I could wake up with suicidal thoughts and then hospitalize patients that day who had the exact same impulses as me. It was a perfect storm that would lead to devastating consequences down the road. This caused me to distance myself from my own feelings and present myself as not needing comfort and care. It was like living in a castle with the drawbridge pulled up, wandering around by myself behind impregnable walls. I learned to become an independent and self-sufficient kid. I grew up in a home where there was a premium placed on having a “stiff upper lip” and not expressing emotion. And then we drug, we drink, we sex and we spend trying hard to outrun our inner storm clouds. We keep the painful, overwhelming and disturbing things locked away. I have come to respect the power of the closet door. This was true even though I was treating patients with exactly the same symptoms that I had. My bipolar closet door remained firmly shut for a very long time.
I’m now on two mood stabilizers, an antipsychotic and an antidepressant. I now understand medication levels, hand tremors and weight gain. Humbling indeed.īut I think that being a psychiatrist with bipolar disorder offers me a unique perspective on delivering and receiving care. I felt like I was an airplane pilot suddenly forced to sit in coach. After all, I felt that as a psychiatrist I wasn’t supposed to have this or any other psychiatric disorder. It was the beginning of a journey of ownership that I had avoided for decades.
In February 2015, after 37 years of avoiding treatment, I walked into the office of the psychiatrist I continue to see to this day. It’s a story of denial, avoidance, remorse, humor, comfort, humanness and hope. I have bipolar disorder and find myself on both sides of the psychiatric couch.
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