Lithium Realm: My Bipolar Hell

By Ashlynn Stone

Does someone you know suffer from bipolar disorder? If so, Lithium Realm will give you a glimpse into their minds.

This is a true story. Living undiagnosed with bipolar disorder and general anxiety disorder her entire life, Ashlynn Stone quickly spirals out of control while in her 20's. The close relationship she had with her family is gone. Her once impeccable reputation at work is now tarnished and the loving relationship she had with her husband hangs by a thread. Fighting for her sanity, she turns to drugs and a friend who only causes more damage.

Join Ashlynn as she opens up and shares her deepest secrets, ones her family has yet to learn. Share her darkest moments and ugliest times. She discusses her drug use, the hell her family put her through and intimate moments about her and her husband's lifestyle as swingers. If you or someone you know suffers from bipolar disorder or general anxiety disorder, this book will give you hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashlynn Stone
• Release date: Oct 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9798223529163

Book preview

A Special Thanks

TO EVERYONE WHO PURCHASED my book...

I’d like to say thank you!  If I could, I’d scream it from the rooftops for the world to hear.  Sadly, the topic of mental illness is still taboo.  The more awareness we can shed on the subject, the more tolerant this world will be.  A word of advice:  no matter which illness you suffer from, if your doctor does not listen to you, FIND A NEW DOCTOR as soon as possible!  Battling mental illness isn’t easy.  You need a supportive team on your side if you’re going to control it.  You are your only advocate!  It took me many years to learn that.

Chapter One

I’M GOING CRAZY.

My leg was bouncing up and down uncontrollably, and my hands were shaking.  My heart raced so fast; I thought it was going to burst from my chest. 

I can’t breathe!  Why isn’t my medication working?  I’ve been on Lamictal for two months!

Looking up, the reflection in my mirror caught my eye.  Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead and rolled down the sides of my face. My shirt had sweat stains forming under my arms and at my bra line. 

Realizing anxiety was the cause, I was about to go back to my bedroom to get my Klonopin, but I stopped.  My image distracted me.  A year ago, I would have seen a beautiful, sparkly, blue-eyed woman with full and shiny, curly hair.  Her milky, white skin would have been smooth and flawless. 

I don’t recognize myself anymore.  When did I become so old and ugly? 

My straw-like, frizzy hair was out of control and lusterless.  Sunken eyes lost all of the life they once had, and the dry, flaky skin was full of blemishes and imperfections.  I couldn’t believe I was staring at a reflection of myself.  I went from Wow to Eww. 

When Seth married me, I was happy, outgoing, and positive.  I used to be the first one to accept an invitation to a barbeque, party, or intimate gathering.  That changed.  Locked away in my own home, I talked to no one but Seth, and that was only when I had to. 

I should take a shower today and go to the store.  No.  Then I’ll have to talk to people.  I’ve become so disgusting that I don’t want people to see me.  I can’t handle it.  Forget the shower. I took one a few days ago.  I’ll take one tomorrow. 

I hadn’t been out of the house in four days.  Unable to handle the outside world, I became a hermit. 

Going for the Klonopin, I entered my cluttered, filthy bedroom.  Clothes were scattered all over my floor, draped on the dusty treadmill, and flung on top of the doors.  Old food plates and dirty glasses littered both bed stands.  Empty soda bottles were lined up on the dresser in front of the television.  There were food wrappers on the floor and crumbs on top of my covers.  It had been months since I’ve cleaned.  I’ve been so drained, and I hadn’t cared enough to do so.

Seth was two hours away, having sex with his girlfriend.  As a swinger, I used to be okay with it.  But truth be told, it now ate away at me.  He claimed he hated leaving me alone to have his fun, but I knew he didn’t.  He acted like a schoolgirl in love.  Anytime Rhonda wanted to see him, he would drive the two hours to meet with her, which eventually came to be every Saturday. 

