Kalliope1981

Greetings everybody!
I think I've had bipolar for a while but was just diagnosed a month ago. Ever since I've been taking Lamictol and Adderall I've had these terrifying episodes. They've only happened twice so far, but it's always been a Sunday evening that I cracked. This past Sunday I even sat in my bedroom focusing on my mood change and fighting the episode the hardest I could. My husband won't even try talking to me anymore. I'm scared he thinks that whatever comes out of his mouth will trigger another attack. I don't know what to do. I'm even scared of myself now and it's hard when I've scared away the person I love the most. I know a lot of Bipolar marriages don't usually last and I can't imagine the rest of my life with anyone but my hubby. I've used emailing my mom my feelings as a sort of therapy for myself. Here's a little bit of what I've been going through during these episodes. Sorry this is so lengthy.

MONDAY'S EMAIL: Mom, I had been in agonizing emotional pain on the floor of my bedroom for hours and not once did he (hubby) take the time to come down and ask me if there was anything he could do to help, or better yet, just come downstairs to try and console me (i.e. hugs, words of affirmation like “I love you. We’re going to get through this.” etc…).

Every time there was a moment I screamed or bawled harder, I could hear him leaving the house. I knew he was trying to ignore me which just ignited the anger and the feeling of abandonment inside me.

When he finally came downstairs, he sat on the bed next to where I was on the floor and stroked my back while I continued to cry and convulse. The convulsions weren’t as bad then, but my left leg kept twitching. Any affection that was offered felt forced and uncomfortable.

I had such a migraine that I literally dragged my body up the stairs to the kitchen to take some ibuprofen. Shane followed to me to make sure I didn’t overdose, I suppose. Just as I was about to go back downstairs I coldly muttered, “Did you only start to care after my Mom called you?” (my mom called my husband earlier to check on us and then insisted he go and console me) He didn’t respond, but just followed me back down to my room where he again tried to hold me or rub my back. I asked him if he did in fact call my First Shirt (an authority figure in my squadron here at my base) and he said he didn’t get an answer. I didn’t believe him. I don’t think he called him at all, because my First Shirt always answers his phone especially on the weekend. He tells his troops to call him if they’re downtown and drunk and need a ride home to prevent a DUI. In my case, he told me to tell Shane to call him if this ever happened to me again then he would rush to get me and take me to the hospital.

I really didn’t want anyone at work to know that it happened to me again. I told my friend, but we confide in each other about everything now. She can relate, because of her post partum depression. She felt suicidal and her husband forced her to call her doctor. I’m just terrified about being hospitalized and judged by all the doctors and nurses as being a suicidal airman, unable to adjust to life in the military. I don’t want what’s happening to me to give civilians an idea of this is what airmen are like now-a-days in the military. I want to set a good example and make people proud of me. I don’t want their sympathy, or negative remarks, or judgmental looks. I just want to fight this out on my own and try to heal the best I can. My whole situation is completely humiliating to me!

I’m wearing my old wrist brace for when my wrist was sore doing pushups, but today I’m just wearing it to conceal the yuckier looking cuts. I still have some pretty noticeable ones on my right, but I can use the old “cat scratched me” routine. It sounds really terrible of me, but I just don’t want that kind of attention. I didn’t want to call you last night, Mom, but I was enduring the ends of the episode and just wanted to hear your maternal voice on the other end telling me things are going to be okay. I really felt like I was dying inside and didn’t know when or if I’d get the chance to talk to you guys again. I don’t how often they let patients call home in the psych ward, y’know?
I even had very lucid real dreams last night. They were quick, but extremely real. The first one I dreamed I was in bed trying to fall asleep and MSgt McNair or somebody was sitting beside me trying to convince me to seek out medical help, but I kept refusing. I woke up from that one and made sure there wasn’t anyone else in the room. I must have drifted back off to sleep, because I dreamt that I was sleeping and woke up in the dark to see green flashing lights in the hallway and there were medical teams about to take me away and I started to panic. I must’ve scared myself awake, because I was in the same place as my dream, but nobody in the doorway. I looked at my clock and it was only 11:00pm. It felt much later than that. I kept waking up every other hour or so still feeling pretty sad, but grateful I had calmed down and my migraine wasn’t as bad.

I think the meds are driving me insane. Can these meds make a person bipolar if maybe they’re not bipolar to begin with? My friend thinks I may just have depression and I should try getting off the Lamictol and try taking an anti-depressant. I don’t even know what mental illness I have now. It’s even scarier to know there’s something seriously wrong with me and not know 100% what it is.