It’s September 2017, and it’s Homecoming Weekend at my alma mater Cedarville University. It’s the first time I’ve been able to attend since graduating in 2002, and it just so happens to be my graduating class’s 15-year reunion. By happy coincidence it’s also the Psychology Department’s reunion year, so by being here it’s like getting to kill two birds with one stone. I get to see friends I haven’t seen in 15 years. Similarly, it’s the first time I get to visit with old professors I haven’t seen in just as long.
I share my story with mental illness some of my former professors and classmates, along with a handful of current psychology students. Afterward, one professor pulls me aside and asks if I’ve ever been evaluated for Bipolar Disorder. I tell him I haven’t, that it hasn’t even crossed my mind that Bipolar might be a possibility. He goes on to say that there are several different types of Bipolar Disorder, and some of the lesser known varieties come with hypomanias along with the depressive episodes so that it’s difficult to distinguish, say, Bipolar Type II from simple high-functioning depression. He urges me to talk to my psychiatrist about the possibility, and I promise him I will.
Fast forward a couple of weeks. I’m meeting with my psychiatrist for my regular med check. Appointments with him never last longer than 15 minutes, just a quick update, renewal of scripts, and out of there. I mention what my former professor said about Bipolar, and my psychiatrist smiles and just says what I already know — that mental illness rides on a spectrum and it’s as much an art to diagnosis as it is a science. And that’s as far as that discussion goes. It’s frustrating for me because I feel like the treatment we’ve been doing for my anxiety isn’t completely working. I’m still dealing with severe anxiety and panic attacks that frequently seem to come out of nowhere. I’m becoming more and more disillusioned with this doctor and his apparent disregard for taking the time necessary to really re-evaluate my condition.
Fast forward another year. By now we’ve doubled my dosage of Klonopin to manage my anxiety and panic episodes. I’ve also switched clinics to one that actually accepts my Marketplace insurance plan. The new clinic also happens to be in town where I now live, almost literally just around the corner, close enough to talk to if I wanted. I’m seeing a new therapist, but first they did a two-hour intake interview with me that was extremely thorough, something they never bothered to do at my previous clinic. In that interview they modified my anxiety diagnosis from Generalized Anxiety Disorder to Panic Disorder with Agoraphobia, a diagnosis that immediately felt right to me, that felt like it described exactly what I live and deal with every day. I mentioned the possibility of Bipolar Disorder in that interview, and the counselor did take the time to evaluate me for the condition but ultimately ruled it out, as I didn’t fit the clinical criteria for manic episodes. I’m ok with this.
Fast forward again, about 6-8 weeks, to my first meeting with my new psychiatrist. We talk for an hour. I tell her everything I told the intake counselor, everything I’ve told my therapist, down to and including my arrest back in May and the conditions, both mental and circumstantial, that led into that, what I’ve done with my life to improve my situation since then, and how in so many ways this past summer has been one of the best in my life, thanks in part to the wake-up call from May. I tell her I still struggle daily with anxiety and panic. She asks if anyone has ever tried a mood stabilizer with me because to her it sounds like, on a scale of 1-10, my panic episodes typically ride on a 9 or 10. I tell her she’s not wrong and that no, no one has. She decides to prescribe a mood stabilizer for me — Lamictal — with the hope that it will decrease both the incidence and intensity of my panic outbreaks.
Afterward, I do a little research on Lamictal and learn that it’s an anticonvulsant, typically prescribed to treat both epilepsy and — wait for it — Bipolar Disorder. Mind you, I still haven’t been formally diagnosed with Bipolar. I still agree with the intake counselor that as a diagnosis, Bipolar doesn’t fit my symptomology. But I find it interesting as a treatment option, nonetheless. Lamictal isn’t approved by the FDA as a treatment for Panic Disorder or anxiety, but I can see how there might be overlap between Panic Disorder and Bipolar Disorder.
I took my second dose of Lamictal last night. It’s going to be at least a few days before I really start to notice a difference. I’ve gone through this process before. I know how it works. Adjusting your brain chemistry takes some time, as the new psychopharmaceuticals build up in your system, begin to interact with the cocktail of other medications already there, and bond in the proper ways to your brain. There are going to be several days in a row where I feel weird, sick, or simply “off” while my body adapts. But I’m hopeful, optimistic even, that adding Lamictal to my daily cocktail of treatment will help ease my Panic Disorder, help me function better, and help me regain the level of activity I used to have before anxiety and panic forced me to withdraw from social life, physical activity, family events, and other things.
This is yet another step in this long journey toward better mental wellness. I’m grateful to have a better clinical staff that has actually taken the time to listen to me, evaluate me, and care about my condition rather than merely shrugging me off in order to make money off my visits. I’m eager to see if the Lamictal helps. I’m eager to regain the parts of my life I’ve lost. I’m eager to become active in life again, even be able to exercise without fear of triggering a panic attack. Most of all I’m grateful for God’s hand in all this, guiding me through even the worst moments this year, protecting me and leading me to people better equipped to help me.
As always I’m moving forward. I won’t allow anything now to prevent that. It’s onward and upward, and I know there are better things in store for me.
