Showing posts with label Bipolar I Disorder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bipolar I Disorder. Show all posts

Saturday, January 4, 2025

Life Lessons Series: The Three Things in Life That You Can’t Get Back Once They Are Gone

Life Lessons Series: The Three Things in Life That You Can’t Get Back Once They Are Gone

Life Lesson #2

“There are three things in life that you can’t get back once they are gone. A shot arrow, a lost opportunity and the spoken word.”-My Daddy

My father is a man of very few words, at times, then there are other times his speech and presence commands a room through the magic of his storytelling. When it comes to me however, growing up my father said very little but what he did share with his eldest daughter was life lessons in the form of poetic advice that opened my mind and settled deep in the soul of my consciousness where I could reach them anytime or anywhere and at every point in my life. All that was required of me was that I listen, remember and apply his sage advice. The following memory is a seemingly insignificant story of spilt milk and how my father made this mishap into one of the most profound life lessons I have ever learned.


When I was seven years old I spilt an entire carton of buttermilk on my mom’s loveseat. I was attempting to churn butter, something I had learned on a recent school trip. I begged my mom to buy a carton of buttermilk so I could attempt to replicate this incredible process of turning liquid into solid butter and after much hesitation and a child’s persistence my mother gave in and bought me a litre carton of the milk. It was a Saturday morning when I would begin my project. Before I started, I jumped on the loveseat, grabbed the remote control and turned on the television to my usual Saturday morning cartoons. I then entered our apartment kitchen, went into the refrigerator to retrieve the buttermilk then headed to the bottom cupboard where my mom stored a myriad of old butter containers she reused as tupperware and refused to throw away. 


I sat down on my mother’s loveseat and began the process of shaking the buttermilk in the butter container, just as the kids were taught on our school trip. I shook and shook and shook periodically checking if milk had turned to creamy butter. Eventually my seven year old hands got tired and slippery so I decided to take a break and watch cartoons instead. As I put the butter container on the seat beside me, and shifted my focus to Bugs Bunny. The butter bowl tipped and thick, half-churned buttermilk spilled onto the right side cushion of my mother’s beloved brown loveseat. My parents hadn’t quite gotten up for the morning, so using my 7-year-old logic I took the opportunity to turn over the offended cushion to the cleaner side because I figured what they didn’t know I couldn’t get in trouble for.


I continued on with my morning routine of cartoons and dry Frosted Flakes, then my day filled with playing with my toys and my weekend in anxiety waiting to be caught for my actions. But time passed and nothing was said so by Monday morning when it was time to go to school I had stopped worrying about the split milk and by week’s end the milk was a distant memory. However, on Saturday morning, one full week after Milk-gate my mother noticed a funny smell that permeated the apartment. I sat silently on the left side of the love seat knowing what was assaulting my mothers senses and watched her frantically try to find the origins of the offending odor. My mom, in an accusatory fashion asked my father if he knew where the smell was coming from and he non-committally shrugged his shoulders as if to say “What smell?” which drove my mother crazy. Then she turned to me and asked, “Onika do you know where that smell is coming from?”


With a straight face and all the cowardly courage I felt in that moment I said “No,” I lied to my mother, not for the first time or the last in my lifetime but this was a significant moment in the history of my lies because in the past I could always remember telling a lie or making up a story because I didn’t know the truth. I always tried to tell the truth but this time the lie was for purely selfish reasons even if that reason was self-preservation. After an hour of tearing through our apartment my mother gave up and left to do her weekly grocery shop.   


It was just me and my dad now. He called me over to sit beside him and in a quiet knowing tone he said, “Onika LaToya, tell me about the spilt milk” then he reached over to the adjacent love seat and flipped over the offended cushion, the one one the right side, the one I had been avoiding all week, the one that in my heart I knew hadn’t disappeared but was waiting in the wings to destroy me. At that moment I hated butter, I hated buttermilk and I hated that smelly loveseat. I felt absolute terror at what my father was going to do..this was his reaction:


He earnestly looked me in the eyes as if to say,’Little girl I’ve got nothing but time and all day to waste it.” So panicked, the truth came rushing out. I told him about school, the bullying and my hopes that making the best butter in class would make it stop; I told him about spilling the milk on the love seat the week before and I told him that I had lied to mom. After barely taking a breath during my confession tears stained my cheeks, my dad opened his arms and I ran to him. He comforted me, stroked my hair and soothed me back to myself. He knew he had a highly emotional daughter that often allowed herself to get swept away in those emotions. Then my dad did something I will never forget– he laughed out loud.


