Therapy Is Cool!

 Content warning for mental illness and related triggers. Please skip this one if it’s too close to home, reader. 

So listen, the other day I had to have a serious conversation. I don't like serious conversations. Hell, I don't even like eye contact when the lovey-dovey stuff starts happening. 90% of the time, I'm perfectly content to handle everything by myself. Is this ideal? Perhaps not. But the spice of life happens when you're traumatized by past relationships.

... I'm kidding.

Intimacy is established further by opening up.

As someone who worked in the Starbucks drive-thru for a year, I was no stranger to having random people I'd never met before in my life telling me their deep dark secrets about their relationships, parents, sexuality, etcetera. I was the 9-5 equivalent of a bartender, and I didn't get tipped nearly the same. 

When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and some anxiety, to really round it out. To avoid this becoming a very (potentially) triggering discussion, I won't disclose the circumstances that got me there. I've been on a healthy regimen of medications and therapy for five years now, but that doesn't change the facts.

Bipolar disorders are defined by the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) as a group of brain disorders that cause extreme fluctuation in a person’s mood, energy, and ability to function. There are three main types: Bipolar 1, Bipolar 2, and cyclothymic disorder. I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2, meaning my manic episodes are shorter and typically lack psychosis, but 83% of all bipolar cases are still characterized as severe. This is because bipolar people typically don't just have mood swings — all feelings are "bigger" than most. I usually explain it as having "really big feelings" that distort the world around me, not to mention the low-lows and high-highs. It's an oversimplification, but as someone who hates opening up, it's no wonder that's my go-to. 

This graphic demonstrates exactly what's happening in the brain for these notorious episodes. I think it originally comes from Psychology Today, but I found it on Facebook. Go figure.

Brief side note here, but for some great resources on bipolar disorder and related statistics and figures, please refer to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI). Every case is different and uniquely personal to the individual, but it's always nice to do some reading in order to be a better ally. 

Here's how this condition looks for me —

There are days I can't get out of bed. Those days, the depression reaches the lowest low. I'll sleep for eighteen hours, turn my phone off, and hide from the world. Maladaptive coping mechanisms come into play. 

On the high end of the spectrum, mania can be dangerous. There are days I don't sleep, clean the whole house, eat nothing, and achieve unheard levels of productivity. The best of scenarios merely end with a haircut or dye job at 2 am, the worst in a shady part of town with a man I met on Tinder. 

I'm not one to air my dirty laundry on social media, but I'm also not someone who hides my disability. I'm very open and honest about it when I have to be, but I do tend to oversimplify and skip the gory details. For a long time, I falsely believed medication could protect me from the monster. That's not true: it can only stall it. One missed day of pills, one bad set of circumstances, or one change, big or small, can trigger an episode. If I have meds in my system, the cycle is milder. If I don't, I scare myself.

On the other side of my spectrum, there are two main classes of mania. Somewhere in the middle, when I take my meds and sleep enough, we have my baseline. The baseline is when I operate like a (mostly) neurotypical person. That's the goal every day. Per the suggestion of many a therapist, we decided to start tracking the ins and outs of my daily moods. As it would turn out, it helps to be aware of it. 

Next Monday, I have an appointment with the therapist I've been avoiding. I know therapy is important and that it helps me a lot. It's been an adjustment lately, switching to a new person to talk to every week, but as someone struggling with the bipolar monster for so long, I know how important it is. We're gonna talk about the fact I've been cycling. I'm going to cry and be honest and start regularly attending again.

Marquis de Sade once posed the question, "Can we become other than what we are?"

There is no cure for bipolar disorder, but there isn't just survival. I want to thrive, and more than that, I know that I can. I want to become other. So, I say this with my chest: THERAPY IS FUCKING COOL! GETTING HELP IS FUCKING COOL! SELF-LOVE IS FUCKING COOL!

You may not be like me and just being here and learning is enough. However, if you have a disability or struggle with mental illness, learning how to accommodate your newfound superpower means using the right tools. Batman can't drive a Prius, y'all, he needs the Batmobile. Peter Parker needs a web-shooter. Just because your superpower looks different doesn't mean it's a weakness, nor does it need to be shut away. 

Thank you for listening today. If you have the privilege of access, seek out mental health resources. Make space for your super-identity or someone else's. Take care of yourself, reader.

Sonderly,

Jo

For resources and support, contact NAMI at 800-950-NAMI (6264) or NAMI.org

For immediate counseling, contact the Suicide Hotline at 800-273-8255, or this summer, just 988.

For the Crisis Text Line: Text HELLO to 741741.