Coming Out

Since this blog relies on my candor as its life blood,  I am compelled to venture into areas of my life that I am still somewhat hesitant to reveal.  Over the years, it seemed best not to be too candid about some aspects of my life.  Recently, I've begun to wonder if it isn't time to reveal one of those secrets.  I believe there is a greater good to be served.  My candor may be helpful to my son.

Andrew was diagnosed with Aspergers when he was three.  I always knew that he was atypical.  He was atypical before he was born.  During amniocentesis, he reached up for the needle.  It really shook the doctor who was performing the test.  For me, it was just a a sign of something I already knew.  I was oddly calm about my unborn child's gymnastics. 

When he was born, he had managed to not only tie a knot in the umbilical cord, it was also wrapped around his neck.  He wasn't born as alert as his sister.  With a little oxygen, he was soon responding as a newborn should.  I sometimes wonder if that indeterminate time of little oxygen made a difference.  My intuition is that it really did not.  His genetic makeup was already set. 

Since our son was diagnosed at an early age, the team of specialists admitted that they didn't have a concensus as to what to attribute his "specialness".  At that time, they were split between ADHD and Aspergers.  They went with Aspergers because it opened more doors to learning support.  I am eternally grateful that they did.   He has had wonderful teachers and the social support he received has been invaluable.  Yet, over time, it was apparent Aspergers or ADHD didn't explain what we saw in our son.

Some years ago a trusted psychiatrist gave our son the diagnosis of Bipolar II.  He felt that it more adequately captured his particular constellation of symptoms/behaviors and thought patterns.  Inside, I have not wanted to accept it as true.  Somehow being bipolar seemed more final, less hopeful.  I hadn't wanted our son to define himself by a label whether it was Aspergers, ADHD or Bipolar.  I've been afraid that he would use the diagnosis as an excuse to justify his behavior and to stop striving for optimal functioning in a world that often seems too much for him to handle.

This year at his school evaluation, the team said he no longer qualified for educational support due to Aspergers.   He did still qualify due to his being Bipolar.    His lack of focus, his oppositional behavior, his inability to handle frustration, his sometimes inappropriate silly spells,  point toward a bipolar pathology.   I have to agree with the team.    As I watch him this summer, I know it's true.  It's also time I tell Andrew that I am Bipolar also.

As much as I understand that the bipolar diagnosis does not mean that I have a weakness of character or personal defect, it feels that way.  I rarely admit to having this illness.  I've carried this label largely in secret over the almost 20 years, it has been assigned.  I like to think that I function well.  A psychiatrist once told me with an air of grave finality that "you'll never be able to handle stress."  That made me angry.  I'd like to think that if he were in my shoes today, with all the stresses life has brought me, he wouldn't be doing as well as I.   Most of the time, the less I think about the label and all that it carries, the better I function.  I take medication to manage it and it usually works very well.

I've also had the benefit of years of living with depression and the occasional hypomanic episode.  I have learned to observe my moods and feelings and understand that they don't necessarily represent reality.  This hasn't been as easy as it sounds.     Help is available and I've learned to seek it out when necessary.  Has it affected my overall functioning in life?  Yes, I'm sure it has but when it's all said and done, I've had a full and interesting life.  I may not be a stellar success by the world's standards and I may never know all the ways that depression has limited  opportunities but what is, is.    I am who I am today in large part because of the unique blend of talents and handicaps that are at play inside me.  I am who I am because of who I am.

Even with my personal experience, I have wanted to spare my son.  Books on the bipolar child found their way home with me on a recent library trip.  I avoided reading them until a few days ago.  The first book I picked up was The Life of a Bipolar Child by Trudy Carlson.  Trudy lost her son, Ben.  When he was 14, he shot himself in the head.  There are many parallels in the life of her son and mine.  I believe that my son's condition isn't as serious as hers was but that doesn't mean things won't change. 

As much as I don't want my son to define himself or burden himself with a label,   I have to be realistic and be willing to help him learn how to cope with the particularly dark way he can view the world.  He still believes his perspective is reality.   The time has come to put my own experience to use and help show what I have learned and how I've learned to cope with bipolar illness.  It's time to come out.