Then he said, “ Onika LaToya I’ve been sitting in sour milk stink for a week now, you think I didn’t know it was you that split the milk? I just wanted you to be the one to tell mom or me what you had done. Up til now your mom still blames me but we both know the truth don’t we? And it’s too late to tell your mother, the damage has been done and can’t be undone.”


My dad’s face became somber and he looked at me squarely in the eyes to impart a lesson I haven’t forgotten to this day. This lesson has been my moral compass and my guiding light when I was lost and unsure what direction to choose. “Onika LaToya, sweetheart, there are three things in life you can’t get back once they are gone: a lost opportunity, a shot arrow and the spoken word.”


He continued, “You had an opportunity last week to tell your mom the truth and you didn’t because you were afraid. Instead of telling your mom the truth you lied again because you were afraid. And darling you must always be careful with the arrows you shoot because once it leaves the bow it can end up in the air, in the ground or in someone's heart.”


My daddy taught me to always be fearless in the face of opportunity, speak the truth and be careful where I shoot my shots. It took me years to understand what he meant that day but a lesson learned as a result of childhood follies is a lesson learned for life. I also learned that morning that the only thing you can get back once you’ve made a mistake is love, forgiveness and understanding but it may not always be the case. Thanks Daddy for teaching me this valuable lesson, for your forgiveness and love when I shoot first and think later.

Monday, December 30, 2024

Life Lessons Series: A Bipolar Woman's Self-Reflection Birthday Entry: 42 Years of Lessons

A Bipolar Woman's Self-Reflection Birthday Entry: 42 Years of Lessons

Life Lesson #1

Today is my 42nd Birthday and honestly, after the last few years I didn't think I would make it here or have so much to celebrate. My life to this point has been full of ups and downs, losses, bittersweet moments, traumatic experiences filling me with pain and longing for peace. I have had  few cherished times that passed by too quickly to feel real or tangible. I have experienced success and I have experienced many failures. I have fallen far and fast and through courage and resilience I have picked myself up again and moved forward on my journey toward personal wellness and happiness. The lessons I have learned along the way have led me to a place where self-love, self-compassion and self-acceptance are the key to how I currently move in a world that I realize a long time ago is unforgiving and owes me nothing. I have fought my way through low-self esteem and anxiety that invaded my thoughts, mental illness that I previously believed would destroy me and I have conquered an addiction that could have killed me but still I’m standing strong in the face of adversity. 


The life lessons I have collected on my journey of self-discovery have given me peace, joy and a self-awareness that I hold close to my heart like a treasured gem, precious and priceless. Lessons learned from the countless people who have loved and cared for me over the years, even from those who were my adversaries, the ones that didn’t want to see me succeed but have taught me something valuable about myself and life. So for my 42nd birthday my gift to myself is to reflect on all I’ve learned, on the lessons that have shaped the incredible woman I never thought I’d be but managed to become through all the tragedy, triumphs, trials and tribulations. I want to enter this upcoming year knowing where I have come from so I will never forget who I am. There are simply too many valuable lessons I’ve learned in my lifetime to fit in one entry so I will share one gem at a time during my 42nd year in hopes that these lessons will touch your lives as deeply as they’ve touched mine. Let the lesson begin. 


Lesson 1: Learning to Love Yourself is the Greatest Love of All- Whitney Houston and My Mama


Although it was the late and great Whitney Houston that coined the phrase in her classic 80’s melody, it was my mama who made sure this motto rang loud and clear in my head since I was a young child. I would come in from school and tell her stories of the bullying and mistreatment that occurred non-stop since we arrived in Canada in 1988. I was always what some call different, it wasn’t just the way I spoke or the baby fat that bulged in the clothes I wore, it was my defiant attitude and large personality that didn’t seem to fit into the mold that others were constantly trying to make for me. I was a square peg being forced into a round hole and I refused to conform. Even as a child my family knew I marched to the beat of my own drum but I was simply unaware that the melody it played didn’t please everyone around me, and one of my greatest flaws is my need to please others, to feel love and acceptance from everyone, to be everything for everyone leaving nothing for myself. When I would tell my mother the other children didn’t like me, that they constantly made fun of every aspect of my personality, my speech, what I ate, what I wore but especially my weight she’d say the same three things: “Your mama loves you, Jesus loves you and learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all.”


