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The door of the mental health unit locked behind me. I couldn't believe this was happening! After all, wasn't I one of the success stories? Diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 29, I'd weathered every mood swing without hospitalization. Instead of hiding my illness, I'd become a spokesperson for bipolar disorder and gave talks to support groups to inform and encourage sufferers and their families. Now, no amount of information or encouragement kept me from slipping into depression. I was fighting the biggest battle of my life, and I was losing.
Leaning against the locked door, I begged God to hide me in the shelter of his wings. Amidst my emotional turmoil, I knew God's refuge would be my only source of strength to endure what lay ahead.
I first experienced mood swings in my teens, but no one suspected a thing because I hid them so well. I was outgoing, a strong student, and I participated in many activities. Most importantly, I always smiled. Eventually my deep bouts with sadness became so severe that I had to tell my parents. They took me to see a physician, who brushed off my emotions and assured my mother I was a "typical moody teenager." My parents accepted the doctor's diagnosis, certain I would "outgrow" it. Hurt by the physician's dismissal of my symptoms, I vowed to control these feelings on my own.
For the next 11 years, I managed my moods. I completed college, got married, taught high school, and gave birth to a daughter. But in November 1987, I began displaying symptoms of both depression and mania. At first, I hoped the feelings would pass.
One evening in December, I met my husband, Tom, for dinner. After we left the restaurant, we walked by some shops on the way to our cars. It was late, and the stores were closing. I wanted to buy a piata for my classroom, but Tom said we didn't have time. I became furious. I jumped into my car, screeched out of the parking lot, and sped home on the interstate. I felt so angry that I wanted to drive off a hill into the lights of the city below. I swerved my car toward the edge, but at the last second swerved back onto the road. When I got home, my hands were bleeding from fingernail punctures because I'd been holding the steering wheel so tightly.
After that experience, my moods began shifting rapidly from extreme rage to an almost catatonic state of depression. For several days I sat in a chair as if in a trance. It was then I agreed to seek medical help.
A psychiatrist assessed my symptoms and put a name to them: bipolar disorder. The diagnosis was a relief. At last I was told my symptoms were caused by a chemical imbalance of the brain—not emotional or spiritual weakness. The moods I'd fought for years weren't my fault.
My psychiatrist also told me mood swings are cyclical. Some people experience them every two, three, or four years, while others experience them every few months or weeks. Additionally, stress, trauma, and fatigue can contribute to the onset of mood changes. Medications often prevent or lessen the effects of the most severe symptoms.
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