My name is Jennifer. I live in the greater Seattle area, in the State of Washington, USA with my husband of 16 years and our three school-age children. I was diagnosed as Bipolar II in the autumn of 2006 and have been taking medication ever since. I consider myself extremely fortunate since 1) I managed to marry a man who patiently loves me very much and is everything that I am not (i.e. emotionally stable and extremely rational); 2) I learned early on when I worked at a race track as a teller that gambling wasn’t all it is cut out to be; 3) I’ve managed to not become addicted to alcohol, sex or drugs which apparently is very common for manic-depressive who try to self-medicate; and 4) I have never attempted suicide like my sibling even though I wanted to many times.
So . . . I guess you could say that I have been relatively lucky. My illness has been mild in comparison to some. For example, I only experienced one episode of delirium when I genuinely thought there was a ghost in my house. I have never heard voices like my sister.
I have only once tried to commit suicide by overdose, but obviously did not succeed.
My only regrets is that it took so long to figure out what was wrong with me. I feel like I lost nearly two decades of my life. But it is difficult to know what is “wrong” when ones reference to what is normal is completely off.