I knew the first two statements were true but it took many years and many experiences to finally find the greatest love of all inside of myself. There was a period in my life when my self-esteem plummeted. Though my accent had faded, my clothes had changed, I had assimilated to Canadian culture but my body refused to cooperate. When I was 11-years-old I developed an eating disorder. I was unhappy with my body so I would go days and sometimes weeks without eating. From this dangerous habit I grew to hate everything I saw when I looked in the mirror. For years kids at school called me a fat pig and eventually I started to believe them. My circumstances led to the constant negative thought that I was not thin enough or pretty enough. Looking back now I can see that puberty had actually been very kind to me. I had a small figure with overly large breasts and even when others would tell me I was beautiful I was loathed to believe them. This aspect of eating disorders is now called Body Dysmorphia (an obsession with a perceived flaw in your appearance) but back then there was no name.


This journey of body obsession started in my youth and would continue into my 20s when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at 24-years-old, a mood disorder that wreaked havoc on my emotions and my waistline. The medication I took to stabilize my mood causes excessive weight gain and increased appetite. For years and until present I have continued to struggle with my self-image. What I perceive to be true about my figure others simply couldn’t see. My taller than average frame allowed me to carry my weight well but all I could see was an unattractive overweight woman. I felt unlovable, unworthy and spent most of my time trying to be invisible. I simply couldn’t see what others insisted they saw in me, a beautiful woman. I seemed forever stuck in a loop of self-loathing. 


I have tried every diet-water, watermelon, Keto, Atkins, fasting, medically supervised weightloss programs, cabbage soup, I tried detoxes, weightloss pills and skinny teas. I tried running the weight off until my ankles swelled and sprained and I could no longer run. I went back to unhealthy habits like starving myself and purging my food until I did damage to my esophagus. Finally in 2019 after I ate a dozen donuts and entered my apartment washroom to expel my belly, I took a good look at myself in the mirror and said to my reflection “No Onika, Enough!” I sat on my bathroom floor and cried my eyes out and came to the realization that I was simply sick and tired or being sick and tired. I decided on that bathroom floor it was time to try surrender and radical acceptance, the hardest two principles I’ve ever had to practice. Simply put, self-loathing is exhausting.


I started saying a daily mantra that I created which spoke to the broken little girl inside me and the lost self-pitying woman I was tired of being: “I’m fabulous just as I am and all by myself,” at first I didn’t believe it but after years of saying it out loud, multiple times daily especially when I was feeling low something inside of me began to change. I started having numerous positive experiences that were proof these words were true and I slowly gained confidence in myself and began to break down the negative narrative that had always kept my self-esteem in a low place. 


I had to relearn myself along my journey to self-acceptance and rewrite the negative thought pattern that had become fixtures in my life. This is what that looked like: 


I love that I’m intelligent, 

I love that I make people laugh, 

I love that I am kind, 

I love that I’m well spoken, 

I love that I’m empathetic, 

I love that I’m a good listener, 

I love that I’m a good friend, 

I love that I’m a good granddaughter, 

I love that I’m a good aunt, 

I love that I’m a good daughter, 

I love that I’m a good sister, 

I love that I’m a fighter, 

I love that I’m resilient, 

I love my Bipolar superpower, 

I love my nose, 

I love my eyes, 

I love my freckles, 

I love my smile,

I love my rack, 

I love my legs, 

I love the skin I’m currently in, 

I love that I’m a work in progress,

I love that this love list keeps growing everyday and with every new experience.


Now after 42 years of experiences and lessons I have fallen in love with myself and when I look at my body in the mirror I see the body that has sustained me though some of the most difficult trials life has thrown at me. I embrace my body meeting myself where I’m at and practicing healthy principles of nutrition and exercise rather than fad diets and detoxes. I embrace my mental illness calling it my superpower and I embrace my God given potential knowing that my talents, humour and intelligence are the key to my future success. I came to the realization that I can’t be everything to everyone and filling my mental, spiritual, physical and emotional cup comes first. The reality is that some people are going to dislike me for the things I believe, the words I write, the clothes I wear, the shoes on my feet and the hair on my head and that's life. Not everyone can love or even respect the person you are but my mama and Whitney Houston were right: Learning to Love Yourself is the Greatest Love of All.

Saturday, December 21, 2024

A Bipolar Woman's Self Reflection On Fear - Part 4: Arbitrary Restraints


I lie in bed reading a novel about the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago. I read the same paragraph repeatedly, unable to concentrate. My mind will not settle long enough for me to get some sleep. I look around me to the four whitewashed walls that are as empty as I feel. We are not allowed to decorate in this place, which is my temporary home. It must remain as empty as the people that pass through on the road to sanity.


