Two nights ago, I was privileged to attend the National Council’s Awards of Excellence dinner. This is a dinner during which we honor and hear the stories of those who won the awards. I was there because the Bipolar Babe won a Reintegration Award in mentorship, and believe me, no one deserves it more. Being a winner, the Bipolar Babe gets $10,000 for her charity. But what you might notice about these awards is that they are a partnership between the National Council for Community Behavioral Healthcare (mental and addiction illnesses) and Eli Lilly and Company. Now, The National Council, . . . advocates for policies that ensure that people who are ill can access comprehensive healthcare services. We also offer state-of-the-science education and practice improvement resources so that services are efficient and effective. Whereas Eli Lilly is a drug company designed to make money. But what I learned while I was at the awards is that the Eli Lilly folks had neither horns nor tails.

Bipolar disorder can be a very debilitating illness, to the point where many people have hampered lives because of it. People may find that they can’t have families or jobs because of their disabling bipolar disorder. And there is nothing wrong with these people. These people are just learning to live a different kind of life because life, unfairly, besought them with a severe mental illness. But one of the problems these people often have is finding meaning in life. If you see everyone around you with a job or a family or other things your mental illness stops you from having, how do you handle it? How do you find meaning with a severe case of bipolar disorder?

We all have parts of our lives that we wish were different. One might wish her boyfriend hadn’t cheated on her. One might wish that his boss wasn’t so micromanaging. One might wish that she wasn’t bipolar. And so on. One might feel that these situations are unfair. And sometimes when experiences arise around these situations, we react, not to the situation itself, but to how we wish the situation were and this gets in the way of making healthy choices.

In May, the new Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) is being released. This is the book that contains all the diagnostic criteria for mental illnesses. And there has been lots of public debate around this update. Primarily the feedback on the changes has been negative.

It’s an interesting question, isn’t it? You have a life-altering illness that affects the very way your brain works. Do you actually have to tell people that? Do you have to tell people you have bipolar disorder? Well, like with everything in life, it depends.

Recently, Karl Shallowhorn of our Debunking Addiction blog wrote a post called, Am I An Alcoholic? This got me to thinking about another question that people ask: Am I mentally ill? This is a good question. It’s a good question because, by and large, people don’t want to be considered “mentally ill” so they want to know if they meet the definition.

Through my years of being a person with bipolar disorder I have come up with a variety of coping techniques. Many of these techniques have fancy names and are detailed in therapies like cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). Of course, I used them long before I ever knew they had names. And one of my current skills is thought-boxing. Or, at least, so I call it. To the best of my knowledge, this particular skill doesn’t have a name. This is a Natasha Skill. Something I developed over years of trying really hard not to let the crazy kill me. It’s a way of controlling thoughts. It’s a way of keeping the horrendous, bipolar thoughts out of my consciousness, as much as possible. It’s a way of sidestepping all the thoughts that are, indeed, trying to kill me.

It’s devastating to get a diagnosis of bipolar disorder or another mental illness. It means many things to many people, but I know for me, it meant a lifetime condition and a lifetime of treatment. It honestly felt like a death sentence. But a bipolar diagnosis doesn’t just affect the person with bipolar disorder. A bipolar diagnosis can affect their family and friends, especially if the person with bipolar disorder is younger. It’s completely understandable for a parent to wonder if bipolar disorder is a death sentence. It’s completely understandable for a parent to wonder if his or her child is going to be okay.

Recently I went through a nasty bipolar medication change. I stopped one antipsychotic in favour of another. Of course, this was to improve my overall treatment. And as I’ve said before, if you change nothing then nothing changes, and in this case, I had to change medications in the hopes of changing my mental wellness. It did not go well. What ended up happening was a gradual slide into horrific suicidality. The new med was not effective for me. But I learned something from this experience. Before changing bipolar medications, it’s a good idea to put into place a medication change safety plan.

I am a very difficult case of bipolar to treat. Believe me. I have been on more bipolar medications than anyone I know and finding an effective cocktail is akin to walking on water. It’s possible, but it’s pretty darn rare. And recently I made a medication change from one antipsychotic to another. It went very badly in a whole host of ways. In fact, I terminated the medication trial early and went back to my previous medication. I see my doctor this afternoon and now I have to tell him the bad news about how it went. And I feel guilty about failing another bipolar medication. I know he will be disappointed and I feel bad about it.