Yesterday was Thanksgiving in Canada. It’s never been one of
my favourite holidays.
While I look forward to celebrating family and good food, in
my mind, it’s also the symbol that summer is really and truly over. Ahead lies a grey and dreary landscape as the
trees lose their leaves and plants in the garden wither and fade, awakening to
dark mornings and driving home from work in the dusk.
I prepare myself to put my head down and soldier through
until the snow falls and brightens the landscape again.
This year, especially, I found myself mourning the summer
that seemed to fly by unusually fast. Even though summer temperatures continued
into September, which should have made summer seem longer, it feels like the
time passed in a blur—in large part because my job became extremely busy, with
long days and even some weekend work. Luckily,
it’s work I love — strategic communications on public health issues— and much
of the past month’s work focused on a health issue that matters greatly to me:
mental health.
Maybe that’s why, as I took a moment this weekend — as I do
each year — to look within and around me to give thanks for the country I live
in, free from instability and conflict, the house I own, the job I have, the
family and friends I love, a new one
popped into my head.
I’m thankful for a diagnosis of bipolar II.
It’s been 18 months since I received this diagnosis. I’m not grateful, not in the least, that I
have this mental illness. I’m grateful that I’m no longer slashing my way
through a thicket of brambles, thorns and vines in my head, feeling lost and
disorientated.
I remember the relief I felt when the psychiatrist delivered
that news. Finally having a reason for how I felt lifted a weight off my chest. When he told me bipolar II could be managed,
that I would feel better, that he would help me … for the first time in a long
time, I felt hopeful.
I don’t have a handle on this illness yet, not fully. Sometimes
that frustrates me. It’s a process, learning how to manage bipolar II—learning
how to identify the warning signs that depression or hypomania are about to
rear their heads and course-correct as much as possible.
But I am learning. I got through the intensity of the past
month at work without a flight into hypomania, as had often happened
pre-diagnosis when I immersed myself in something I loved, and the subsequent
crash into depression.
Medication, therapy, lifestyle changes (such as following
routines for sleep, eating and physical activity), monitoring and tracking
symptoms and triggers, meditation and making time for creative outlets — these
are some of the ways I kept the illness in check, this time.
I know I won’t always be so successful. But I’m hopeful that
episodes of depression and hypomania will become less frequent or, at least, less
disruptive to my life, as I continue to get better at managing this illness. It’s
hard work: constant attention and vigilance. It won’t be easy. But I believe it’s
possible to live a full and good life with bipolar II— thanks to having a
diagnosis.
Photo by Cheryl Smith
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