I was asked recently when I accepted the fact I was BP. It was only relatively recently. I was first diagnosed when I was 14 sometime in 1986 or 87. I was treated with tri-cyclic anti-depressants. It's since been found that in some BPs these ADs can actually cause rapid cycling, and increase the frequency of cycles for those who are already rapid cycling. I apparently was one of the lucky ones in this category, and my cycles really took off as I started high school.
Following this experience, I really lost faith in the medical profession as a whole. and for the next 17 years if I was feeling particularly down, I'd go manipulate a doc to give me ADs and then go on my merry way seemingly "cured." This pattern continued for those 17 years.
I had numerous brushes with suicide and other really harmful behaviors. I always weathered the storm. Probably my low point as a teenager occurred when I found a friend's handgun in his car while camping. I took the gun and repeatedly attempted to kill myself. Thankfully I was drunk out of my mind and unfamiliar with the gun, so I was never able to get the safety off. This tactic having failed, I then picked a fight with five or six guys (the smallest of which was bigger than me). I got beat up pretty bad, but not as bad as I'd hoped.
For as long as I can remember I've always thought about committing suicide. I'd actually gotten used to it, it seemed to me that thinking about killing yourself was a normal part of everyday life. It was no different than considering whether you needed go to the grocery store or if you needed to fill the car up with gas. I genuinely wanted to kill myself for the better part of 17 years, but never got around to it.
Well this summer I slipped into the deepest depressive phase I have had for a long time. Worse yet, it didn't go away. Everyday I got up wanting to kill myself and I'd go to bed angry with myself for not having the guts to have gotten it done that day. I tried to leave my wife, quit my job, and generally fall off the face of the earth.
I found out that our car tops out at 110 mph and my bike tops out at about 115mph. I did this for two reasons, when I was going really fast I had to concentrate, and it would actually clear my head for a few seconds. Secondly, if anything went wrong I'd probably die, but technically it wouldn't be suicide, so as a Catholic I could hopefully still get into heaven.
The night I tried to leave my wife I knew I needed help, and started getting some. I still wasn't completely sold on the idea, I didn't really know if I truly needed help. Then I started my mood stabilizers. When you are cycling up on them they can cause suicidal ideation. Boy howdy did they in me. One night I had a belt set up as a noose in the back room and was three quarters of the way through a suicide note. I don't know why, but for some reason my wife came into the office and sat down next to me and wouldn't leave until I agreed to go to bed. She saved my life.
The next morning I finally admitted, without reservation or doubt, that I was really sick and needed help. Since then I've gone whole hog. I have been trying to fight the illness every way I knew how, including this BLOG.
Well there's a long answer to a short question. Basically, I finally admitted that I was BP when I almost lost everything and came within a couple minutes of killing myself.
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