Sarah's Story

- Sarah Spiers

I have battled mental illness as long as I can remember. Looking back at how I acted and little things I did as a kid would send up red flags. But, in the early '80's nobody thought to look for mental illnesses in children. We were just odd, the black sheep of the family.

Unfortunately, that meant I slipped through an important crack. Early diagnosis. Spot the problem before it becomes a problem.

It wasn't until I was 16 that I was forced to go to the doctor to deal with my anger issues and was diagnosed with depression, which changed to depression with anxiety. I remember thinking that I wasn't crazy so I don't need any crazy pills. Life's hard enough for me at school, all I need is word to get out that I'm taking anti-depressants.

I, as a patient and a sufferer felt the burn of the stigma associated with mental illness. I believed in the theory of crazy people do crazy things, there's something "wrong" with us, etc.

I was put on Paxil. At 16 I should not have been on that drug. It's been shown to lead to increased suicidal behavior in teenagers and young adults. It's no wonder that at 19/20 when I entered a high stress job with a hostile work environment I started developing suicidal thoughts. I didn't think much of them. They did concern my brother, though. I ended up being asked to resign from my position as EMT based on my inability to work with others, among other things. Patients had a problem with me, at least that's what I've been told.

I had to move in with my parents after only 2 months of freedom and independence. I went through a couple of bad relationships. I started cutting. (Cut free for about 8 years now). My life spiraled down. I went insane, at least what I'd call insane, and didn't respond well to the rejections being thrown at me.

I tried to commit suicide 3 times in a short time period. That's how the cutting started.

I hit rock bottom. I wanted to die, but I didn't want to die. I wanted freedom from my brain, my demons, myself.

I sought counseling... on my own. I wasn't going to live my life the way I had the previous 2 years. I wanted to live in peace and harmony. The first step to finding a counselor is to go to your general practitioner and get a referral.

I made the appointment with the Nurse Practitioner. I told her what symptoms I was having and that I was suicidal and I thought that I might have Borderline Personality Disorder. She said:

It sounds like you've read one too many books.

To get insurance to cover the counselor for me I had to call the Employee Assistance Program number and go through their red tape. She asked what was going on. I told her that I had been having suicidal thoughts and that I thought I might have Borderline Personality Disorder. Her response:

Hahaha it sounds like you've been reading too much.

Yeah. Like I wasn't depressed enough, now you make fun of me, right?

All of this when I was 22, the perfect age for bipolar to start seriously affecting life. Did I mention I was a Corrections Officer with access to firearms? It's a good thing I loved my job because I had ample opportunity to off myself in the car.

I was diagnosed with Bipolar at 24. It then got changed to Bipolar Type 1. Now, in the last few weeks, it's been improved to Bipolar Type 1 - Rapid Cycling - Last episode unspecified. This means I'll get to go from one end of the spectrum to the other weekly rather than on an extended time frame. It is not fun.

With diagnosis comes treatment. For me that means meds and counseling. All was well for about two years when I was only on Lexapro. Then the Lexapro stopped working. I kept taking it for another 4. This began the game of "Find the right anti-depressant" followed by "Find the right mood stabilizer" followed by "Find the right doses." This went on in exhausting length. I was ready to just give up. I couldn't find anything that worked. This is what I get for not seeking a trained psychiatrist. Although, I'm sure we would have had the same problem if I did get to a trained psychiatrist sooner.

I had super highs and super lows. In Feb. 2011 I felt suicidal again and hospitalized myself. My treatment in the ER was atrocious. They put in my chart that I was combative so they could chemically restrain me with Haldol and Ativan. I was asleep when they decided I needed this. They had to wake me up to give me the shots. After a long 9 1/2 hours I found myself at Shawnee Mission Medical Center where I was watched and released with a treatment plan.

That was a few months after I lost my mother. With her, my entire world went black for about 2 years.

In the summer of '12 I was put on Effexor which changed to Effexor XR. I should have known something was wrong when I vomited within 20 minutes of taking it the first time.

Of the "Call your doctor immediately if:" list, I had these symptoms. Rigid muscles, sweating, confusion, fast heartbeats, tremors, agitation, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, loss of coordination, trouble concentrating, headache, memory problems, confusion, cough. I'm talking my heartbeat was constantly at 130 for 5 days straight. I literally thought I was going to die.

I cut a few cysts out of my head and sought treatment for the wound afterwards. I had been picking scabs to a seriously abnormal degree... so much that I got an infection. I was allergic to the antibiotics so they didn't work. The wound care doctor fixed me up though.

In my records it shows that another doctor had told my doctor that I might need to be committed. This was Sept. 5 this year. The General Practitioner I was seeing decided she couldn't treat my psychiatric problems anymore. I bawled. It took 10 minutes for me to be able to tell my aunt what had happened.

In hindsight, I was depressed and then spiked to a high mania afterwards. I was so depressed and so sick by this medication that I laid in bed 24-7. I slept during the day, I didn't shower or brush my long, thick, coarse hair. It took my aunt 8 hours to undo my hair so it looked somewhat normal again. I did this for probably 6 weeks. I didn't want to do anything. I dropped off of Facebook, I dropped off of the world... into my well of Hell.

Well, being dropped like I was sent me into a tizzy. I got it in my mind that my aunt had somehow played a part in the doctor dropping me as part of a vendetta against me. I wrote 3 "letters" and released a chapter of a real life book to certain people. The first letter was a letter I wrote to the aunt and her daughter. The 2nd letter was a police report putting forth some suspicions and concerns I had about a couple of people. The 3rd letter was really an explanation of my actions.

It was deemed by the Sheriff and Judge that I was unstable, a threat to myself and a threat to others. I was involuntarily committed for 5 days. On the day I get released, someone claiming to be from the sheriff's office called the psych ward that I was on and told them that I was using the phone to make threatening calls. They released me anyway.

While I was in the hospital I was served with 3 ex parte orders. It came out in the ex parte's and court that I had threatened to kill the doctors, their spouses, their children and grandchildren, the staff at their clinic and all the patients I could find.

I just wanted to out some corruption. My aunt and cousin got upset and actually convinced these people that I'm a threat to everyone.

In court, I remember thinking "these people don't know what they're talking about. Seriously, I'm bipolar so that makes me a potential babykiller somehow?" Luckily the judge found in my favor, but not before telling me that my behavior was completely unacceptable and had it been someone else that put the ex parte's up against me he would have granted it for them. Nice. Thanks. Bye. I'm not sticking around to make you any more upset with me.

This whole episode has had its consequences. Some good, like I found my meaning and my purpose in life. Some bad, like it set me back emotionally in ways... but kicked me forward in others.

I've never been able to regain my complete independence. I never will, either, with as bad as this bipolar is. I will literally have to have moderate supervision for my entire life to help make sure I'm not swinging too far one way or the other and that the proper steps are taken accordingly.

It is a good thing that I was forced to take a vacation from college for awhile. That stressor on top of everything else would have been a bit too much to carry.

I've picked myself up by the bootstraps, started this support/advocacy group and prospered so far. I leave every Tuesday night with a smile in my heart because I know that one or two hours meant a lot to the people there and I helped them in some way find peace for a little bit.