· Among people with bipolar disorder, the rate of alcoholism and drug abuse is three times that of the general population. [ For the reason of self medicating the disorder]
· As many as 1 in 5 people with bipolar will commit suicide
Marohn, S. (2003) The Natural Medicine Guide to Bipolar Disorder
· 2.6% million of the American population suffers from Bipolar
· Over 2/3s of people who are suffering from Bipolar has a family history of Bipolar disorder in their family.
· Bipolar is reported to be the sixth direct cause of disability in the entire world
· 1 in 5 people with Bipolar disorder will commit suicide
· Children with one or both parents who have Bipolar disorder will most likely inherit the disorder by a 15%-75% margin
· Approximately 3.4 adolescent and young children who suffer from depression will most likely experience an early onset of Bipolar disorder (Stats in the U.S. only)
· “Bipolar disorder treatment is not about curing the disease because there is no known cure for it” (2011, Bipolar Symptoms)
· It is estimated that every day in America 90 people commit suicide
· For every suicidal death there are 8-25 suicidal attempts
· Every 15 minutes someone dies from committing suicide in the U.S.
“More Americans suffer from depression than coronary heart disease (17 million), cancer (12 million) and HIV/AIDS (1 million)” (2011, AFSP).
With all of that said I must look at how I can look back and see how my life slowly began to fall apart. I had no way of knowing that my compulsive, aggressive behavior was a manic outburst. I had no idea that crying for no reason and hiding my depression was a part of a Bipolar low. I wondered why I was so emotional at times; even my family would tell me I was emotional. I was up and I was down. I am up and I am down.
As a teenager I wanted to party and tear shit up, drink, smoke out, trip out and have as much sexual experiences as I could. I was with a boy when I was just fourteen, he was seventeen; to me he was a compulsive liar whom I didn’t trust. I guess I stuck with him because I was emotionally attached to him and being with him allowed me to have freedom from my house. Although we were together in an adult like relationship we were both very immature. There would be times that I would want to be with him all the time and I would hate him because I would always catch him in lies, I would cry at night and in the shower. Then there would be times where I would be completely out of control, we would party together with friends. I never set any sexual limitations with other guys while I was with him. I cheated on him about five times. Some affairs he didn’t know about, ever, which was exciting to me because there I was carrying on this secret sexual relationship and he had no idea. But I felt that his continual lies vindicated my actions. The other affairs…well he found out about because his big mouthed friends didn’t know how to keep their damn mouths shut. My sexual hunger came in waves and my brokenness seemed to have lasted a lifetime. I felt like there was never anyone who could understand my fucked up mind.
The life I lived at that time was an up and down experience in my life, my boyfriend was someone I could confide in but I couldn’t trust. Being with him at other times would give me such a high, due to all the crazy things we did. But then I would drop, fast. At one point I became friends with one of his best-friends, her and I were talking about fun girl stuff (our periods); I mentioned to her that I could never predicted when it would come because I had problems with all that inner lovely “stuff”. I then told her that I was late but I started having cramps the week before. All of a sudden my boyfriend asked me if I was pregnant, REALLY? It flooded the school so quickly that day, so quickly that my brothers found out and when I got home my mom and my sister talked to me about it. I felt betrayed, shamed and embarrassed…I fell to a low that was something like nothing. I would smoke out and slop down like a dead plant.
When the hell could I ever trust someone, someone who was honest with me, to my face? I wanted someone who would keep my secrets and help me through my issues, because Lord knows I had so many issues that I couldn’t handle them in my own head. I would call myself names because I was worthless to “friends” and distant from my family, so why not, why not look at myself in the mirror saying words of hate. Why not betray myself and look at me and my disgusting self, what the hell was wrong with me.
Even now there is no one other than my family (now) that I can call friends. (Well I can call at least one or two people friends.) Friends: 1. Somebody emotionally close: somebody who trusts and is fond of another (2011, Encarta Dictionary). But I must say that I do have an amazing cousin that I can count on, she is sweet and honest. She gives me hope and helps me to know that everything is going to be okay. I listen to her and she listens to me, I love being with her and she is another person I can joke with about my psychotic breakdown. She reminds me to keep it together and hold on tight to the ones who love me.
I gain hope and I am reminded that the straight razor that was once my best-friend isn’t there to make me feel good and release my pain. I think about her words, my family, my presence on earth, my body, my mind…then I see the blade isn’t so sweet. The gliding of the sharpness across my skin will no longer release my pain. I look upon the intricate-patterned scare lines mutilation of my skin-reminding me of only pain. The scars remind me of all the pain I tried to release; I wanted to release pain that I couldn’t feel mentally or emotionally so I wanted to feel pain physically. I can’t feel that way now…
References
AFSP (2011). American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. Facts and Figures: National
Statistics. http://www.afsp.org/
http://www.bipolarsymptoms.org/Basics/Am-I-Bipolar.html
From It ?; Facts About Bipolar Disorder. pp. (5) Hampton Roads Publishing Company Inc.
No comments:
Post a Comment