It is well past midnight and right outside the bolted window all I can see is darkness. The lights from buildings and the flicker of headlights visible only through the rod iron mesh meant to keep me in, keep me safe from myself. The mesh makes the outside world look as if it is caught in a fisherman’s net, trapped, unable to escape. The truth is that I am the one trapped and unable to move. Still, I think of escaping into the darkness beyond my barricaded window.

Even in the darkness I can sense new life forming. Trees pushing through the black earth, rising above the green grass until their branches bloom and breathe. Even the branches know there is nowhere to go but up toward the sky, toward freedom. At this moment I envy those trees. I envy their path to the heaven of the sky. I envy the seeds they sow, that bloom into beautiful buds that grow fearlessly. I envy their right to exist when all my rights have been taken away, when my feet are strapped to a metal bed frame making freedom impossible.

I look to my left to see soundproof, bullet proof, unbreakable glass. Still, I hear the cries for help and the violent rattle of chains, and I am reminded— Although the sun is starting to rise over my right shoulder, insanity waits for me over my left. As night turns to day and the sky goes from black to morning’s indigo I remember I am not outside these four walls where freedom lives and my right to exist is unquestioned. Instead, I am in a dimly lit, locked room, strapped to a bed, on a 72-hour hold in the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit of the hospital’s tenth floor.


Final Thought


The loss of my freedom is my biggest fear. While hospitalized I spend a majority of my stay strapped to hospital beds, shackled by my arms, chest and legs, unable to move, panicking and unable to catch my breath. There is no pretty picture I can paint of this barbaric experience. Whether it occurs because my sharp tongue has offended the staff or as an arbitrary solution to a non-existent problem it's wrong and inhuman and I have the right to feel fear. This is a fear that is born of past trauma that has gone unexamined by the individuals that wield the power to restrain me. I can’t find neutral words, or hope in a system that uses these tactics to subdue patients. There is no kindness in this process, there is no empathy, just cruelty and It is one of my greatest objectives to abolish this practice in Ontario hospitals. I feel fear recalling and reflecting on my experiences with restraints but I also feel a sense of determination and obligation to my fellow men and women who still have to endure this savage practice. 


A Bipolar Woman’s Self-Reflection on Fear is a series of entries that will allow you a window into my past and insight on my present and the lessons I’ve learned over the years that have put fear in my rearview mirror. 

Coming Soon

I have also decided to share with you the lessons that inspired me to be fearless and relentless in my pursuit of happiness and success. I will be posting the life lessons that have shaped and influenced my personal growth and development. A Bipolar Woman’s Self-Reflection: 42 Years of Lessons series begins on December 30, 2024, my 42nd Birthday. It is my hope that these lessons will touch your lives and inspire positive change on your journey to wellness.  

Monday, November 11, 2024

My First Manic Episode: A Woman’s Perspective on Bipolar Disorder

My First Manic Episode: A Woman's Perspective on Bipolar Disorder

“I didn’t see it coming until it was here.” This sentiment resonates deeply with anyone who has experienced a manic episode, especially from a woman’s perspective on Bipolar disorder. The whirlwind of emotions and thoughts can leave you reeling, and before you know it, you’re in the midst of something far beyond your control.

In this post, I aim to share my journey, illustrating the extremes of a manic episode and the profound effects it had on my life. My hope is that by sharing my story, others might find understanding, connection, and perhaps the courage to seek help.

Understanding Manic Episodes

A manic episode can be described as an extreme and uncontrollable elevation of mood, often accompanied by feelings of excitement or euphoria. For me, the initial surge of energy felt like a spark igniting a fire. I was flooded with ideas, racing thoughts, and an inflated sense of self-esteem. I felt invincible, believing I could accomplish anything. However, as thrilling as it was, I was unaware of the shadows lurking just beneath the surface.

The symptoms of mania are multifaceted. They can manifest as:

  • Rapid speech: I found myself talking a mile a minute, unable to slow down or catch my breath.

  • Disorganized thoughts: My mind raced, bouncing from one idea to another, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything.

  • Delusions of grandeur: I believed I had extraordinary abilities and a purpose that I was destined to fulfill.

  • Impulsivity: Financial decisions became reckless, and relationships strained under my new-found bravado.

  • Paranoia: I felt as though everyone was watching me, judging my every move.

As my episode progressed, these symptoms intensified, leading to hallucinations and even violent outbursts. It’s a stark reminder that, if left untreated, Mania can escalate into Manic-psychosis, where the boundaries of reality blur dangerously.

