The Great Bipolar Manifestation: What Happened...

From the Personal Experiences of Pam

What Happened?

I often start my story about my mental illness with events about a year before my first manic episode. While not fatal, my third son drowned during a playgroup pool activity. It all happened so fast, and being right by the pool during those moments led me to feel great guilt over the experience. As a standard precaution, the Department of Child Services filed a claim of neglect against myself and my husband. Within minutes of our return from the hospital, a social worker was on our doorstep to inspect our home and interview my children. It took three months for the case to be closed, keeping me on edge and worried that my children would be taken.

Relief Through Desperate Measures

Despite the case being closed and filed as an accident without evidence of neglect, I became terrified that my inadequacies as a mother would result in my children being forcibly taken from me. I began spending my days cleaning, believing my house had to be picture-perfect and ready for any suspicious eyes. When it became obvious that I could not keep up, I started eliminating things from my home and trying to relieve the burden of cleaning more things. My husband was not open to parting with things, so I felt I could only sacrifice all that could be labeled as mine. Everything that may have brought me past joy or comfort was discarded. To reduce anxiety, I started isolating myself and my family from others and discouraged visitors. I did not want anybody to see how weak and imperfect I was, and I certainly did not believe that I could, or even deserved, help.

The Search for Happiness

I was unsure what was happening to me and struggled to find even a small sense of

happiness. Reading blogs of other moms led me to feel discouraged because I could not find the “joy” they all found in motherhood. After my sixth son was born, I was extra devoted to being the best mother possible. I believed I had to be everything for my children and do everything exactly right. I was determined to make the best meals and to strictly breastfeed. Between feedings, diaper changes, and meals, I was driving the four older kids to and from the three schools they were enrolled in. After homework, getting them all bathed, and in bed, I obsessively cleaned. I got to the point where I was only sleeping four hours a night, multiple days in a row. I believed that I shouldn’t question my life or feel anything and could only describe a life of numbness for a time. I felt guilty for wanting my husband to help and stay up nights with the baby since he worked outside the home, and chose as a “good” wife that I had to suffer in silence.

A Cry for Help

The word I used to describe myself was “Mombie.” I felt like my whole world was being a mom, and I was more like the Walking Dead than a living person. I had trouble staying awake while driving my children and often had to pull off the road and sleep for 10 minutes before continuing. I had trouble thinking, and my thoughts were filled with ruminating thoughts about all the hurtful things others had said or done around me when I was in public with my kids. I constantly thought about how I was a bad mother and that I did not deserve to be loved or cared about.

I felt unsure whether God would be willing to answer the prayers of someone as imperfect and terrible as me. I did not believe I had the faith to see a miracle in my life, but I knew it was what I needed. The saving power of Jesus Christ and the hope of his mercy were all that I had to cling to.

There came a night when I cried to God and begged him to take my heavy burden from me. I asked that if it would not be taken, I would be given the strength to make it through that time of life. I was exhausted and desperately wanted rest and relief. Despite my desires, each of the following two nights, I only allowed myself to sleep two hours.

That second day, I woke up and realized I was no longer tired. I strongly believed that God had answered my prayer and that I felt his strength and energy. I felt extremely hopeful that all would be well and that I could do everything I thought I needed to.

Better Than Normal

Productivity seemed to skyrocket. I got all the housework done and started researching to find the perfect method of parenting to use with my kids. I decided that the perfect and model parent was God and delved into the scriptures to understand how he did it. I began writing obsessively and was receiving “revelation” that I felt I needed to share with other church members. I remember going to a baptism, and at the gathering afterward, I told one of my friends that I felt like I understood why women were not portrayed as strongly as women in the scriptures. 

When I thought I understood how God would want me to parent, I put the program into place with my kids. I felt the need to be consistent and vigilant in intervening with every little tussle and reinforcing proper behavior by having the kids repeat the same things repeatedly. My efforts to teach my husband how to do it might have been his first realization that something was off. On the other hand, my husband believed in my abilities as a mother so much that he overlooked many of my quickly appearing symptoms.

A Special Calling

As I received more “inspiration”, I believed my family was supposed to be a shining example to the world. A new program was coming out for my church’s youth, and I felt like our family had a special part in it. I convinced my husband that we needed to hop on a plane to Salt Lake City to see the prophet.

I can’t remember all the details now, but my mother soon came into the picture. I was convinced to put off our trip and started showing my mother all of the things I had been learning. She seemed to believe that the kids behaved better and calmer than usual. I can remember my mother wanting to make pancakes with them, and I insisted that she let them do as much as they could for themselves and only supervise and instruct unless they would get hurt. During the time she was doing this, my doorbell rang. My mother answered to find the leader of my church’s women’s organization, whom we call a relief society president. Nobody at this point knew what was wrong or even what to do.

Later that night, I concluded that Jesus was coming to the Earth again and that all his faithful people were gathering to greet him. While preparing to look my best to meet Jesus I became lost in my thoughts, and time seemed not to exist. Up to this point, everything for me seemed to fall into place at just the right point in just the right way, as if it was meant to be. At some point the day before for reasons I can’t now recall, I had made an appointment with the stake president, who is another of my spiritual leaders.

I ran out of the house when I realized I might be late, leaving my husband bewildered and confused. I truly believed I would see Jesus the moment I entered the church and was devasted this was not the case. I spoke with the stake president and confessed that I thought I was the world’s worst sinner and that I was unforgivable. My mood brightened tremendously when my husband showed up. Leaving the office, I now know that my leader approached my husband and told him that he thought there was something going on and that he needed to get help.

The Crisis Center

Later, my relief society president returned with another woman I knew, and they convinced me to seek help at a crisis center. I had no idea what to expect, and I didn’t want to go. I was overly worried that I was hurting my kids somehow and wanted very much for my family to be happy. I loved my family and wanted to do the best thing for them, so I agreed to see a doctor and talk.

At the center, I was handed a clipboard and asked to check off symptoms, which I was unsure if I was experiencing, so I checked everything. The only thing I knew for sure was that I did not want to hurt myself or anybody else. They interviewed me with my husband present. They asked what kind of thoughts I had, and I tried to be honest.

At one point, I thought that God could teach me to be a prophetess. I was not sure about anything, though. They had me wait about 4 hours, saying I could talk to a doctor. I felt like a caged animal, and I could barely sit. Then they finally approached and said that the doctor was unavailable but that they had stated they wanted to see me and recommended that I be admitted to see them in the morning. They also promised that if I admitted myself, I could leave anytime I wanted. I told my husband again that I did not want to stay, but he told me he thought it was the best thing to do. He begged me to take the chance to sleep.

Things spiraled from there, and so began my journey into the scariest events of my entire life. It felt like I was in the deepest pit of hell and despair. I spent just over a week in a crisis center.

After the Diagnosis

I could not identify with the diagnosis that was given to me. Each doctor I saw stated they couldn’t claim it as an absolute diagnosis because doing so required multiple episodes. I couldn’t help but believe that I was being slowly poisoned by the medication forced on me, and I worked with my doctor to stop taking it. I did not have any symptoms until three years later when excessive stress landed me in another manic episode. This was the point I had to accept that things had to change finally. I struggled to believe that I would ever be or feel “normal” again.

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