The Other Side of Bipolar: Revealing Your Strengths to Move Beyond the Diagnosis

By Lauren Polly

The Other Side of Bipolar offers hope and a new perspective of mental illness that can help millions of people. A unique combination of memoir and self-help book, it invites us to reexamine our definitions of mental illness as a debilitating disease, and consider another possibility: what if instead of a wrongness, these symptoms point to capacities that are not yet fully understood? What if being bipolar or mentally ill is a sign that you have intelligences that others do not understand? Through this new perspective, you can be empowered to go beyond any diagnosis or label you have been given and start to explore the uniqueness and beauty of who you truly are. Embedded throughout this poetic story are examples of tools and techniques you can apply immediately to begin to create a sense of peace and possibility in your life. Lauren's story will captivate you and show you a path to finding peace and joy with being different, and ultimately how to utilize your difference to shift from surviving in this world to thriving and creating a satisfying life for yourself. You don't need to live a small, safe existence; you can go after your dreams, challenge yourself, and create a life far beyond what you may have thought is possible. "'The Other Side of Bipolar' sits apart from other autobiographical surveys of psychological struggles, offering readers the rare opportunity to explore and utilize many of the gifts formerly identified as disabilities. Any who have faced such a diagnosis will find this an inspiring, engrossing saga which offers hope, revelation, and much food for thought as it follows a journey that takes the identification of 'bipolar' and turns it upside down." -- Diane Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Over and Above Creative
• Release date: Jun 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9780997107715

Book preview

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Introduction

I WAS DIAGNOSED WITH BIPOLAR when I was fourteen, after a suicide attempt. What followed was sixteen years of being drugged, disempowered, and made wrong by others and myself. I was in constant fear that I would be put away in a mental institution. I exhausted myself trying to be normal so I could fit in with a world that told me I was crazy. I watched my family struggle to find ways to help me.

I was on multiple medications for six years before a doctor even mentioned the roles that stress management, diet, exercise and self-awareness could play in my recovery. I weaned myself off fourteen pills a day (my all-time high: no pun intended) down to nothing with the support of some very forward-thinking doctors and self-help techniques.

It was another three years after getting off all the meds before I gained a radical and unique perspective on my diagnosis: rather than judging myself as wrong I began to see my ‘disabilities’ as gifts and capacities that had been misunderstood. Discovering this new perspective changed my life. I stopped making myself wrong, constantly editing myself, and trying to be ‘normal’ so I could fit in. I started exploring and accessing more of my innate gifts that allow me to be more fully who I am while contributing to the world in joyful and satisfying ways.

If you have been recently diagnosed, or have lived with a diagnosis for most of your life, I wrote this book for you. If you’re anything like I was, you have judged yourself, made yourself wrong, and struggled to make sense of what it means to be bipolar or to have PTSD or name that diagnosis. Also like me, you’ve sensed another perspective beyond what the medical system knows. You just haven’t found it, yet.

Even if you’ve never had a diagnosis but have always felt different, as though you don’t fit in anywhere—I wrote this book for you, too. Chances are, also like me, you have judged yourself for your difference and judged others for not getting you. You have hid your uniqueness by conforming to those around you. Or you have rebelled against others to prove you’re not like them. Either way, you feel isolated and alone, your difference its own kind of disability. Just as I did, you have withdrawn from the world, seeking refuge in living a small existence. But you desire more. You sense another possibility beyond the struggle. You just haven’t found it yet, either.

This book tells my story of discovering the other side of bipolar and moving beyond a diagnosis. I share my journey with you to show you another possibility beyond the wrongness of your diagnosis and your difference. So that you, too, can explore your ‘disability’ as a gift, and discover the magic and beauty of who you truly are.

Will you join me on the journey?

YOU’RE NOT ALONE

I FELT CRAZY and alone during the years I lived with a diagnosis of bipolar. I wished someone had wrapped their arms around me and said to me the words I now share with you . . .

You’re not alone.

