Author Archives: Olivia Rodriguez

I was forced to grow up

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At age 20, I was diagnosed with Bipolar I after a manic episode mixed with psychosis which sent me straight to a psychiatric hospital. Well not really a hospital, rather, a rehabilitation center in Georgia. No, I’m not from Georgia nor have ever lived there, but it just so happens that I was visiting a friend when I went “manic”.

But don’t be alarmed, this is not an account of my (mal) treatment in the rehabilitation center or in the jail I was held for 5 days because of all things, my mania began at the Atlanta airport. No, this is about how I was forced to grow up after my experiences. How I could no longer consider myself just a care free college girl with no worries, but rather, an adult woman with a mental health diagnosis, which was tough, at best.

I could not accept my diagnosis, nor did I want to admit that perhaps I needed help from someone other than myself. As a psychology major I should have known better than to fall prey to stigmatizing myself and my diagnosis, I thought “But I’m not crazy.” How ignorant and little of me to think such a thing.

And after yet another stint in a psychiatric ward in the Bay Area, literally three days after returning from Georgia, I was convinced I had Bipolar I. It wasn’t the psychiatrists who convinced me, nor my arsenal of daily meds that did it. No. It was my mood swings. My constant flow between happy and sad. My to and fro, that’s what convinced me I had Bipolar I, and yes I needed help.

I became my own advocate, then. Seeking help and resources in my community. Standing up for myself whenever necessary and becoming an adult, in a manner of speech. I never thought I would have to grow up so fast and so soon, it was in the summer before my Senior year in college.

I felt as though the Universe had screwed me over, big time. And after wallowing in my self-pity, I got it. I understood. Sometimes it takes a huge life change to make you appreciate life better and make you a better person. It’s life’s way of putting you back in your place and giving you perspective. And wow, did I ever get perspectified! Yes, it’s a new word, I just made it up because I can do that. 🙂

 

 

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Writing Helps to Heal

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I know it sounds cliche because we have all heard it before, “Why don’t you write about it? It’ll help” Yet, few of us really take that advice and implement it. Most of us take it as psychiatric mumbo jumbo, and continue with our pain alone for fear of burdening our close friends and relatives, those we have left anyway.

I was one of those non-believers in the power of writing and it took me a good nine years after being formally diagnosed to take finger to keyboard and just type. I started with a Twitter. Yes, I took to social media with my angst because if I was gonna share with the world, I was doing it loud and clear and on the internet. And lo and behold, I found a whole community of people like me, fellow sufferers and survivors of mental wellness. I could not have been more surprised at feeling a sense of camaraderie on the internet of all places. I was so overwhelmed that I started crying after one of my Tweets got retweeted, a personal Tweet I must say.

Maybe it sounds lame to you, but after that first reTweet, I was hooked on writing. I quickly found venues to express my thoughts and opinions, and somehow for some odd reason, people were listening to me. And not only listening, but commiserating, it was as if I had come home, finally.

Now, whenever I feel any slight anxiety, mania, depression, whatever, I take to writing. I love it. Everything about it. And I love and appreciate the people that have given me the chance to use my voice for good.

Self-Compassion

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I wonder if people who read these blogs know the difference between being an ally and simply supporting. I can support many causes, but to be a true ally is to feel the pain of someone else as your own and still feel compassion.

Compassion is when you not only tolerate, but also accept someone for who they are, in their entirety. And it takes a secure and confident person to be compassionate because you have to admit to yourself that you are human and are prone to err, and so are others.

I strongly believe that if we spent more time being compassionate, without pity, rather than just tolerant, we would be a less violent society. And I mean violent in all its aspects: verbally violent, physically violent, emotionally violent, etc.

You may disagree with me, and that’s okay, but there is no need to be verbally aggressive and accuse me of being who knows what. Rather, we should strive as human beings to really truly see the good and move towards compassion. Compassion for others, but more importantly for ourselves.

How many times haven’t I counseled someone on the importance of self-care, yet do not take my own advice and end up almost burned out? That’s not self-compassion.

We cannot forget ourselves and forget to be compassionate towards ourselves as well. And what does self-compassion even mean? It means whatever you need to be right with yourself and with the world. To me, it means taking breaks once in a while to write, read, and be alone so that I can be a better person, mother, wife, daughter, employee, etc.

What does self-compassion look for you???

My diagnosis is a blessing, yes I said it

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After living with a diagnosis of Bipolar I for 9 years, I can honestly say that it is a blessing. What?!?!?! You may be asking as you read this. Yes, it’s true, having Bipolar is a blessing. Why?!?!? I will explain.

First of all, who else can say they can vacillate between moods within minutes of each other and still manage to stay sane? Who can laugh, sing, dance, and cry all while making dinner and with her toddler dancing along with her? Who can listen to a Pitbull song, and feel so moved by the upbeat tempo and meaning that she cries as she is driving to a work meeting? Who?, you may ask. This writer is who. This woman who has been called everything from lunatic, crazed, insane, impulsive, to say the least. I don’t consider myself any of those adjectives, rather I think I am eccentric, sane, responsible, and spontaneous! Take that Webster’s Dictionary!

Yet, I cannot do this alone. I have the support of my family, my psychiatrist, my friends, and now, my social media community whom I consider colleagues.

If you are reading this and have been recently diagnosed, I feel your pain. After my initial diagnosis, I was so drugged up on 5 different medications round the clock that I was a walking zombie, without emotions whatsoever. But hang in there, I know it’s easier said than done, but it is do-able because I did it and I consider myself a #Bipolar Survivor.

As you are, so was I (an introduction)

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Perhaps you may be reading this as a fellow Bipolar Survivor, perhaps not, and that’s okay. Before being diagnosed as Bipolar I after a series of unfortunate events, I considered myself a regular person with regular problems, but with extraordinary intelligence and a gift for creativity. I attributed the latter to genes because my dad is also very gifted in many areas. Little did I know how much genes really played a part in my development, but I’ll leave that for another blog post.

I was interned in a psychiatric hospital shortly after my manic episode in 2006, twice: once in Georgia and subsequently in California. Again, I’ll save details for another posting.

After graduating college in June 2008 and getting married at age 22 in September later that same year, I was again hospitalized after experiencing a third and (let’s hope) final manic episode. I stopped taking my meds that time, which is why I had another manic episode. Never doing that again!

All in all, it has been quite an adventure, if you can call it that, since being diagnosed in 2006. I remain married, and to the same adventurous man, have had 2 pregnancies and have 2 little girls, and continue to educate as a profession. I believe myself to be a mental health advocate, and hope to affect change in legislation so that all sufferers of mental illness can become Survivors!!!