Reading Belinda’s thought-provoking post about forced commitment and medication, and the thoughtful comments people have since made, caused me to think a little bit more about how medication, while a lifesaver when appropriately prescribed, is only the first step. Once you’ve gotten past the big ifs of a proper diagnosis and a proper prescription, you’ve got to be willing to use the equilibrium that the meds bring you to eradicate the mindset that meds are a “cure,” rather than merely a means toward maintenance and repair. It’s my personal opinion that even the mentally ill person whose “only” life trauma is the toll of the disease itself has serious mental work to do, adapting to the concept of being “mentally ill,” redefining their sense of self around the diagnosis, and adapting to the medical and emotional features of their long term diagnosis. The grief, regret, relief, anger and confusion that come with a proper diagnosis can’t be overstated, and it’s not something to be gone through without the aid of a therapist. Too, medications don’t work forever– even once you’ve hit on a good combination, it may not work indefinitely– and being able to identify that your mood is changing despite being good about your meds is crucial.
From my own experience, I’ve built up a variety of coping skills to deal with my anxiety, depression, and need to people-please that are very unhealthy and counterproductive as I approach the worst end of my depressive spectrum, and it’s hard for me to recognize, when I am in the midst of a depressive phase, what I am doing. But once I’ve recovered some stability, I can use that solid ground as a base to look back from the corner I’ve worked myself into this time. I can look back and try to figure out when I first started the most recent downslide, and see if there were any causes. I can then try and map out what I did and didn’t do during that period, identify whether anyone tried to warn me (and if they didn’t, possibly why not), and look at what coping mechanisms came into play, and what resulted.
There are lots of good books on the subject of eradicating bad mental habits out there, but I think a good therapist is really key. (The subject of finding a good therapist, with whom you can work, is a whole post unto itself.) Working with friends or family to identify your “bad behaviors,” your mood cycles, your triggers, just won’t be complete, because they’re not objective, and inclined to either overlook unhealthy or exaggerate healthy behaviors. While friends and family can be the best first defense against a recurrent episode, and have the concrete experience of your past episodes to guide them, you need these folks to be focused on the micro level, not the macro/meta level. A therapist outside your circle, however, is objective, has training, and is someone in whom you can confide and to whom you must be accountable.
Support groups outside your circle can also be therapeutic– because they don’t know you, and take you at face value when you take part, there’s an objectivity there that allows a freedom of expression you might not have with friends or family. Hearing others say they’ve gone through something similar, and come out on the other end, is tremendously encouraging. And knowing that someone else understands the swirl inside your own head lends credibility to their advice and encouragement that a “normal” source doesn’t have.
The most important thing to be gained from therapy is a firm sense of your self, knowing what you need and what you don’t need. Personally, I’ve never joined a bipolar support group because the way my bipolar has manifested itself has been primarily anxiety and depression, and the course of my illness was and is usually very different from that of others in the groups I’ve tried. Having never been frankly manic, psychotic, or delusional, much less hospitalized, I knew I didn’t “need” what these groups are offering. But depression and anxiety sufferers? I crave their company, search regularly for a group that meets after the end of the business day, eagerly read posts by others suffering from the same symptoms– because in hearing their stories, I learn something new about myself. And by collecting these tidbits, I can hope that the next episode won’t be as long, as bad, as deep, because the work that I’ve done will allow me to see that it’s coming, and know that it’s arrived. The meds provide the viewpoint, but I’ve still got to be willing and able to look around me– the therapy allows the rest.