I wish he looked at me the same way he does her.  He doesn’t want to be with me anymore. 

I was sick, and I needed him.  Despite the fact I suffered from general anxiety disorder and was spiraling into a diagnosed bipolar depression, he continued his relationship with her.  I was medicated, but it wasn’t helping.  The sicker I got, the more time Seth and Rhonda spent together. 

What kind of man leaves his sick wife to have sex with another woman?

I remembered the conversation we had that morning before Seth left.  His smile filled his face as he looked at me.  You’re going to have the whole day to yourself, Ash, he told me as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head.

I rolled my eyes.  Just like every Saturday.  Gee, how kind of you,

Moving into the bathroom, he pasted his toothbrush.  Catching my eyes through the mirror, he continued, But you can do your scrapbooking today in peace.  You won’t have any distractions.

My lips tightened.  "Don’t act like you’re doing me any favors here, Seth.  You are going down to fuck your girlfriend.  I’m not a part of it.  I was quiet for a few seconds, thinking of a way to manipulate him to stay home.  Instead, I tried the direct approach.  How about you stay here with me today," I asked, hopeful. 

Umm, he looked at his shoes.  She is expecting me, and I already promised to go.

There he goes again... choosing his girlfriend over me.

I squinted my eyes.  I’m your wife, Seth.  I have priority.  I want you to stay home with me.

Well... she probably made plans for us already, and I don’t want to break them on her.

My heart sank.  Throwing my hands in the air, I hollered, Fine! 

He followed me into the bedroom.  What do you expect me to do, Ash?  The pleading look in his eyes begged for my permission. 

It’s no use.  I can’t compete with her.  Who wants an ugly, useless woman when they can have a fun, vibrant one?

Feeling defeated, I said, Just do whatever you want.  Go.  See Rhonda.  I’m too tired to care.  Climbing into bed, I rolled onto my stomach. 

He entered the bedroom and suggested, Why don’t you go shopping and get yourself something nice?

I laughed.  No.  That’s your job, Seth.

Confused, he asked, What do you mean?

Did you forget what next week is?  I asked, rolling my eyes.

He thought about it, and I could tell as soon as he remembered. While I’m down there today, we will buy you something special for your birthday.

"We will get you something nice? Since when are you two considered we?"

Shocked at my response, Seth corrected himself.  What I mean is Rhonda and I will go to the store and buy your birthday gift today.

No!  I shouted.  I don’t want anything she has a part in picking out.  If it doesn’t come from you alone, I don’t want it.  I looked at the floor and said, In fact, I don’t want anything from you this year.  You are so preoccupied with Rhonda that you didn’t even remember it was coming up.  Don’t bother.

As soon as he leaves, I can sleep and forget about this.

Recognizing the end of the conversation, Seth left the room and continued to get ready.  I heard him scurrying around our home, gathering the two things he wanted to bring her: flowers and a scrapbooked heart collage, which took him three hours to make.  I cried while he was making it.  In the seven years we’d been together, he’d never made anything for me. 

I pretended to be sleeping when he came in to kiss me goodbye.  His lips touched mine before he kissed my forehead.  Although I loved him, I was so angry I gave him the finger as he walked out of the room. 

Remembering the conversation that we had two hours earlier was too much for me.  I couldn’t handle the thought of Seth and Rhonda together.  I took three over-the-counter sleeping pills.  When those didn’t work, I took three more.  I looked at the clock.

Rhonda and Seth are having sex right now.  I bet he’s smiling while he kisses her... the way he should be kissing me.  He hasn’t touched me in months.  Three more pills, I should be sleeping soon, forgetting. 

I ingested a total of fourteen pills in a four-hour time span.  Suicide wasn’t my intention.  I was desperate to sleep the day away, to get a break from the obsessive thoughts of Seth and Rhonda.  But even with all those pills, I was no closer to sleep than I was when Seth left. 