Men vs. Women: A Distinct Divide

Research shows that the onset of Mania typically occurs earlier for men, often in adolescence or around 4-5 years before women. Men may experience more intense and frequent manic episodes, while women often grapple with depressive episodes more frequently. For men, aggressive behaviors can surface during Mania, whereas women may experience rapid-cycling or seasonal episodes, leading to a different emotional landscape.

For me, this gendered experience of Bipolar disorder added layers to my understanding of my condition. I often felt caught between the heightened emotions of Mania and the stark reality of Depression, wondering how my experience compared to that of my male counterparts. After experiencing 13 episodes in my lifetime I can classify my Mania as rapid-cycling or seasonal episodes followed directly by severe depressive episodes.

The Triggering Events: A Perfect Storm

My manic episode was precipitated by a series of stressors that I couldn’t have anticipated. On my 22nd birthday, my grandmother passed away, a loss that shattered my emotional foundation. Just eight months later, I lost my other grandmother, compounding my grief and leaving me feeling adrift.

In an attempt to cope, I turned to substances like marijuana, seeking relief from the overwhelming sorrow. But rather than finding solace, I only intensified the storm brewing inside me. I struggled to focus on my final year in university, plagued by insomnia and a deteriorating relationship with my then-boyfriend. It was a perfect storm of emotional upheaval and loss that I didn’t see coming.

What the Episode Looked Like

As I spiraled into my first manic episode, I experienced a barrage of symptoms that became increasingly difficult to manage. Rapid speech turned into disorganized thoughts, and my once coherent conversations devolved into chaotic rants filled with delusions of grandeur. I believed I could change the world, that I had a mission that no one else could comprehend.

In the throes of Mania, my emotions felt like a pendulum swinging wildly. I laughed uncontrollably one moment, only to erupt into tears or anger the next. I remember feeling detached from reality, caught in a dissociative state where nothing felt tangible or grounded. My parents, concerned for my well-being, noticed the drastic changes in my behavior and knew they needed to intervene.

How My Parents Got Involved

My mother was just five minutes away from leaving for her 12-hour nursing shift when my boyfriend at the time reached out to her, desperately conveying how out of control I had become. That call prompted a frantic drive of four hours to Ottawa, where I was living at the time. I was hallucinating, lost in a world that felt all too real yet completely fabricated.

During the drive home, I tried several times to jump out of the moving vehicle, a clear indication of my disorientation and desperation. My mother, a nurse, assessed the gravity of the situation and recognized that I was experiencing a serious psychotic episode. She made the decision to take me to Scarborough General Hospital for psychiatric treatment.

The Hospital Experience

Arriving at the hospital was surreal. I was so far removed from reality that I couldn’t comprehend the seriousness of my condition. The staff deemed me a danger to myself and others, and I was restrained to a bed to prevent any further outbursts or attempts to escape. It was a terrifying experience to be chained to a bed, sedated into a haze of confusion due to the intense psychosis and my prolonged lack of sleep—I hadn’t slept for 52 hours.

When I finally regained consciousness, I found myself in an isolation room, disoriented and frightened. It was here that a psychiatrist diagnosed me with Bipolar I disorder, attributing my episode to substance use. He explained that I was essentially allergic to marijuana, and its use had triggered this manic episode.

Post-Episode: The Depths of Depression

After my manic episode, the reality of Bipolar disorder set in. I faced an extreme and prolonged Depression that left me feeling hollow and isolated. Sleep became my only refuge, and I would often stay in bed for hours, neglecting personal hygiene and losing interest in everything I once loved. I experienced a significant loss of appetite, leading to dramatic weight changes as I transitioned from manic energy to profound lethargy.

Social activities became daunting, and I withdrew from friends and family, fearing their judgment. Suicidal ideations crept in, an ever-present reminder of the darkness that enveloped me. This cycle of Mania followed by crushing Depression left me grappling with the reality of my condition.

The Stigma of Support

Navigating the stigma surrounding mental health proved to be one of the most challenging aspects of my experience. While I knew I was sick and needed help, the thought of entering the mental health system filled me with dread. I didn’t want to be labeled as someone with a mental disability, fearing the societal repercussions.

In the job market, having a mental health condition can feel like a scarlet letter, making it harder to find employment. Insurance applications often discriminate against those with invisible disabilities. When I was well, I felt invisible; but when I became unwell, it was as if my struggles were on display for all to see.

Many people choose to suffer in silence rather than risk the vulnerability that comes with seeking help. The fear of being treated as a second-class citizen in society can be paralyzing, and it often leads individuals to avoid the support they desperately need.

Managing Symptoms and Stressors

I learned that managing my symptoms equated to managing my stress. Self-awareness became crucial; I had to recognize what stressed me out and have the courage to walk away from toxic relationships or situations, whether they involved family, friendships, or even jobs.

