First of all, I'm truly sorry that you have had to go through the journey you've been on. I'm glad you have found a therapist that you connect with. I found that was really a key component to my growth; trying to figure it out on my own just wasn't working. "Trying to fix a sick mind with a sick mind doesn't work," as the saying goes. I really identify with your finding that most of the people we turned to for help seeming to be more interested in their perception of themselves than what was going on with us. I know I found myself trying to please them rather than getting better. I even had one therapist tell me that the reason he couldn't help me was that I was "too angry" for therapy, and another that I was "too arrogant." Huh?!?
Anyway, back to school. Most of the time I was a pretty sharp student. Not straight A's, but close. Then I noticed that I would suddenly feel like someone had draped a wet blanket over my brain. Not a major depression, just something different. The second or third time it happened I approached my parents and said, "There's something wrong with my mind -- I need to see someone."
My parents were understanding and supportive -- NOT! They reacted like I had said I was a pedophile or worse, a Democrat. "THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU! GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM!"
I continued to cycle between moderate mania and depression from then on. And while I wanted to get help, I knew that if I did so it would be wrong (see above statement). Each time I sought help an obstacle blocked the way. For example, in the Air Force (I was a navigator/officer) I sunk into such a deep depression I went to talk to the flight surgeon about it and was told by the sergeant at the admitting desk, "You really don't want to do that if you want to keep your wings."
Because I didn't trust my mind to be functional 100% of the time I didn't pursue flying as a pilot in the Air Force, even though I had my private pilot's license and absolutely loved it. I didn't seek help, though, even outside the service (which would have been a BIG no-no).
I left the Air Force, entered law school, and because the depressive episodes were getting worse about halfway through I began seeing a psychologist, whom I called a "counselor" so as not to conflict with parental directive #1 above. Talk therapy helped, but when I told him there was something physically wrong with my brain he said that couldn't be true. (This was about a decade before MRIs showed it was true, that there could be a physical cause for depression.)
So to answer your question, all along my life I had tried to get help on my own. No court directive, no parental support, no outside help whatsoever. I don't know if that's good or bad, it's just what's so.
The final straw -- my first trip into the Abyss -- came when I was almost 40. I was in L.A., flying with the Air Force Reserves full time, working a second full time job, writing screenplays (unproduced) and learning to program computers. Meanwhile the stress was building, in my marriage, my finances (a wife who didn't understand the concept of income versus outgo, and that the former must exceed the latter), and the sudden death of my kid brother. In the middle of this Bush Sr. decided to go to war with Saddam Hussein.
O.k., this is something I learned after the first major depression. There are eight stressors that contribute to a major depression: (1) financial problems, (2) marital problems, (3) a death in the family, (4) war, (5) loss of a job, (6) serious illness, in yourself or a loved one, (7) a family history of depression, and (8) substance abuse. Any three combined can lead to major depression. I had seven. (Not a drug or alcohol abuser, thank God.)
Then the bottom dropped out. Remember what I said about losing my life force (see previous post)? That happened at the worst possible time--two weeks before my Reserve unit was called up to go to Saudi Arabia. And no matter what I did I couldn't break it. I knew this was what I had trained my entire military life for, but all I could think of was, "If I go to Saudi Arabia they'll give me a gun..."
I didn't go to the war, got kicked out of the Air Force (after 17 1/2 years), tried to find help and failed, and in the middle of this my wife said she wanted a divorce. So much for "better or worse." It turned out she was more interested in the "richer" part of "richer or poorer."
It wasn't until I moved to the desert I was able to seek out and find professional help, both a psychiatrist (we've been together for 27 years) and several psychologists (20+ years).
I found work as a television director for a Palm Springs station, but when the psychiatrist took me off meds a couple of years later to see if my depression was recurring or a one time good deal, the bottom dropped out again. No more t.v. for me. (It takes about a year and a half to climb out of the Abyss.)
Ever since then I have been reaching out for whatever help I can find. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Like I said, each time I got off the meds it resulted in another trip into the Abyss.
That's the long answer to your question. I was fortunate in that early on I knew something was wrong, unfortunate in that I listened to my parents' reaction and didn't seek help on my own earlier in my life, like undergraduate school. My family and friends were at a loss to help me, either because they denied there was anything wrong (thanks, Mom and Dad), or were powerless to help.
As it turns out I was right when I said there can be something physically wrong with a brain. Functional MRIs have shown that while a healthy brain has a rainbow of colors, a depressed brain is made up of blue and black. Also, each major depressive episode is like breaking a bone in the same place. The brain suffers further physical trauma.
My advice to someone in a similar situations is, "Find help, and don't stop until you find it." Whatever it takes, however many people you have to see, get help. If you need to, find as many people as it takes to act as your advocates and get you where you need to be. (Depression causes lethargy, plus it's not fair to put the burden on one person.) I'm fortunate in that my current wife does that. When we were dating, she hung in there during my third trip to the Abyss, when both her family and I were telling her she needed to get out of the relationship to take care of herself. She has driven me to appointments when I couldn't do it, gently reminded me to take my meds if I start acting squirrely, and just generally been there for me every step of the way these past 27 years.
Like I said in my previous post, mental illness sucks. You watch your friends build their lives -- careers, marriage (and sometimes divorce), have families, begin their retirements. Each day you struggle just to get through the next 24 hours. And there's always the shame that you feel because you think that somehow it's your fault. The only two things that seem to help me are acceptance and gratitude, and if I can manage those 10% of the time I think I'm doing good.
BTW, it's possible to have a successful career, even if you're bipolar. A lot of celebrities have chronicled their own battles with depression. I imagine that's true in most careers. My mileage just happened to vary.
The main reason I wrote my previous post -- which was hard to put out into the world -- and this one, which is even more personal and hence more challenging, is that what I have to share might encourage one person to seek help. To let them know that there is life, despite the illness. It may not look like anyone else's, but it is life, and despite my occasional dark thoughts, I know it's better than the alternative.
Oh, as a final aside, sometimes I'll be percolating right along feeling good about the day and out of nowhere comes the thought, "Well, at least I get to die." That used to upset me, and I found the more I resisted it the more it persisted. Now what I do is simply count each occurrence. "There's number one. There's number two..." After awhile the thought gets tired of the game and goes away for the rest of the day.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. And for caring enough about yourself and others in your life who might be in a similar position. Mental illness may not be able to be cured, but its effects can be ameliorated with the right help, and the support of family and friends.
Good luck.
Steve
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