“Bipolar Disorder can you you unstable, but you are still able. Never give up, never give in, you will find your peace again.”


Three. They say the third times a charm. Hopefully for me it is. Three. The number of times I’ve been hospitalized in the last 6 months because of my bipolar disorder. In January in the mid of an abusive relationship, a crumbling academic school year and a deteriorating mental state I pondered killing myself. I thought of suicide daily. What would it be like if I swallowed a ton of pills? Would people miss me? Would anyone care…

For those unfamiliar with bipolar disorder, it’s a disease characterized my extreme highs and lows. For me I would go shopping and spend hundreds of dollars, I would not sleep for days and never get tired I would engage in risky behavior and not even bat an eye, but then I would become so depressed I couldn’t even get out of bed, I didn’t shower I cried all of the time and most days all I wanted was to die. It’s more than just regular depression it’s more than just being whimsical or being anxious. Bipolar disorder is extreme. It’s every emotion you could possible feel amplified by 1000. With bipolar disorder you never know if you’re going to wake up feeling like Tigger or Eeyore.

January 9th, 2016. The day of the start of my worst manic episode to date. I ran away from home in the middle of the night to go swing on the swings at a nearby school because I couldn’t stop thinking about killing myself. When I returned home my parents were waiting (2 a.m.) I began to break down crying saying I wanted to die, nothing was right and I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t sleep at all the night.

The next day running on zero hours of sleep I continued to spiral out of control. As usual my then boyfriend and I got into a fight which turned physical. This was when I decided I couldn’t take this life anymore. I ran away and laid underneath a parked 18 wheeler in freezing temperatures just hoping I would die. When my parents eventually found me I was soaking wet and dirty again crying that I didn’t want to live. My parents called the police who then transported me to the hospital for an evaluation.

Another sleepless night in my manic mind.

Now running on 48 hours without sleep the doctor came in and told me I was going to be transferred to a hospital with an adolescent mental health unit and that I would need to stay there for a week or two.

I then became so out of control I had to be sedated.

When I woke up during the afternoon the next day I was in a new hospital. I stayed there for 11 days and was eventually discharged with a diagnosis. Bipolar disorder. They put me on a medication and sent me on my way.

When I returned to normal life out of the hospital things were going OK. The med helped a little but I was struggling. Still stuck in an abusive relationship and struggling in school did not help. I muddled through the school year barely passing, and managed to overcome the struggle of a toxic relationship and found my way out but something was still wrong.

At the end of may I was put on another new medication to help with my depression, little did I know this med wasn’t supposed to be given to people with bipolar disorder. The serotonin in it through me into another manic episode, again my mother called the police and I was taken to the hospital.

“If it’s a medication problem you can’t deal with it on your own.. you need to be hospitalized.” Words I heard that day and would hear again less than a month later.

I waited for 3 days in the hospital for a bed to open up somewhere where they took teenagers. When a bed did open up, it was 5 hours away.

This hospital stay unlike my other two was short. 7 days. They put me on yet ANOTHER med and let me go. But still when I came home something was still wrong. I was angry…. All the time. And not just wow I’m pissed off angry but like I could really hurt someone angry. I became very aggressive towards everyone in my house. I would threaten them throw things at them; I was out of control. Next thing I know the cops were there to get me.

It had only been 3 weeks since they discharged me and here I was being admitted again.

I heard the same words yet again “if it’s a medication issue you can’t deal with it on your own… you need to be hospitalized.”

So down the road I went again. This time my stay would be 12 days. During this stay I was put on medication number 3. Three must be my number.

It looks like the third time is a charm because every since my last hospitalization in August I am doing extremely well. I have not had a manic episode I have no felt the extreme depression. I am taking on school like a champion and I’m regaining strong relationships with friends and family. This is something I never thought I would live to see 7 months ago when I was contemplating suicide. So they say the third times a charm and I hope it is. After my third time in the hospital o hope I never go back. After this third med they’ve put me on I hope I don’t have to go on any more. Hopefully the third time is a charm. I have so much hopeZ So if you’re thinking about giving up.

Don’t.

Things do get better as cliche as it sounds.