Early in my treatment for bipolar disorder, my psychiatrist recommended I get involved in a social group. At first, I rejected the idea, tending to isolate instead. Not being comfortable in social situations, I had always had only one or two close friends at a time. One on one conversations were my strong suit, but even those were not happening. Social groups were out of the question for me. When my doctor brought up the subject at every session, I finally acquiesced.
It was difficult for me at first, and there were a lot of fits and starts before I found a group that both drew me in and challenged me to take part. Over the years as a member, I formed some good friendships and shared my bipolar diagnosis with those who befriended me.
I soon found a way to get beyond my inclination to sit alone and observe, and began to take part in discussions. I realized how much I enjoyed contributing to a lively interchange of ideas, as well as taming my sensitivity to being hurt by someone else’s vigorous rebuttal to an idea I was trying to put forth. Participating strengthened my social skills despite the sometime pain of being cutoff by someone else before I could develop a thought. My psychiatrist had given me good advice, and an experience that has led to further growth.
When I had a manic episode several years later, my social group of friends made an effort to call me daily to ask how I was doing and to offer support. I was touched by their reaching out. These caring calls made me rethink my sense of worthlessness. They helped me to accept that I had value as a human being. In turn, I reached out to them. Friendships are now an oasis for me when life feels like an endless desert.
When a diagnosis of mental illness shocks us into despair of ever-finding some normalcy in our lives, it is those connections with others that can help us rebuild our sense of value. Friends offer a mirror which reflects back to us the idea we will recover from an episode and be able to see ourselves through their eyes until such time that we can again see ourselves anew. Friends can also help us accept a diagnosis we might otherwise reject or minimize.
Social situations are numerous and span a variety of topics and interests, such as NAMI (National Alliance for the Mentally Ill) or DBSA (Depression/Bipolar Support Alliance), which deal with mental illness. These also offer clubs, discussions, and/or social occasions.
There are also social groups exclusively for athletics, crafts, religion, politics, sports and just about any other interest you can name. The important thing to remember is that our humanity is most felt when it is connecting with others. While it might feel alien at first, taking the chance to connect can change our lives. Having support reduces our isolation.
Today, I am an avid socializer and debater on topics ranging from politics to professional issues. The advice my psychiatrist gave me thirty years ago has paid dividends I could never have imagined. Though I sometimes struggle with rare instances of random rudeness from those I meet, it cannot outweigh the joy I reap from the frequent pleasure of friendships. Be your own best friend by opening yourself up to those around you.
Having a Caring Social Community
Ruminations of an Aging Manic Depressive
How we see ourselves yields what we expect. Changing our view of ourselves depends on what we see in the norms society reflects. This is how self-awareness changes. For example: I am a senior citizen and have behaviors and symptom that fall into a pre-existing group. Back pain, bursitis, and chronic illness impact me. As a late, middle-aged individual, I see the evidence stack up and realize I am newly arrived at being categorized as a senior citizen. In this way, my ideas have changed. Accepting a bipolar diagnosis also utilizes this same process. At first, no insight gives way to later insight that can then give way to recognition of a new definition of self.
I remember my initial reaction to mental illness. I was manic. I was pleased and infused with the grandiose ideas that filled my head. For weeks I was on a high that was all too much to discard. When weeks later I experienced a drop in mood, it was with reluctance and dread that the party ended. It was several years before I realized these episodes had a beginning, middle, and end. It took several more years to focus on and recognize there was something amiss. Only after years of many episodes was I able to grasp that when people referred to mental illness, they were talking about someone like me. It was at that point that my view began to change. Forced into making a choice between seeing myself as someone special in a positive way when spiritually high and as a mental patient seeing himself as someone special in a negative way when acutely depressed, I arrived at the conclusion I was in a category that inspired stigma.
After innumerable ejections from restaurants for talking out loud to myself, encounters with the police, cheap hotels, and six different therapists in just as many years, I had a rude awakening. With lots of jobs and broken relationships, I was side-lined by my aberrant behavior. When I ended up in a mental hospital, the last little chink in the strait jacket clicked in; and with it came a shift in attitude, the recognition of what I had long strived to avoid. I was mentally ill. Aging and attitudes can both change.
Becoming an elder is more than a number and bipolar is more than a collection of symptoms. Attitudes serve as our identity. We don’t arrive at a time of life by chance or at an acceptance of mental illness by accident; we experience events that add up over the years to the recognition that we have changed.
