The Lament of a Black Swan: I don't need my defamatory label!

Fay Thomas

Now surplus to requirements?
Photo:  christmasstockimages.com 

The first time I told someone about my bipolar label, it was an agonisingly big deal. I rehearsed and thought it through carefully. Finally, using the language of the times, I declared my manic depressive 'otherness' to a friend. I was met with a hug, some questions and reassurance. It makes no difference to those who hold you with affection. But other situations can get tricky. Do you spill the beans on a first date and if so, how? Or do you wait until it's serious and then cope with the feelings of betrayal and humiliation that arise? Do you tell before you meet his parents, or wait until the night before you move in?

I remember one partner who was happy to have a manic-depressive writer for a girlfriend. A journalist with a formidable reputation, my mental health status fulfilled his romantic notions of living out life Bohemian style. The first time he witnessed my ascent into full blown mania he seemed intrigued but stayed around to discuss it. After all, someone who stays up all night to order flowers for everyone they know, might be a fun person to live with (sometimes). But descent into the murky depths of a depressed hell usually followed my upswings. Most partners find it difficult to fathom why you're still not dressed at 3 o'clock or can't find the energy to get out of bed. And prior to marriage there were hurtful discussions about children and whether or not you could/should have them. What was the risk of offspring being similarly afflicted?

Am I Still Bipolar? Emerging from the Shadow of the DSM

Fay Thomas

What if it's not our brains
that are the problem?
Photo: Bohlega et al 

I am excited. Almost as excited as I was the day the Berlin wall fell or Nelson Mandela was released from jail. For me, the current debate around the utility of the DSM5 and psychiatric diagnosis feels that big. It feels that big because I have been personally touched by a madness from which I was told I would never recover. My only sibling has likewise lived in the shadows of diagnosis, similarly labelled and without any real hope for much of his life. I was labelled bipolar 1 and he as schizophrenic. Of the two labels, I must confess to preferring mine. Bipolar is somehow a bit sexier than is schizophrenia - in these days of celebrity confession, anyway.

But a quarter of a century ago when I was first given my diagnosis, I was a manic depressive and there didn't seem much that was glamorous about that. Celebrities did not then come out of the closet and admit to their diagnoses or discuss their trials in Hello. It was only historical geniuses like Virginia Woolf and Hemingway who were found on lists of the similarly afflicted. And that was only because they were dead. 

Guest Blog: Bipolar or Not?

Psychiatric labels can be both helpful and confusing. In the light of the current DSM debate, guest blogger Fay Thomas writes about her struggle to hold onto a normal response to personal grief having been diagnosed with bipolar disorder some years ago.

Being labelled bipolar
casts a long shadow
Photo: SigmaOne

'Are you suicidal?' asked the doctor, peering at me kindly as she offered tissues for my tears. I wanted to answer truthfully, but it felt difficult. I hoped the answer was no, because I would not have done anything to harm myself, but my mind was full of dark thoughts. So I answered no, which seemed dishonest, especially since I had failed to tell her my history.

As a much younger, highly-distressed woman, I was given a label of 'bipolar mood disorder type 1' to describe my see-sawing moods. They cycled between delusional elation and the depths of despair. Aged 28, I had made a serious attempt to kill myself which led to a traumatic series of hospitalisations. My memories of those years are grim, painful and still difficult to articulate. I believe some of the treatment decisions made on my behalf were not in my best interests. Incarcerated and robbed of my own voice and power, it would be hard to trust medics again, especially with my mental health.

Prior to my GP visit, it had been 23 years since I'd experienced serious mood deterioration. For thirteen of those, I had been medication-free - unusual for someone with the bipolar label. Recovery had been a long, hard slog which presented serious risks. It had meant doing my own reading and acting on my own hunches despite the warnings of doctors.