What is fun?

Here I find myself, papers scattered around- my assignments and my notes. My thoughts feel like they are shuttering, I can’t understand this chapter, I am lost. And I feel scared.

It makes me stop. And I have to ask myself, what’s happened? It has been weeks… endless weeks of nonstop studying. I grew tired of doing research for my essay but the only other thing I could think of doing was another homework assignment (due in over a week).

And now I’m stuck. My brain doesn’t know what to do. I am too burnt out to write the essay but I am stuck on this physics chapter. The Ritalin I’ve been abusing is nagging at me to keep going. But I realize that some part of me is very weary.

The therapist applauds me for my determination, motivation, and hard work. Even when I suggested I might be hypomanic.
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“It gets better”

*Trigger Warning- Suicide* The realization I describe in this post made me feel very suicidal when I had it several months ago (I am fine now), read at your own risk, and please be safe.

“It gets better.”

The most depressing realization I ever had about being bipolar was when I read a 17 year old girl’s account about her bipolar. She says she sat on the edge of her bed with pills in hand, ready to swallow them all. But instead of taking her life, she went to her mother’s room and sought comfort.

She ended it by saying, “It gets better.”

(I wasn’t very inspired.)

We’ve heard that a million times- “It gets better.”

And it does get better.

Before I read her post, I would say that too, “It gets better.”

But dear sweet little 17 year old girl, if the doctors say you’re bipolar. Then you’re sick for the rest of your life.

I was your age when I found myself holding a noose, what stopped me was that I couldn’t find a place to tie it up at. A month later, I was put on medication, and for what seemed like the first time in my life- I was happy. I was just like you, trying to tell everyone how things “can get better.”

And then two years later at the beginning of winter, I slit my wrist open and the consequences led to a hospitalization which led to me getting suspended and much more. Suddenly I realized how deep I’d fallen again. And then about a year later, I had a job and I was doing well in college and I was so very successful. And I was saying, “Things do get better.”

And then another year passed and I fell and broke my wrist. And with my wrist, my mind followed suit and I found myself more manic than I ever knew I could be. I made many plans to vandalize, let a man film me doing a sexual act, popped pills like candy, and more. That winter I spent my days half cracked open. Then school started again, and I was too far gone. I dropped all my classes, and took the time off to heal bone and brain.

When I broke my wrist I was told, even with the surgery, that it would “never be the same again.” But what’s scary is that that same phrase can be applied to my mental health. That manic episode changed me, I will “never be the same.” So when I read that 17 year old girl’s account of how everything gets better, I looked at my own life. At the cyclic nature of my disorder.

And I realized something terrifying.

It may get better.

But it can, and probably will, get worse again.

It’s a pattern, don’t you see?

Good to bad, bad to good, good to bad… and so on.

They say bipolar is a chronic, life-long illness.

And they say that for a reason.

-Quinn

The Hidden Side of Gia Carangi

A cult has grown around the memory of dead supermodel Gia Carangi, mostly due to the movie of her life with Angelina Jolie in the title role. The film explores many facets of her troubled personality including her drug use, her obsession with her lover, her bisexual promiscuity, and her death from AIDS. Her problems, we are led to believe, stemmed from her drug use which made her irritable, anxious, depressed, hyper, and in the end terminally ill with HIV.

Many have speculated that Gia was bipolar. This could be a strong post-mortem diagnosis given her interludes of manic behavior and severe depression. A Gia Carangi fan site says

Gia frequented New York’s jet-set night spots, such as Studio 54, and developed a heroin problem during the latter part of her life. Because of Bipolar Disorder, Gia experienced extreme mood swings and would walk out of a fashion shoot if she didn’t feel like doing it. She constantly medicated herself with heroin. Carangi made several attempts at fighting her heroin addiction, attending rehabilitation centers multiple times. In 1983, she was profiled on ABC’s 20/20 magazine, in a piece focusing on the dark side of modeling. In June of 1986, she was diagnosed with HIV, becoming one of the first famous persons to be diagnosed with the disease, and also the first famous female diagnosed.

The makers of Gia completely overlook the possibility that Carangi’s eccentric behavior was driven by an organic brain dysfunction. None of the semi-fictional “interviewees” alludes to bipolar disorder though likely symptoms are depicted.

Why is this angle on Gia’s life ignored? In the post-Nancy Reagan “Just Say No” era, a certain anti-romanticism has developed around the drug culture. Many find it far easier to blame irresolution as a friend leads one down the wrong path than to admit a deeper dysfunction. It is more glamorous to be a drug addict than a sufferer of a mental illness. Many of Gia’s fans could buy into the myth that people with mental illness cannot contribute meaningfully to society as Gia did.

A few months ago I read another one of those articles which disputed Kay Jamison’s contention that Vincent Van Gogh was bipolar. The author argued that based on recent evidence that showed that Van Gogh had not committed suicide, Jamison’s diagnosis was wrong. The writer ignored all the letters and accounts of his bizarre behavior including his cutting his ear off as a message to a lover, reducing his end of life depression to grief over the death of his brother Theo. I finished the piece with the impression that she just didn’t want to acknowledge that bipolar was anything but a completely debilitating illness whose sufferers could not give the rest of the world anything of value. That the article appeared in a magazine that prided itself on its skepticism — truth-seeking — saddened me. Because this was the latest instance of its subtly disparaging those with mental illness, I have since ended my subscription.

We think better of drug addicts than we do of the mentally ill. This may be the main reason why Gia’s heroin abuse is seen as the root of all her problems when, in fact, it may have been a symptom and an attempt to curb the wild manias and low depressions that afflicted her. We cannot know for sure because Gia died before seeking treatment. Rehab programs don’t have good records of identifying those who live with conditions like bipolar and schizophrenia, rooting everything in the relationship the addict has with her or his drug and those around them. Gia’s biographers have mostly retold her story as a fable about her undefined weak character. If we are honest, however, we will not allow Gia’s memory to serve such a shallow purpose as merely warning people away from drugs. A far more potent message can be sent about the importance of recognizing mental illness in ourselves and in our loved ones. What if Gia had been put on a combination such as lithium and lamotrigine? If our intent in retelling her story is to save lives, let’s make sure that we put our focus on the right cause.