I’m here… because I have lived a life protected from pre-existing conditions that would prevent my health care coverage. I’m here… because I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 20. I’m here… to answer the question, “What does life look like after being diagnosed with a mental health condition?”

When my brain started to malfunction, I was still in high school. I was a straight-A student, who was at risk of not graduating. I didn’t know why, but I was mentally unable to do the work. I felt like a gigantic failure. By the skin of my teeth, I ended up in my cap and gown marching across the stage to receive my diploma. I promised myself college would be different. Little did I know there were more storms on the horizon.

I went to college far away from home, and my immediate peers were still relative strangers. The devious thing about mood disorders is their tendency to show up in early adulthood – a time to break away from the security of home, establish new friendships, and a career path. In the fall of my sophomore year, after receiving useless assistance from the university’s counseling center, I decided it was best to confide in my mom about my inner turmoil.

She made sure I saw a top-rate psychiatrist, who administered all the standard psychological tests to determine my level of emotional pain. The conclusion… I was off the charts in agony for a young adult, and I was ready to call it quits. No more school, no more stress, no more worries.

I immediately started treatment with an antidepressant. At that time, I had no doubt I was the guinea pig while precautions were established for psychiatric medications. Since I was prone to develop bipolar disorder, the antidepressant treatment prescribed induced a manic episode. After a six-week hospital stay, all I could think was I must have done something horribly wrong in my past to deserve such mental torture. Not to mention, there were physical side effects. How would I ever recover from such gross humiliation?

Not only did I recover, I went seven whole years without another bipolar episode. I took my medication diligently, structured my life accordingly, exercised, and ate right – if the doctor said it, I did it. In those seven years, I managed to accomplish many personal and career goals. I held several jobs for prominent organizations in the city, attended a local university to develop my job skills, and maintained a long-term relationship with a man of equal ambition.

Sadly, in my late twenties, I suffered what was to this day my most intense episode. What’s worse is I never once stopped taking my medication prior to or during this psychosis or break from reality. It lasted for a grueling nine months. I even consulted “the experts”, and no one had a solution. Thousands of dollars later, I was instructed to take my “meds” and “wait it out.” What options did I have? The medicine kept me well for seven years. I had more faith in that than I did in the doctors at this point. It was about this time I learned an extremely difficult lesson… There are things in life I have absolutely no control over. My recovery time is one of them. In the meantime, I vowed to thoroughly educate myself on my disorder and seek out peer support.

In the three-year reprieve between my second and third episodes, I studied hard and became a resident expert on mental health conditions to both my family and friends. I also joined a local peer support group with whom I could share my day-to-day struggles. The group proved to be a saving grace, but in the beginning group therapy of any kind was just terrifying. The fact I was being forced to identify with people who I was convinced were much worse off than I was… Well, it was extremely humbling. What I learned was I had a great deal in common with them, I was just too scared to admit it. Once I accepted the company I was keeping, it became a joy to let down my guard twice a month with my moody comrades. In fact, they have a very good sense of humor about their circumstances.

During those same three years, I started using my college skills in my chosen field of graphic design. It was the Fall of 2002 when I suffered my third bipolar episode. It was unique in many ways. I brought more experience to the situation, and I tried to be as prepared as possible. It was also quite public in that many of my coworkers witnessed my odd behavior. I cried for help in my own chaotic way, but I was too ashamed to vocalize the real problem. My actions said it all, but I said something astoundingly different. It was a game I was playing all inside my own mind – one that I now view as a battle for survival. In the end, I was unable to prevent another crash and burn. It was emotionally devastating and physically dangerous.

In the last 30 years, I have been able to overcome tremendous challenges by surrendering to the transforming power of Christ. I have been employed with nonprofits and corporations, implemented my job skills, and maintained long-term relationships. Of course, there were a couple more trips to the hospital mixed in there. Still, I learned this extremely difficult lesson… There are some things in life I have absolutely no control over. My recovery time is one of them.

By the grace of God, each episode has taken me one step closer to understanding myself and coping with my mood disorder. Years of research and education on the diagnosis started paying off. While knowledge was not going to prevent my condition, it helped me make necessary lifestyle adjustments. My suffering led to humility and compassion, and I see those as benefits.