I experienced my first bipolar manic episode at the age of 17, when I was at high school. For many reasons I can think of;
Genetics
Bipolar disorder runs deep in my mother’s family, approximately half of my mother’s brothers and sisters have bipolar disorder.
A dysfunctional family
Our family was not particularly stable and peaceful. My father was a bully, a pathological liar and a control freak. My mother who is suffering from his abuse to this day kept talking in his back about his destructive behavior to us. Which made us dislike and fear him much more.
In short, there was not much peace in my family, except that the relationship between young brothers was pretty good. We practiced different kinds of sports, played LEGO, Monopoly, and did much together.
I did not adapt well to the new town
I struggled to fit in after moving to a small town from a big city.
We did not have the same accent. I was beaten by other students more than once and two teachers even slapped me. This, combined with my father’s abuse, further damaged my self-esteem and confidence.
I had an accident
I was injured and despite the physician’s advice, I looked at my injury—a 9-inch cut where I could see the bone. That was disturbing and I felt more fragile. Fortunately, I only needed 15 stitches on my right leg.
A Recollection to my Visits to Psychiatrists After the First Manic Episode
At that time my first psychiatrist was not pleased that I didn’t tell him about my leg injury sooner, as my first manic episode occurred shortly after the accident.
The first psychiatrist I consulted in the presence of my mother, gave me Haldol, Carbamazepine and Artane. I was not taking my medication as prescribed, and the psychiatrist eventually stopped treating me after I made disrespectful comments. I went to another renowned psychiatrist but he prescribed much more medication than the first psychiatrist.
My parents did not like that so we went back to the first psychiatrist after I agreed I would respect him.
How was this first episode
I was very energetic, I did not sleep, I became very organized and I liked to tidy up my room. I thought I became an important and a great person, like a philosopher or a legendary martial artist. I damaged the relationship with some of my friends. At school I did not study for a trimester. But thankfully, the high school headmistress, and some teachers helped me succeed that year.
I stayed mostly medication compliant for a couple of years. Nearly everything went back to normal. I got my high school degree and went to university.
In an upcoming post I will talk about the cost of underestimating mental health issues and being non-adherent to my medication.