piece, cousin. Thank you for sharing such deeply personal material - I hope the message reaches the right people. I have a cousin who believed that going on anti-depressants would mean that he wouldn't be sober - and his mental health deteriorated to the point that he's now in prison. My experience talking to him and my ex-boyfriend about AA has really turned me off on the group, even though they are both really strong supporters. I know that not all AA groups are small-minded and black-and-white thinkers, of course, but some of them can be. :(
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