I know it seems like the end; like it isn’t worth it to keep going. As if there is nothing on the other side of this pain, embarrassment, shame, anger and confusion you feel. That you can’t possibly survive it. The sadness is suffocating. The confusion can spin your head. You may feel like you are losing grip on reality. That you are going crazy. That there is something really wrong with you.

Try as you may, you cannot shut out the pain. It is hard to see past it. It seems that it will never get better—that there is no hope.

You may think the world will be better off without you. You may think that you are so insignificant that your absence will not be missed, that life will go on and no one will even remember you.

But what if you are important beyond measure?

What if your absence will rob the world of what only you can offer it?

What if the bullies, the judgmental people, the hate and sadness in this world aren’t more real or true than your kindness, gentleness and hope?

I am here to let you know there is a possibility for your life far beyond what you can see right now. There is freedom from this pain.

1

Life Gets too Loud

AM I CRAZY?

BUBBLY JOY GROWS FROM INSIDE. It doesn’t seem to fit in my body. The expansion is too much, too powerful and too unfamiliar. It’s going to explode.

I have to get outside. Now. I need to run it off. The house isn’t big enough to contain me. I’m suffocating and at any moment the vibration from my body will move to the house and down it will come.

I get outside, into the open. I run and the energy that felt so suffocating inside now takes flight. I expand more, getting bigger and bigger. I feel my ribcage bursting—or is that my heart?

In one breath the earth enters me from my feet and ripples through my body. I’ve got goose bumps on my arms and my hair is standing on end. The sky touches my head and invades my brain. The trees and plants draw closer to me.

I can’t find my body anymore. I can’t find my body anymore! I am larger than the earth; the earth is inside of me, our hearts beating as one. I am no longer running but skipping. My arms and hair are flying; my feet barely touching the grass.

And then, like a deer suddenly aware of the hunter’s intense gaze, I stop in my tracks. I look to the left and meet the shocked gaze of two classmates playing soccer nearby. My mind is flooded with noise I hear the words, Crazy, Strange, and Wrong, as though they’re screaming them at me, but their mouths are closed.

That’s not true, is it? But it’s in my head and sounds like my voice. Am I crazy?

CABARET

I TAKE MY PLACE on stage, the sequins my mom sewed onto my skirt for my 8th grade dance recital flashing in the light, my lavender leotard soft against my skin.

I hold still, listening to Cabaret. The music pulses through me and moves me around the stage.

I imagine all the Broadway dancers who ever danced to this song moving with me across the floor. The stage lights blind me and block out the sight of all the people watching me, but I can feel their gaze like gentle caresses on my skin. I feel them joining me in the churning waves of the dance.

The music continues to build and swell. A giggle wiggles up from my belly. The waves of music stir up the familiar bubbles of energy. I let the bubbles lead the way, guiding me from one move to the next.

The last chord of the music hits and I strike my final pose. I pause, feeling the beat of the music still coursing through my body. I bow and hear the thundering applause.

The applause fades away and I look up and see the familiar walls of the basement, with the foosball tables and couches pushed to the side. The flash of the sequins in the mirror catches my eye. I turn and gaze at my image, tracing my hands along the curves where my costume folds around me. Where do I end and where does the costume begin?

I giggle. I turn and look around the basement again. This is my stage. My sanctuary.

SIDEWAYS BUT STRAIGHT

ALTHOUGH THE HEAT OF the day has gone, the air is still warm on my bare skin. It is so thick it sticks and presses to me like a full body embrace. The wind picks up and brushes against my body with soft gentle strokes. I sigh and smile. I notice the tickling sensation of bubbles in my belly.

The stars above twinkle and I watch them dancing. I giggle as I feel the same dancing energy inside. The bubbles expand.

I look around at my companions: my brother, Drew, is here, along with other teenagers from a visiting youth group. Today is the first time I’ve met them. I look back behind our group and see my parents strolling hand in hand. They brought us all here to Washington D.C. for a day of sightseeing.

Being surrounded by the people who know me the most and those who do not know me at all is oddly comforting and freeing at the same time. I wonder to myself . . . Who would I like to be now?