I took small steps toward understanding my triggers and incorporating healthy coping mechanisms. Mindfulness practices, journaling, and regular exercise helped ground me. Surrounding myself with understanding friends who offered support without judgment was essential in my journey toward stability.

The Journey Toward Acceptance

Over time, I learned to accept my condition as part of my identity, rather than allowing it to define me. Seeking therapy and engaging in medication management became vital components of my routine. I learned to communicate openly with my loved ones about my struggles and sought to educate them about my condition.

Embracing my journey and sharing my experiences became therapeutic. I realized that breaking the stigma surrounding mental health starts with conversation. I found strength in vulnerability, and it empowered me to advocate for myself and others navigating similar paths.

Final Thoughts

Reflecting on my first manic episode, I realize it was a wake-up call—a moment that reshaped my understanding of myself and my mental health. The experience was both harrowing and enlightening, revealing the importance of community, understanding, and acceptance.

If you find yourself grappling with similar experiences, remember that you are not alone. It takes courage to seek help, to share your story, and to confront the stigma surrounding mental health. Together, we can foster a community of support and understanding, ensuring that no one has to navigate these turbulent waters alone.

For those looking for more resources, be sure to check out my post, How to Start Managing Bipolar Disorder: A Comprehensive Guide, for tips and strategies. Let’s continue to have conversations that take us beyond the stigma, share our stories, and support each other in this journey toward healing and understanding.

Saturday, October 12, 2024

Balancing Medications and Self-care: Insights from Consumer Survivors with Bipolar

Balancing Medications and Self-care: Insights from Consumer Survivors with Bipolar

By Onika Dainty

Living with Bipolar I disorder means navigating a complex world of medications, self-care practices, and support networks. Each element plays a vital role in managing the condition, and the right combination often takes time to discover. If I could speak to my younger self, the 16-year-old girl starting to feel the weight of Anxiety and Depression, I’d tell her that it’s okay to be scared—but she’s not alone.


This blog is for anyone dealing with Bipolar I disorder—young girls, women, parents, and even teachers who are witnessing mental health struggles in those around them. I’ve walked this road for over two decades, and I want to share my experiences, my mistakes, and the insights I’ve gained. Above all, I want to offer hope. With the right medication, self-care, and support system, Bipolar I disorder can be managed.

1. Understanding the Role of Medications in Bipolar I Disorder

Medication is often the first line of defense for managing Bipolar I disorder. When I was diagnosed, I didn’t fully grasp how critical medication would become in my life. There’s a misconception that taking a pill will immediately solve everything, but the reality is far more complex.


Finding the right combination of medications can take weeks, months, or even years. For me, it has been an ongoing journey. I’ve been on different mood stabilizers and antipsychotics, and not every medication has worked. Sometimes the side effects outweighed the benefits. But with patience and open communication with my psychiatrist, I’ve been able to find a regimen that stabilizes my moods and keeps my symptoms in check.


Currently, my medication includes mood stabilizers in pill form and an antipsychotic administered as a monthly injection. This "drug cocktail" works for me now, but I know it’s always subject to change. Medication is not a one-size-fits-all solution, and it’s essential to work with healthcare providers to tailor treatment to your needs.


For anyone navigating this process, I encourage you to stay patient and keep an open dialogue with your psychiatrist and your pharmacist about what’s working and what isn’t. It’s a trial-and-error process, but with time, you can find the right balance.


If you want to explore more about starting your medication journey, check out my previous post How to Start Managing Bipolar Disorder: A Comprehensive Guide.

2. Self-medicating: A Path I Wish I Hadn’t Taken

When I was 21, I thought I found an easier solution to my struggles—marijuana. At the time, I believed it was solving my problems. It eased my anxiety, slowed my racing thoughts, and seemed to offer the escape I needed. But in reality, all I was doing was running from the root causes of my mental health issues. What I failed to realize was marijuana acts as a mood destabilizer and is detrimental to people with serious mood disorders like Bipolar.


For a while, it felt like marijuana was helping. But by 27, I had turned to cocaine as my new drug of choice. Cocaine gave me a temporary sense of control—helping with insomnia, increasing focus, and quieting the constant chatter in my mind. For a time, I convinced myself that it was a good thing.


It wasn’t. Cocaine became a gateway to a downward spiral, and I soon found myself in my 8th psychotic episode, landing in Lakeridge Health Oshawa. That moment was a wake-up call. Self-medicating had only made things worse, and I realized that I needed to rely on professional help, not substances.


