Part one of two. An article about my experience getting a bipolar diagnosis and my thoughts on the big picture around becoming diagnosed as mentally ill in modern society.
Did being diagnosed make me ill?
The idea of being diagnosed as mentally ill is terrifying, it terrified me. There is something permanent about it: once you are diagnosed with something chronic (meaning: persisting for a long time or constantly recurring), can you ever become un-diagnosed? Bipolar disorder is chronic in that it is usually thought of to be a life-long illness. The scariest illusion of them all is that you can walk into a doctor’s office without bipolar and walk out with bipolar, for the rest of your life. This is true for many illnesses and is one of the reasons we might fear and avoid being seen by a doctor… but it is just an illusion. I had bipolar for years before I ever received a clinical diagnosis, I just didn’t want to know it because I didn’t want to ‘be bipolar’.
What was the process to be diagnosed with bipolar?
I was in my second year of university and failing my courses. I had already flunked out of one degree and had enrolled into another. After struggling for two years my health was still deteriorating. I had tried everything I could think of except going to a doctor, my avoidance born of fear and denial. Having exhausted all other options I had reached a fork in the road, a defining moment in my life. My GP (general practitioner) at this time was a very kind campus doctor who had a lot of experience dealing with the mental health of students under pressure. When I entered her office I was totally defeated, a worn out wreck who hadn’t slept in a week, and I simply told her that I thought I had bipolar. She asked me a few questions and then let me know that it looked like I was right, and that I would need to see a specialist psychiatrist to confirm the diagnosis. She also helped me apply for special funding from the university to pay for the psychiatrist, as I wouldn’t be able to afford it myself. I was extremely fortunate to get this help.
After I left the hospital I walked to a nearby park, called up my best friend, and wept down the phone as all of my fears and denials crashed down around me.
A few days later I visited the psychiatrist for the first consultation. Again I answered, truthfully, a bunch of key questions and filled out some questionnaires. We discussed my experience of life and any family history of illness. He was confident in giving me a bipolar diagnosis because my symptoms were quite typical. He prescribed me lithium carbonate and a small number of sleeping pills, then explained how lithium was meant to work, and booked me a follow-up for a few weeks later. I believe the cost to my university for this hour-long consultation was $360. I picked up my medicine from a pharmacist and a fortnight later had my first, of many, blood tests for lithium levels and adverse reactions.
The follow-up consultation was just thirty minutes long. My psychiatrist made a small change to the lithium dosage to get a better level in my system, gave me another prescription for a small number of sleeping pills in case I needed them, and put me in touch with a clinical psychologist who would be able to help me to learn my illness. That was it.
This is my experience of receiving a bipolar diagnosis and I am grateful for it. I was very lucky that my GP was clued up about mental health funding, that I was able to see a specialist, and that my symptoms were typical enough to get a solid diagnosis – I know many people have had a far more difficult road towards being diagnosed. This is why it is crucially important to put resources into community support for mental illness.
How did my life change from being diagnosed with bipolar?
It was actually a massive relief. Before being diagnosed there was something terribly wrong with me. I didn’t know what it was but I was definitely the cause of it. I had no name for it, I didn’t know exactly what it was, and I had no way to deal with it; but it was definitely there. Back then I internalised my illness as my own fault and exclusive responsibility: nobody else needed to know about it or could be allowed to help with it – it was all on me. Being diagnosed released me from all that. Suddenly it wasn’t me anymore, it was the bipolar. I was no longer isolated in some hopeless struggle because I had actually been given help and support. There was no longer something implicitly wrong with me, I was just bipolar, and there were ways of managing bipolar. The diagnosis gave me peace of mind and power to begin working on becoming well. I was no longer in denial and I wasn’t afraid of what I was experiencing: in terms of mental illness I had ‘come out’ to myself. In other words I had accepted it.