I become bigger somehow. The space around me opens up. The more it opens up the bigger I get. The bubbles intensify and build as well. They spread up and out my arms and legs. Now I can see the entire city: streets empty of cars, massive monuments lit up, other tourists taking in the sights.

The night feels important and grand. I stretch my arms overhead taking up even more space. The bubbles keep growing and the space around me keeps expanding.

We’re all laughing and joking. I’m being a dumb blond, as I’ve discovered people really seem to like when I act ditzy. So I sing out loud, I am e-f-f-e-r-v-e-s-c-e-n-t! That’s the only way I know how to spell it! and everyone laughs.

As we laugh, walk and play, the bubbles keep building. The energy of everyone’s laughter lifts me up. The bubbles take over. I explode.

I twist my body suddenly to face sideways but I keep walking in a straight line. Ha! I’m going sideways but straight! I sing out really loud. It seems very obvious and dumb but funny at the same time. Everyone laughs and copies me. The entire group begins walking sideways but straight and singing, Sideways but straight! We walk up the Lincoln Memorial steps sideways but straight so amused by our cleverness.

My new friends laugh harder and harder. It’s fun at first. But then the laughter gets too loud and presses in on my ears, my body. The bubbles burst and fade. I look around: everyone is still laughing and looking to me. I don’t want to disappoint them so I put on a smile and keep doing it, forcing the motions that were only a moment ago so fun and easy.

THE PARTY

IT’S NEW YEAR’S EVE. There’s music playing in the background as my parents, Drew and I get the house ready for our neighbors’ arrival. We’ve had a party every New Year’s Eve for as long as I can remember. I love getting dressed up, decorating the house and playing hostess with my parents.

Our neighbors begin arriving in small groups of two or more, each carrying a dish to share. It’s my job to take their gift of food and place it on the long dining room table. I enjoy seeing all the colors and textures of the different food. I sneak a small taste of each before heading out to the entryway again to greet the next round of people.

I skip around and greet everyone with a wide smile. The ticklish feeling of the soda pop bubbles fills my belly just like they did that day in D.C.

The house fills with a buzz as more neighbors arrive. It’s like one by one another instrument gets added to the orchestra. But this orchestra is out of tune with instruments that don’t complement each other. The bubbles that had been happily floating around begin to churn.

All of a sudden the buzz grows so loud my bubbles burst and fizzle. My ears hurt and everything gets blurry. The voices around me collide with one another and cut like glass on my skin. The bouts of laughter are especially sharp.

While moments ago I had welcomed the attention from neighbors I greeted, now their questions and holiday cheer feel like a pillow being pushed against my face. I gasp for air. What’s happening?

I start looking for quiet and empty space but it is difficult to find in this swirling crowd of people. Everyone I pass smiles and tries to talk to me but my voice goes away and I find it hard to respond to their questions.

What’s wrong with me? Everyone else is having fun. Nobody else seems bothered by this out-of-tune orchestra.

I twist and turn as I make my way through the crowd, trying to keep space between each lump of people and myself. As I pass each group I’m caught up in different currents. I’m not sure how to navigate them.

Everyone appears jovial and in the holiday spirit, but as I slide along the wall to pass by a group of three women chattering, I feel my belly and jaw clenching. I’m hit with a rush of anger. Yet all I see are smiles on their faces. What I see is not what I feel. Is what I’m feeling wrong? What’s going on here?

I duck my head down and slip quietly behind the older woman who lost her husband this year. A wave of sadness drenches me and I wonder if it will take me down. Somehow I keep moving forward.

I gasp for breath. I become more and more confused as each person tries to engage with me. Do I respond to their words or the wave of emotion flowing through them and into me? Nobody else seems to be aware of these undercurrents.

Is it real or am I crazy?

THE SNAKE

EVERYONE IS TALKING ABOUT ME. Their voices whisper and whirl just out of earshot like the hum of a washing machine. My skin is on fire from their stares.

I walk through the hallways with my head down, heading for the cafeteria. I feel them watching me the same way animals stalk their prey: bonding together to take down a weaker species with the strength of the group. That’s what I feel like—a different species.

