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A Hard and Brave Journey Through the Limits of Bipolar Illness by Mary
Beth Alban
I am honored at the prospect of being part of this effort to share my personal story of victory
rather than victimization of mental illness. I had been weighing different methods of
reaching out to those in the midst of mental illness to give them hope that there can be
"light at the end of the tunnel", freedom from many of the limits that go along with
mental illness, when I found Sr. Ann Catherine's project here.
My childhood was a blur of being pushed to perform in music and feeling that was the only way I
was valued, but I enjoyed excelling in academics at a young age and I thrived in the Episcopal
Church. When I went to Oberlin at 16, I was lost and could connect only through the
Episcopal Church there. At 18 I had a nervous breakdown, was suicidal and hospitalized in
a private hospital. There I was given electro shock treatments, without anesthetic or
muscle relaxants and against my will, seven days a week for three weeks, then alternating with
insulin treatments to prepare for insulin coma treatments. I had a total of 50 electro
shock treatments and 82 insulin comas and life was a desperate despair, grasping for something
to hold onto. This lasted for a year. Then a combination of college courses and
short-term hospitalizations for several years. Often suicidal, many attempts, one
resulting in a four day coma before being transferred to a state hospital "for
life". I connected to a Catholic priest there for inspiration and understanding and
fought my way out to a "normal" life in my home community.
I worked for my father for a year, married someone my parents didn't approve of and had a
daughter. My husband left me, and I went to computer programming school to learn to
support my daughter and myself. I moved to California and worked and raised my daughter
successfully until she was twelve and I became clinically depressed. I was in and out of
a private hospital while I continued to work. My parents helped take care of my daughter
since they had retired and moved here, but those years were hard on her. I was finally
deemed "disabled" and kept in that hospital long-term for a year, receiving much
therapy but no anti-depressants because my therapist wanted me to "work through the issues
and not convert the stress to somatic complaints". I got so depressed and desperate
and suicidal that I attempted suicide many times and eventually resorted to banging my head on
walls frequently in extreme anguish. They transferred me to another private hospital
which had a "locked unit" to protect me. There I was finally given
anti-depressants and immediately recovered enough to be able to use psychotherapy and gain an
understanding and control to be able to live in the community with my daughter.
The antidepressant medications enabled me to never be suicidal again. It was a rough road
to recovery and not always uphill, but I was more in control of my life, my daughter was in
college and able to take care of herself, so I moved to Texas to a friend's place where it was
less expensive to live, being dependent on disability income.
There I often had to be hospitalized for bipolar illness which had developed and which was so
severe that I was psychotic when manic and had extreme delusions. After seven years I
became so sick (psychotic and almost "organic") and unable to take care of myself
that they had me transferred to the state hospital because they gave up on me yet again.
When I had recovered enough to go home, they wouldn't take me, so my daughter took
responsibility for me and I moved back to California.
There I found a tiny apartment I could afford and joined the day program at an Episcopal
hospital where I learned, with others in similar situations, about my illness, it's triggers
and how to avoid or deal with them in ways that didn't immobilize me or make the illness worse,
and found friends who understood and cared. I also found a doctor who gave me medications
that were on target in helping control the bipolar illness. This was a stabilizing time
that marked the beginning of a recovery that has been continuous, with just a few bumps needing
brief therapy, continuing now for ten years, and I'm very grateful to those who contributed and
to God who provided them.
I ended up moving back to Texas when I proved that I was stable enough to be a positive member
of their household and lived there for five years, quietly taking care of their animals and
being peaceful, gradually coming back to a prayer relationship with God. When it became
obvious that my presence there was no longer wanted I was devastated and on the edge of a
cliff, the end of my security. So I turned my whole life over to God and agreed to walk
through any door He opened for me, to take whatever opportunity He offered for the
future. My daughter got me a reasonably priced apartment back in San Francisco, by some
miracle (That's a very hard thing to do in that market!), I moved and started going to church
again. My life has been full of joy and freedom here now for two years. I have
friends, and am a contributing member of my neighborhood and church.
I had been wanting to find a way to reach out to those still in the midst of the despair and
confusion of mental illness to give them a life-preserver of hope and experience that might
help them have hope to take them to healing, and that's what this website was for me when I
joined it last year. I was happy to spend my days being creative by composing music and
doing self-designed needlework projects, but I still had an anxiety disorder that prevented me
from feeling at ease when leaving home. Then about six months ago, my psychiatrist put me
on an anti-anxiety medication and now I can go anywhere and enjoy meeting people and being
really me with them. It has enabled me to become a volunteer crisis counselor at the San
Francisco Night Ministry where my past sufferings and recovery are considered an asset in
dealing with the callers, most of whom are mentally ill and/or lonely, sometimes even
suicidal. I can relate to them as an equal but with the advantage of being stable for
many years now. I'm very happy and am able to handle any ups and downs that go along with
lifelong bipolar illness, with the support of a good psychiatrist for medications and a
spiritual director who's also a psychologist for occasional therapy.
I would like to advise the "cutters" (young people who cut their bodies to release
stress and feel real) that the scars remain and are still there in later years when you no
longer feel like that and have to explain them to people who see them. It's better to
talk through those desperate feelings with someone you trust and can express yourself freely.
Last year I wrote: "I suppose my most overall problem is that people are usually
suspicious and deprecating of my enthusiastic participation in activities of the community when
they know I'm "bipolar", a label that conjures up warning signs in the minds of those
who label themselves "normal". I hope that these stories will help with that,
as well as give hope to the sufferers."... Now I'm finding that I'm strong and
self-assured enough to admit to being bipolar and my past serious suffering, and have
discovered that I'm accepted as I am -- because I myself accept myself as I am, having realized
that God accepts and loves me as I am. And this "me" is able to listen
attentively to others, both personal friends and others, and offer them hope and joy in sharing
my humanity with understanding, some wisdom and a little humor. I'm very thankful I'm
alive.
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