Half a Century with Bipolar Disorder by Rochelle Cashdan

Half a Century with Bipolar Disorder
By Rochelle Cashdan

Can someone with bipolar disorder survive the illness for fifty years?

I know the answer is yes, even though the cards were stacked against me. My
illness started half a century ago but was only recognized and treated thirty-five
years ago, meaning terrible times in those fifteen years in between.

By the time I had two children, I never expected to live to see them reach their
teens. Even though I had ordinary living between the peaks and valleys, my
illness had worn me out.

My luck changed. Lithium carbonate was finally approved by the FDA, long
after it had been used effectively in Australia, Britain and Canada. My doctor,
who had been diagnosing me as neurotic, saw the light; I agreed to begin taking
medication.

My new relative safety took me a long time to believe. Once I was stable again,
I assumed that since I had had more than my share of suffering, the rest of my life
would be a piece of cake.

Well, by now I’m an expert on late-life learning. Yes, my illness was treated
effectively, but medication did not protect me from divorce, underemployment
and ignorance.

I’ll start with my own ignorance and the ignorance of other people. I emerged
from the untreated illness with fewer social skills than most people at my stage of
life. Besides as I was a relative pioneer in being effectively treated with
medication, I also had the misfortune of encountering treatment people who
knew even less than I did about treated mental illness.

I decided to start Lithium Interchange, an early American organization for people
with treated bipolar illness and their relatives. Through the organization, I began
to meet other people with the illness (over a hundred of us in three years) and
some of their relatives. Going public within a group where we all accepted the
need for confidentiality worked well for us. We got to the point where we
even sponsored an information meeting at the public library.

At the time, bipolar was commonly known as manic-depressive disorder. After
stabilizing, I wanted to replace my label of M-D with the letters Ph. D. I entered
graduate school, eventually earning my degree in a field where jobs were scarcer
than hen’s teeth. And by that time I was fifty.

Meanwhile, my marriage was crumbling; I was disappointed that the organization
members didn’t help me much. I didn’t know an important social fact:
understanding doesn’t need to come from a majority. I should have appreciated
the one person who understood.

I won’t go into all the hills and valleys of my life after earning my degree and
finding the marriage shattered. events that took place three weeks apart, except
to say that eventually I made the transition from my academic field to freelance
writing, that began to make new friends and now I have the pleasure of
grandchildren.

Eight years ago, when my work was drying up, I decided to move to Mexico. I
continue taking my take medication regularly and see a doctor several times a
year. Even after all this time, I still have a healthy fear of suicidal depression and
the unintended social suicide that can result from hypomania.

I never dreamed, when the ups and downs started, that I would survive the steep
hills and valleys. My suffering with bipolar disorder hasn’t protected me from
physically-based conditions associated with getting older. But, to my occasional
surprise, I’m alive!

~Rochelle Cashdan