I used to get along so well my classmates. I used to be happy. I used to laugh and have friends. What happened this year? When did I become the target?

I hide as much as I can. I hear people talking about how pretty I am. I attract attention even though I’m trying to avoid it. Somehow I laugh too loud. I smile too big. I’m too animated. I walk differently.

The attention I used to enjoy now feels dangerous. I can sense people picking me apart and now I do the same. Be smaller, I tell myself. Don’t smile as much. Don’t laugh that loud.

My stomach tightens as I near the big wooden doors of the cafeteria. I hate this place. The noise of everyone reverberates off the walls and shakes my brain. I’ve taken to eating lunch in a teacher’s classroom.

But there is no avoiding this place today. We are gathering for our 8th grade exams. The cafeteria has been re-organized to fit the entire class of 200 people.

As I pull open the door I see they’ve set up assigned seating. Thank God, at least I don’t have to try to find someone to sit with. I head over to the other kids whose last names start with P. My shoulders slump more as I see my tablemates. Popular kids. Mean kids.The whisperers.

I slide into my seat without even pulling out the chair. I don’t want the scraping of the chair on the floor to alert them to my arrival. But I feel their eyes on me anyway. I keep my head down and hold my breath, worried that my fast breathing will attract more attention.

I turn my sharpened #2 pencil over and over in my hands, pretending to check the sharpness. Pretending to be deeply involved in something. Pretending to not notice them looking at me and then back and forth at each other.

The teacher comes to the table and holds out the test packet for me. I lean over to take it and as I do my hand curls up awkwardly in a claw-like shape facing the ceiling. I hear a giggle and look to my left. I see a girl at the next table with her hand in the same position as mine was. Is she mimicking me? I quickly lean back in my chair and bring both hands down under the table on my lap.

I glance to my right and see two other girls smiling widely at each other. Are they smiling about me? Are they copying my grin like they’ve done before? How can I sit so that everyone leaves me alone?

If I were a magician I would make myself disappear.

That’s when I see something out of the corner of my eye. A stream of smoke curling and slithering its way around and over the tables. A smoky snake. I sit spellbound. Frozen in fear. I know it’s here for me. It’s coming to get me just like all the other kids.

I hear its sssss in my ears and I recognize this hatred: it’s the pinpricks that make my skin crawl as I walk through the hallways. It’s the fire starter that makes me blush red constantly whenever a small bit of attention is directed my way. It’s the disapproving voice that makes me lower my eyes to the floor. It’s what wants me to disappear. It only lasts a second and is gone.

I shake my head quickly and focus on the test. My grades have slipped a lot this year since I’ve been so busy trying to hide. I can’t risk getting a low score on this test. I spend all my energy blocking out the other kids—it’s easier now that their attention is wrapped up in the test also.

The test is long and hard. We all breathe a sigh of relief as we turn in our papers. I catch one of my tablemate’s eyes briefly as I hand her my paper. She smiles kindly at me. I almost cry and release a big wave of breath. It’s been so long since I’ve sensed kindness here. But just like the smoky slithering snake, it evaporates in an instant. Was it ever there in the first place?

Mr. D. waddles up to a microphone that’s been placed in the front of the room. He’s a large man and the students giggle at him as he moves heavily across the floor. My heart thuds in my chest and I look down feeling sorry for him. I know what it’s like to receive unwanted attention.

We have the results of the elections for the student counselors. We had asked you all to write the name of classmates who you felt would be good leaders and would be able to be trained as peer counselors for you. Here are the 5 you all picked.

His voice is hard to listen to as it bounces back and forth between the walls of the cafeteria. Even the linoleum floor seems to be reverberating with it. My hands instinctively cover my ears and I close my eyes, tired of trying to focus over the stares and whispers of my classmates.

I can feel hundreds of pinpricks on my skin. My body flushes red and starts to shake under the force of it. I open my eyes and stop breathing: everyone is staring at me. There is applause, which just adds to the noise in my head. I fight the urge to run out of the room.

"Stand