My psychological well being journey started after I was eleven years outdated. It was 1991, and Kurt Cobain hadn’t stepped as much as the mic to sing “All Apologies” but. He hadn’t smashed one guitar out of rage in public. Hadn’t but dyed his hair purple in a match of mania for all to see.
At eleven years outdated I used to be speculated to be all bubblegum and board video games. Using my bike and laughing with mates.
As an alternative, I spent most of my days caught in some purgatory—caught between the frenzy of tween hormones and one thing that felt extra sinister broiling beneath the floor.
When a psychiatrist lastly mentioned the phrase “bipolar” to my mom and instructed a dose of lithium, she was terrified. Psychological well being was not a buzzword. There was a stigma hooked up to the analysis and an implication that my mom had finished one thing flawed.
So we moved on.
We’d hold transferring on to new therapists all through my teen years. Making makes an attempt at discuss remedy—solely to find that there have been some secrets and techniques that my mom did not need to be disclosed. Making an attempt totally different cocktails of medicines. Possibly Zoloft. Possibly Ritalin. Possibly the brand new marvel drug on the time, Prozac.
None of those labored. Every thing simply made my world extra foggy and complicated.
By the point I hit my “rebellious” teenage years, I used to be crawling out of my pores and skin. I couldn’t escape myself, so I began self-medicating. Weed and booze had been my medication of alternative, and I spent plenty of time experimenting with totally different mixtures to see which one might take me the farthest exterior of myself. In fact, this simply made my temper swings extra erratic and extreme, and I pushed down my actual feelings till I used to be a shell of myself.
I rock-bottomed in my 20s. I vacillated between sorority president and black-out drunk. Throughout my upswings, I used to be an A pupil, making the dean’s checklist and planning meals drives for battered girls’s shelters. In my downswings, I’d binge drink and get up on the ground of a frat home, questioning the place my mates had gone and what I had finished to make them depart me.