Today, I’m 9 months sober from marijuana and 22 months sober from cocaine, and I can see clearly how self-medicating only pushed me further away from healing. If you’re tempted to use substances to cope with your mental health, I urge you to reconsider. Working with a psychiatrist to find the right medications is a much safer and more effective approach.

3. Self-care as a Daily Practice: More than Just a Buzzword

Medication is essential, but it’s not enough on its own. Self-care is just as critical to managing Bipolar I disorder, and it’s something that needs to be practiced daily. When I talk about self-care, I don’t mean bubble baths and spa days (though those can be nice). Self-care is about maintaining your mental and emotional well-being. It’s about making time for yourself, recognizing your limits, and honoring what your mind and body need.


For me, journaling has always been a key part of my self-care. I’ve been writing poetry since I was a child, and putting my thoughts on paper helps me process my emotions in a way that feels safe and constructive. It’s a tool that allows me to reflect and make sense of my experiences. I can look back to where I was and take pride in where I am today.


Self-care looks different for everyone. Whether it’s meditation, spending time in nature, or simply taking a moment to breathe, it’s about finding what works for you and sticking to it. Taking care of yourself is not a luxury; it’s a necessity when living with Bipolar I disorder.

4. The Intersection of Medications and Self-care

Medications and self-care go hand in hand. Medication helps stabilize my moods and manage my symptoms, but self-care allows me to maintain balance. When I’m consistent with both, I’m in the best place to manage Bipolar I disorder.


However, it’s important to understand that medication can have side effects, and that’s where self-care becomes even more vital. For instance, certain medications might make you feel sluggish or less motivated. On days when I’m feeling the side effects of my medication, I rely on self-care practices to help me cope. Whether it’s journaling, talking to a close friend, or taking a walk, these small acts help me navigate the tougher days.


If you’re looking for practical tools to combine medication and self-care, you might find my previous post Best Tools and Resources for Managing Bipolar Disorder in 2024 helpful.

5. Practical Tips from Bipolar Survivors: Real-World Experiences

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from living with Bipolar I disorder is that healing is not linear. There will be highs and lows, successes and setbacks. The key is persistence. Here are a few practical tips I’ve picked up along the way:


  • Stay patient with your treatment: Finding the right medication combination takes time. It can be frustrating, but it’s important to stick with it and communicate openly with your psychiatrist.

  • Track your moods: Keeping a mood journal has been incredibly helpful for me. It allows me to see patterns and identify triggers. It also gives my healthcare team valuable insights into how I’m doing. You get mood tracker templates online or from your psychiatrist.

  • Build a solid support system: Whether it’s family, friends, or a peer support group, having people who understand what you’re going through can make all the difference.

  • Make self-care a priority: Don’t wait until you’re burnt out to take care of yourself. Practice self-care daily, and listen to your body when it’s telling you to rest.

Building Your Support Network: Therapy, Family, and Friends

A strong support network is crucial in managing Bipolar I disorder. In my experience, having a combination of professional therapy, family support, and friendships has been life-changing. My therapist helps me process emotions and develop strategies for coping, while my family provides a stable foundation. Friends who understand my condition—especially those who have gone through similar experiences—are invaluable for emotional support.


Therapy is an important part of this network. Working with a mental health professional allows you to dive deeper into the emotional and psychological aspects of Bipolar I disorder. For me, therapy has been a safe space where I can unpack my thoughts and feelings without judgment.


Family and friends are also key, though it’s important to recognize that not everyone will understand what you’re going through. It can be helpful to educate those close to you about your condition, so they know how to support you. Surround yourself with people who uplift and encourage you, rather than those who bring negativity or judgment.

Final Thoughts

Managing Bipolar I disorder is a lifelong process, one that requires balancing medications, self-care, and a strong support network. I’ve made my share of mistakes—like turning to substances to cope—but I’ve learned that true healing comes from working closely with professionals, finding the right medications, and taking care of myself daily. On my journey to wellness self-compassion has also been very important.


If you’re struggling with Bipolar I disorder, please know that you’re not alone. It may take time to find what works for you, but with the right combination of treatments and support, you can live a fulfilling, balanced life. Keep going, keep advocating for yourself, and never hesitate to ask for help when you need it.


For more information on managing Bipolar I disorder, don’t forget to check out my previous post How to Start Managing Bipolar Disorder: A Comprehensive Guide. And if you’re looking for additional tools and resources to help you on your journey, you might also find Best Tools and Resources for Managing Bipolar Disorder in 2024 helpful.

