As far back as I can remember, I would tell my children in difficult times a saying I loved: “You cannot not choose.” I know it is not proper grammar but it makes perfect sense. You can go left, go right, go forward, go backward or do nothing but either way you have made a choice.

Every day I find myself remembering that saying since my Bipolar and PTSD has become a member of my family. The days are sometimes filled with ‘I don’t want to choose to do anything’ and luckily most days are filled with ‘I can move down the journey.’ I sometimes view this thing called bipolar as a gift to make a difference with, to educate when I can, like answering questions when my service dog and I are out.

Dear Congressman,

I am writing to you out of a sense of desperation for myself and others that have similar situations. I am a single mother that has raised my son on my own since he was eight years old. My son is not your normal everyday child. My son has been diagnosed with PTSD, ADHD, Bipolar Disorder, Depression and Anxiety Disorder. He was also diagnosed with highly functioning Asperger’s syndrome as a child. However, that does not seem as prominent right now.

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My name is Lisa, and I need to tell my story. I also need at least one person to read it, and if you are that person, I thank you.

I am 37 years old and have bipolar disorder, OCD, PTSD, Dissociative Disorder NOS and sensory processing disorders regarding sound and touch. I’ve been diagnosed with far more many things, but we’ve finally narrowed the symptoms down to these categories. I am also bisexual, intersex, and gender fluid (meaning my sense of gender fluctuates, as does my gender dysphoria), which only strengthens my sense of being one terribly complicated human being!

My first phobia started around age 7, when my best friend’s mother was murdered by her husband. I became terrified of animals. Around age 11, depression and dissociation set in, and I started getting mental health treatment. At 15, I was hospitalized for the first time, in a ward I can only describe as a holding pen for wayward children. After that horrid experience, I started taking a medication. On a field trip, I had my first manic episode, where I stole the peepholes out of all the hotel doors. (I had previously always been a pinnacle of good behavior.) My hypomania and mania grew worse until I was forced to leave college and was finally diagnosed as bipolar at the age of 20. I have many mixed episodes, which I can only describe as a burning, energetic wave of emotional torture.

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I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and PTSD a little over 2 months ago; these last 2 months have been the easiest months of my life. Before I was diagnosed, I was constantly cutting myself, or starving myself and I never felt good enough.

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It’s a daily struggle especially when family doesn’t have any educated input. NAMI has family support groups to help them understand a loved one’s illness and how they fight to stay stable daily. I go through weekly therapy and take medications like Geodon and Klonopin to stay well. Bipolar is a difficult illness to have especially without educated family or friends. You must always listen to your doctors and maintain your med intake even when you may get paranoid and believe you don’t need them, listen to your docs. With their help, I’m hoping to one day be able to hold down a full-time job again.

My name is Erin Miller. Currently, I am diagnosed with Bipolar 1 Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Severe Depression, and PTSD. I come from an emotionally abusive and mentally unstable family. The system neglected me and my brothers while we were growing up, leading to many disastrous consequences. It is my hope to change this system for the better through empowerment, education, letters to congress, advocacy, and ending the stigma. 

I earned my my Bachelor’s degree from Dowling College back in 2016 with honors. My degree is in Visual Arts and Graphic Design. Currently, I am seeking to earn a Masters in Creative Writing. I am writing stories on my fiction blog, I have books published, and have interned in art galleries. 

Three days before my high school graduation, I attempted suicide.  I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, PTSD, and depression.  I was hospitalized for a month before I lied to be discharged.  I was in and out of the behavioral science center numerous times.  The suicide attempt before my last one, I had a seizure, and I was in a coma-like state for three days.

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I had the pleasure of taking a NAMI Family-to-Family course that felt like a college course. Not because it was difficult or boring but because it obtained so much structure and information. I learned about depression, schizophrenia and bipolar disorders to name a few illnesses. I also learned about many more and had the chance to meet beautiful people that were attempting to recover, reaching for hope and looking for help. I never felt judged. I enjoyed fresh food during our classes, had great speakers that sang, and was overwhelmed by the sense of community. The stigma did not reach through the doors. I became stronger as a parent and mother.

The Way Through, Lessons Learned on Life, Love and the Journey

Bipolar disorder runs relay races in my family. My brother is manic right now. As I enter my forties, I find dealing with the ramifications of so much bipolar disorder to be exhausting.

I wrote a book about coming to terms with my own bipolar disorder, (among other things).  It is my own wild and crazy ride of a story, that begins in true bipolar fashion. Coming out of the crazy closet is something we all can relate to, on some level. I did it and was relieved. It was one of the things I wrote about. Having conquered that fear, (one of my greatest), I thought life would be a breeze. Boy was I ever wrong. The longer you live and the more challenges you face, the more difficult life seems to get.

Facing serious midlife issues, I am am looking for new pathways. I am beginning to feel daunted. Living life on this roller coaster is difficult.

How are my fellow BPers handling midlife? Any advice for dealing with aging (crazy) parents, confused teens, a sluggish economy and just life in the BP lane after forty?

And I knew I wasn’t right 

So I planned on going that Friday night 

And I knew I wasn’t okay

Making it the perfect place for me to stay 

See, for most, a mental hospital isn’t a choice 

It’s one of those things where you are left without a voice 

Brought there suddenly against your will

Then before you know it, you are given a bunch of random pills 

But for me, it was where I was supposed to be

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