Erika Lebron - Hellbrain: Living With Bipolar Disorder

hellbrain

Table of Contents

My Story

Chapter 1 . A Confused Child

Chapter 2 . Entering the Real World

Chapter 3 . Meeting My Soulmate

Chapter 4 . Closing Thoughts

Chapter 5 . Thoughts and Advice for People with Bipolar Disorder

Introduction

What is Bipolar Disorder?

According to Durand and Barlow, bipolar I disorder is an alternation of major depressive episodes with full manic episodes, while bipolar II disorder is an alternation of major depressive episodes with hypomanic episodes. The key identifying feature of bipolar disorders is the tendency of manic episodes to alternate with depressive episodes in an unending rollercoaster ride from the peaks of elation to the depths of despair (Durand & Barlow, 2013).

Source: Essentials of Abnormal Psychology. V. Mark Durand and David H. Barlow. 2013.

Symptoms of hypomania include inflated self-esteem, decreased need for sleep, higher than normal verbal output, flight of ideas, distractibility, increased goal-directed activity, and excessive involvement in activities that have a high potential for negative consequences. On the depressive side, symptoms can include, changes in appetite, abnormal sleeping patterns, restlessness or feeling slowed down, fatigue, feelings of worthlessness or guilt, difficulty concentrating, and recurrent thoughts of death.

Studies have shown that both genetics and brain structure are linked to the cause of bipolar disorder.

Source: Discovering Behavioral Neuroscience: An Introduction to Biological Psychology. Laura A. Freberg. 2016.

Chapter 1

A Confused Child

I knew from a pretty young age that I was different. Of course, back then I didnt understand how I was different, or why I was different. I just knew that something was off about me, regardless of the fact that I was completely ignorant to the source of it.

Second grade. The first memory I have of me realizing I was different was when I was in second grade. I am usually an outgoing, fun, loud person that likes to have a good time. Anyone and everyone who knows me will tell you this. Even as a child I was outgoing some of the time.

The memory that I have from second grade is a group of girls in my class singing and dancing to the song I Swear by All-4-One. This song was huge back then, and it was one of my favorites. So why was I sitting at my desk watching them, feeling depressed? Why was I not singing along? Why did I not go up and join them? Instead, I was sitting at my desk with my head in my hands, watching them, feeling no positive emotion whatsoever. I didnt want to be there. I wanted to go home. And I had no idea why I felt that way.

I faked sick a lot to get picked up early from school. Some days I was fine I did my schoolwork, I got along with everyone, I played, I participated in class, and so on. Other days, like the day that these girls were singing my favorite song, I just wasnt there. I was physically there, but not mentally there. All I could think about was going home and laying down in my bed. That was the only place I wanted to be, and I wanted to go there and cry my eyes out, even though I had no idea why I wanted to do so. How is this possible? How the hell can someone feel so strongly about wanting to cry with no good reason to, let alone a girl in second grade?

My mom hated getting calls from work. She got them pretty often from me. She was a single mother with three children who at times was working three jobs just to support us. And here I was, a little second grader who wanted her to leave the place that paid my mother in order for her to house us and feed us, just because my selfish ass didnt feel like being at school. I always blamed it on an upset stomach. And sometimes I got lucky, because there was actually a stomach bug going around, and many other students had come in already complaining of the same symptoms. Other days I wasnt so lucky. Eventually, like any being with a brain would, my mother caught on. Going to the clinic no longer worked. Any time the school nurse called my mom, she would tell her to send me back to class. Off I went, crying, pissed off at my mom for making me stay in that hellhole, when all I wanted was my bed.

I remember one day my mom telling the clinic nurse to send me back to class and I begged her not to. I remember crying, telling her that I just wanted to go home. She asked me if I wanted to talk to a counselor. A counselor?! No! I told you, I just want to go home and go to bed. No one understood me or my needs and it was frustrating as all hell. Not only was I a second grader with horribly strong negative emotions that I didnt know the source of, but all of the adults around me didnt understand me either. If no one understood me, how was I ever going to feel better? Would I ever feel better?

As if these feelings werent already bad enough, something happened to me as a child that should have never happened. One of the neighborhood girls had invited me over to play with her at her Nanas house, who lived over on the next street. I walked over there like always and played Barbie with her in her room. While we were in her room playing, there was a knock on her bedroom door. Her uncle cracked open the door and motioned come here to me with his pointer finger. I got up and followed him to his bedroom where he laid on his bed and told me to sit down next to him. That is when I encountered my first inappropriate experience with an adult. I remember my friend saying to her uncle, She doesnt want to be in here. She wants to play dolls with me. Thats when I got up and went back into her room to play.

The details dont matter. Imagine whatever you want. Eventually I went home and told my mother, who called the police. I have no idea what happened when the police went over there. Obviously, the man denied it and the police left, because the next time I went over there, he was there. Not only was he there, but again, he came into my friends room and motioned come here to me with his pointer finger. But this time I knew I shook my head no and continued to play. He tried again a few more times after that, but each time I shook my head no. Eventually he stopped trying.

My friend saw what happened. She was standing right there in the doorway when it happened. She witnessed it. And yet, on the school bus in front of everyone, she was yelling at me for spreading lies about her uncle. She was yelling and people were throwing things at me because everyone thought I was making it up. I remember yelling back at her, You were there! You saw it! And she denied it flat out. I remember thinking, Why is she doing this to me? She was there! Why is she saying this didnt happen? So not only was I traumatized from the experience with the uncle, but I was also hurt because my friend, who saw the whole thing, was calling me a liar, and didnt want to play with me anymore.

Although I never forgot what happened, I did move past it which if you ask me, is not normal for a child that young. I acted as if nothing happened and moved on with my life. I even said hello back to him whenever I walked past him in the neighborhood every time he said hello to me. I think I just wanted to forget about it because I didnt want my friend to be mad at me anymore, which eventually she wasnt, and we became friends again.

By third grade, I had figured out something that I could do instead of trying to go home sick: sitting in the back of the classroom. Fortunately, I had a teacher who let me do so. Whenever I felt depressed or pissed off and I didnt want to be around anyone, I asked to sit in the back of the class. I told the teacher that I concentrate better that way, when really, I just didnt want to be around any of the other kids. They all pissed me off for no reason at all. Just their existence was enough. Even when we went outside and they asked me if I wanted to play with them. Why would I play with them? I am clearly just fine sitting here on the ground, staring at the grass, killing ants one-by-one with my finger. Go away. Get the fuck away from me. Leave me alone.