The Bipolar Invasion

 I talked to my father tonight about my new therapist and the work we have been doing together. As I have my master's in clinical psychology and he has a doctorate in psychology (ironic I know) we were able to talk about the models of therapy being utilized in my sessions. He seemed to think that writing in this space was a good idea. It's funny that I have yet to use it to focus on my presenting issue, the reason I first scheduled an appointment for treatment, with that being that I have an eating disorder (ED). My therapist specializes in working with ED clients, however, just as my bipolar diagnosis tends to invade every aspect of my life it has done the same here and in my sessions.

The running hypothesis at this point is that my ED developed as a way to survive/cope with various dysfunctional events of my childhood. Alternately, I was born hardwired to be at risk of unconsciously fusing stress and depressive symptoms into a bipolar diagnosis without adequate intervention for such symptoms. Throughout my teens and early 20's interventions came and went but none were sufficient to suppress it. Explaining my current state in such a technical way creates a type of out of body experience. I feel like a clinician with a clipboard looking at myself as a client in a hospital bed sleeping the type of sleep only possible with sedatives and hypnotic prescriptions; the type of sleep that is full of strange dreams and colorful interpretations of my various anxious memories.

At present, I wonder what type of interaction I would have with myself in these roles, if I would receive the same type of responses that I have had from those around me in my real life. For the bipolar diagnosis, there is empathy, surprise, comments about how I am and my symptoms are "so different from xyz bipolar person" that they already know, and unprompted promises from them to "keep it between us." I have grown tired of updating those that care that, "Yes, things are still the same but have no doubt that I am still trying," that "I am still hopeful," and "am trying xyz  medicine on xyz dose," to "get stabilized yet again," and that "If I feel really depressed I know what to do, where to go, who to call."

After disclosure of my ED to others, they remind me of my physical beauty, the "obvious" and "unnecessary negative influence of the media," on my mind, and the possibility of self-healing my disorder by simply "learning to love myself," or "digging into scripture." These relationships, and my interpretations of their urgent advice, are only made more complex by my history of failed attempts to self-diagnose, self-heal, and reabsorb my disorders through prayer, education, positive thinking, and therapy.

Tonight, the twofold conclusion is that firstly there really isn't room in my mind to allow other people to live there, regardless of the veritable stampede of positivity they might bring. Secondly, I remain grateful for access to the voices and the listeners of the blogging community. (: