I am a 48 year old manic depressive guy living in Scotland. I have been diagnosed as having Bipolar I but like many bipolar folks I'm a bit dubious about it all. I am often puzzled why clinicians think that being even mildly euphoric is some form of pathological abnormality which requires treatment. Treatment inevitably means reducing your mood until you are miserable, unhappy and left wondering what aspects of your thoughts and behaviour were part of you and what was the illness. Was I really that gregarious, creative, fun loving person or was that a disease? Am I now this fat, miserable, listless, blob who sees no future. Is that the real me? Is that me cured now?
While medication is effective in reducing my highs, drugs have absolutely no effect in lifting my mood when I'm down and after trying most of them without any success the shrinks agreed there was no point in trying anymore. A course of ECT seemed to help at one point when I was moribund but resulted in a back injury so I'm in no rush to be electrocuted again.
I am cynical about health professionals and mental health charities and am reluctant to engage in their patronising frowns and nods of phoney empathy. Psychiatry and medicine have not helped with my condition, in fact being interrogated by doctors has done nothing but increase my paranoia. Like many bipolar folks I have found that alcohol often helps me relax and reduces anxiety. Drinking against the advice of doctors brands me as "non-compliant" and of course they explain that alcohol is not helping my condition and may have damaging long term effects on me. Obviously they fail to mention the damaging long terms effects of my medication.
I was initially extremely reluctant to see a psychiatrist but after several weeks I eventually agreed. Right from the start I have been messed around by the shrinks playing mind games with me. My shrink didn't show up for my last appointment in September 2007 and has never contacted me since. Did he simply forget I existed? He wants me to come begging but in the past when I have sought help they have denied I exist on their records. I already have long standing paranoid ideas about my local NHS trust and they want me to play this humiliating charade again, fuck them.
Now that you know what an upbeat, positive, crazy kinda guy I am you might want to read more of my uplifting repertoire... or perhaps you might want to phone the samaritans?
Anyway, if you're still reading, I keep an online diary at HERE which I try to keep up to date.