Bipolar Chick 2 the Rescue
Share the Vision ~ Join the Mission
Deb Johnson
Author/Speaker/Bipolar Chick
HELLO, IS ANYBODY HOME?
DOUBLE BUBBLE, TOIL & TROUBLE
THE ATTACK PACK PLAN
Copyright 2009 Deborah Johnson, Bipolar Chick 2 the Rescue . All Rights Reserved.
Privacy Statement, Medical Disclaimer & Copyright Statement
Pay attention, you're going to have to explain this to the doctor because you're going blind.  It was scary
and within a half hour I was curled up in the health unit with the most excruciating headache I'd ever
experienced.  Inexplicably, this routine was to iridescent lights in front of my computer screen.  I
remember thinking...pay continue for 26 (yes, twenty-six) days in a row.  My family doctor found that I
had high blood pressure but when treatment for that did not end the headaches, she sent me to a
Neurologist.  I was put through a battery of tests and when nothing was conclusive we went to pain
management.  Low and behold, I was once again placed on an anti-depressant.  This time one that would
hopefully cure my heavy smoking habit as well as my pain.  The headache's eventually went away; I did
not stop smoking for several more years.

DANGER ZONE:  
Remember what happened last time I was placed on an anti-depressant?
(click here to be reminded)
Now wait for it....
That's right...MANIA CITY - the happiest place on Earth.  Ok, not really.  Let's continue...

OH WAIT!  IMPORTANT INFORMATION INTERJECTION!
I suffer from unresolved Abandonment Issues.  This is a long story involving an MIA Dad, perhaps I'll get
to that later.  But I digress...
My husband, JC, was in the Air Force when we met and married.  I had no idea how much he was going to
travel or be stationed in places I could not go.  We joked at our 10 year anniversary that the secret to our
marriage was spending half of it apart. So it's important for you to know that the girl with abandonment
issues married the soul mate who was constantly leaving her alone.  Ironic, huh?  Hmmmmm...

July - September 1999
After a couple of months on the anti-depressant the beginnings of mania started to take shape.  My
husband was away at a four week training course and I was home alone with the dogs.  I began to go
shopping...a lot.  I reached a point where I believed there was no need to do laundry when I could just
buy new clothes (I own more underwear than any three people I know).  I also decided, as my mind was
racing around at a 1000 miles an hour, that the Gift Basket shop I had always wanted to own would be a
good Home Based business and if not now, when?  Mind you, I had a full time job at the time but no
matter my moto was -
"There's no time to do it unless there's no time to do it."
Brilliant!  
So, I recruited a friend to help me with research and development, got a business license, christened my
business Crystal Chalice Gift Baskets and started creating my master pieces.  Now I have to say that I put
together a lovely gift basket but I was all over the place.  I envisioned so many different themes that I
couldn't keep up with the supplies much less the money I needed to put out for said supplies (oh sweet
credit cards).  I would work all day at my "real" job and then I'd work all night at my "really, real job".  
Sleep...not a problem, who needed sleep.  
Let me tell you, no good can come from no sleep but what did I know, I was higher than a kite on crack.
I think JC came home after the four weeks but I don't really remember.  Attention to the details of life
beyond work was of no concern to me.  I do know that he was off to another school for several months
eventually leaving me to my own devices for a total of just about three months.  Whoo Hoo!

DANGER ZONE:
What goes up, must come down.

RANDOM INFORMATION INTERJECTION!
Winston Churchill referred to his depression as the Black Dog.
Churchill's Black Dog

October 1999
After several months of euphoric hypomania my Black Dog was howling to get in. So with no one around
to stop me, I opened the door and let the mauling begin. I sank quickly into the deeper well of depression.
 I begged my husband to come home but he was almost finished training and needed to complete the
course.  In his defense, he had no idea what was going on at home. I cried all the time, uncontrollably.  I
slept all the time.  I barely made it to my real job much less my "really, real job".  I could no longer focus
or hold meaningful conversations.  I became empty.  I was ceasing to exist and on some level I was ok
with that.  My friends worried out loud to each other, to the nurses at work and finally to my face.  I began
to feel responsible for everyone else's feelings. The guilt and pain of toxic niceness became the weight
that held me under the water waiting for me to drown.
Finally, a girl friend who suffers from Bipolar Disorder convinced me to see a psychiatrist.  I went and
many probing questions later the diagnosis was in...Bipolar Disorder. This was not a shock.  The words
sang a familiar tune in my fractured brain.  Manic Depression...no kidding.

DANGER ZONE:
Sometimes you get worse before you get better.

IMPORTANT INFORMATION INTERJECTION!
Anti-depressants given alone can result in mania for Bipolar patients.  
A gender bias exists in the diagnosis of bipolar disorder: women are far more likely to be misdiagnosed
with depression and men are far more likely to be misdiagnosed with schizophrenia. (DBSA, 2000)

November 1999
The merry-go-round of medications started almost immediately.  My psychiatrist had me stay home from
work for several weeks as my body and brain got used to the meds.  This is the time when life got harder.  
I was finally learning that depression did not go away by itself or just with medication, my participation
was required.  Crap!  I didn't want to move much less engage in depression busting activities.  I was
spending most of my time off going to my psychiatrist, my therapist, the lab (for blood work) or sitting on
the floor in my bedroom banging my head against the wall.  This was not a happy time.  As the meds
infiltrated my blood stream the fog began to lift.  I found it easier to reach out to my family and friends
without the impending fear of guilt.  I returned to work and making gift baskets.  Just as life started to
take shape in this new form of normalcy, a phone message from my family doctor set me back on my ass
reeling towards the deeper well of depression once more.

November 1999 Part Two
"I've just gotten your blood work back and it looks like your diabetic."  
These were the words left on my voice mail on a Friday afternoon by my family doctor.  I had no idea why
she had read my blood work since it had been my psychiatrist who had ordered the tests.  And she had
left the message late enough in the day that it would be impossible for me to reach her until Monday.  It
was a horrible weekend.  I was washing the dishes when my husband came home that night and I just
began to rant and rave that if I had diabetes I was just going to jump off a roof as I could not possibly have
one more thing wrong with me.  After talking to the doctor on Monday we set up a fasting blood test
which eventually led to the diagnosis of diabetes being confirmed.  I sobbed so hard in her office that we
could not finish our discussion regarding treatment.  I later saw in my file that the doctor had noted that I
had been inconsolable.  No shit, didn't she know that I was suffering a major depression episode!?!  
Oh...well actually, no she didn't...I hadn't bothered to tell her.  Ooops.

DANGER ZONE:
Not letting all of your doctors in on your Bipolar Disorder diagnosis can be dangerous to your health.

Diagnosis Continued