Tuesday, October 8, 2024

How to Talk About Your Bipolar Diagnosis with Friends and Family

How to Talk About Your Bipolar Diagnosis with Friends and Family

By Onika Dainty

Navigating a Bipolar I disorder diagnosis can feel like walking a tightrope. Sharing this part of your life with friends and family might seem daunting, but it’s a crucial step toward building understanding and support. Did you know that being open about mental health can help reduce stigma? By sharing your journey, you invite empathy and connection, which can make a world of difference in how your loved ones understand what you’re going through.

Understanding Your Diagnosis

Before diving into conversations, it’s essential to understand your diagnosis fully. Bipolar I disorder isn’t just about experiencing mood swings, it’s a serious mood disorder that has negative effects on the health and well-being of its sufferers; it encompasses a range of symptoms, including manic and depressive episodes, that can significantly impact daily life. Educating yourself on the disorder helps you feel more confident when explaining it to others. Plus, it allows you to clarify misconceptions, like the idea that Bipolar means you’re just "moody." That kind of misunderstanding can overshadow the real struggles you face. Knowing your facts and symptoms helps in presenting your truth to loved ones, allowing you to communicate more effectively. Mental health has its own language and it is important to understand it before you share your experiences with loved ones.

Choosing the Right Time and Place

Timing is everything when it comes to sensitive conversations. Finding a calm and private environment can set the stage for a meaningful discussion. Think about it: a crowded café isn’t the best place to talk about something as personal as your mental health. Choose a time when both you and your listener are not preoccupied or stressed. You want this to be a safe space where emotions can flow without interruptions. If it feels right, you might even want to ask your family member or friend if they’re open to a chat about your health. This little check-in can make a huge difference and shows them that this topic is important to you.

How to Start the Conversation

When you’re ready to start the conversation, don’t hesitate to be honest. It can be as simple as saying, "I want to share something important with you about my health." You might feel a wave of anxiety at that moment, and that’s completely normal. Emphasizing your feelings rather than diving into medical terminology can help your audience relate better. For example, sharing how certain moods, like feelings of euphoria during a manic episode or deep sadness during a depressive episode, affect your daily life can paint a clearer picture than just listing symptoms. This is your chance to humanize your experience, which can lead to deeper understanding and connection. It took years after my Bipolar diagnosis to start a dialogue with one of the most important people in my life, my mother. 


We both knew I had Bipolar I disorder however she did not fully understand what that meant to my experience or how to support me through my illness. So our first conversation happened in my therapist’s office where I wrote a long letter and read it to her. After a long and uncomfortable silence we both cried and she gave me a big hug. Since that day in the office we have had many open and honest conversations about my illness that have been full of love and acceptance. 

Addressing Questions and Concerns

Once you’ve opened the door to this conversation, be prepared for questions. It’s okay if you don’t have all the answers. Common questions might include, "How does this affect you day-to-day?" or "What can I do to help?" Patience is key here. Some people may struggle to grasp what you’re going through, and that’s a part of the journey. Remember, you’re not just educating them; you’re also helping them to understand how they can support you during difficult times. By encouraging an open dialogue, you foster an environment where they feel comfortable asking questions without fear of judgment. 


Previously, my mother was afraid to talk about my Bipolar I disorder, it was the elephant in the room but when I opened up to her about my experiences with my illness it was like a watershed of questions came out of her. Some of her questions were rooted in fear, some were rooted in inexperience but I tried my best to answer them knowing that the key to understanding was honesty. 

Building a Supportive Network

After sharing your diagnosis, encourage your loved ones to ask questions and express their feelings. It’s vital to create an ongoing dialogue about your experiences with Bipolar I disorder. This could mean inviting them to learn more about it through articles, support groups, or even informational resources. You’re not alone in this, and building a supportive network can empower both you and them. Sharing resources can help your loved ones gain a broader perspective on what you're experiencing and how they can be effective allies in your journey.

Final Thoughts

Talking about your Bipolar I disorder diagnosis isn’t just about disclosing information; it’s about creating connections and fostering understanding. Take your time, be open to questions, and remember that it’s okay to feel vulnerable. Sharing your experience can help demystify what you’re going through and inspire those around you to be more compassionate.


If you’re looking to understand more about managing your condition, I encourage you to read How to Start Managing Bipolar Disorder: A Comprehensive Guide. It offers valuable insights that can complement your journey and help you take proactive steps toward managing your mental health. Your experience can be a beacon of hope for others who may feel lost or unsure about their own struggles. I invite you to share your thoughts in the comments below, as we navigate this journey together.