I was present for many of Seth and Rhonda’s intimate moments.  As my condition deteriorated, I stopped joining them.  Since I’ve seen them together, I was unable to get the images of the two of them out of my mind, and it sickened me.  I took two Klonopin and prayed they wouldn’t take long to kick in. 

My unmade bed looked inviting.  The comforter begged to be pulled back and crawled under.  Grabbing a book, I gave in but read the same line over and over again.  The thoughts of Seth were consuming. 

They’re probably lying in bed right now.  He’s holding her tight, telling her he loves her.  I know he doesn’t love me.  I am a worthless wife.  If I weren’t, he’d be saying it to me instead.

The thinking was driving me crazy.  I had to find a way to stop it.  Retrieving a couple of spoons from the kitchen, I placed two Klonopin between them and crushed the medicine into a fine powder. 

I ran back to the kitchen for a straw and a knife and did something that was becoming the norm.  Spreading the powder on my desk, I took the knife and divided the pile into two lines.  With the straw pressed against my nostril, I snorted the powder.  By ingesting it that way, the effects hit faster. 

Maybe I won’t wake up until after Seth leaves tomorrow.  I won’t have to face him.

I climbed back into bed, and my phone rang.  Seeing it was Seth, I silenced it and put it back on the bed stand.  He disgusted me.  He felt guilty from our earlier conversation, and I knew he was calling to make sure I forgave him.  He made a phone call like that to me every Saturday.  I knew Rhonda was seething because he called me in her presence.  She wanted Seth for herself. 

Ahh, finally! 

A head rush hit me and the anxiety attack that started only a few minutes earlier, subsided. 

My entire body tingled, and my gums were numb.  The Klonopin was working.  Thoughts weren’t entering my mind.  It was as if they were blocked from doing so.  I had the break I was looking for.

My salvation.  Sleep.

Barely able to keep my eyes open, I laid flat on the bed, where I passed out for hours, waking only when Seth got home.

Chapter Two

I’M ASHLYNN, A THIRTY-seven-year-old wife, friend, middle daughter, aunt, granddaughter, and niece.  I’ve been struggling with bipolar disorder and general anxiety disorder my entire life, but my diagnosis didn’t come until nine years ago.

Thousands of children bite their nails, twirl their hair, and talk excessively.  I did all of those, but I also suffered from insomnia, compulsive eating, aggression, and nightmares, along with many other things.  Ever since I can remember, I’d been unable to concentrate for short periods of time; my racing thoughts were out of control.  I pulled my hair out and was obsessed with sex. My talking was neurotic, and the hair twirling was compulsive. 

I was so young that I was thought to have had a nervous character.  The first anxiety experience I can remember was when I was six years old.  My older sister and I were outside playing in the backyard, supervised by my dad, who was using his chainsaw. 

One of us playfully screamed, which distracted Dad.  The chainsaw kicked back, slicing his nose in half.  Blood gushed from his face, dripping onto his blue shirt.  Pale and shaking, he held his nose together as he ran inside to get my mom. My sister and I followed him, crying. A neighbor stayed with us while Mom took Dad to the emergency room, where he received more than fifty stitches.

My dad had always been my hero, and in the mind of a first-grader, a hero is never harmed and never had a moment of weakness.  Seeing Dad like that forced me to view him in a whole new way.  He was only human.  I realized at some point in my life that he would die. 

Dad’s accident caused my first bout of insomnia.  Every night, I’d lie awake until about midnight, then wake up on my own before he got up for work at two o’clock each morning.  After he left, I ate anything I could get my hands on—a half-gallon of ice cream, Halloween candy, and boxes of cereal.  It was how I eased the anxiety. 

That went on daily for about six months until my parents called me downstairs.  Ash, please come down here.  We’d like to talk to you.

Descending the stairs, I knew I was in trouble.  What, Mom?

Do me a favor, please.  Look at Dad.

I did as she asked, confused by her request.

Does he look sick or hurt?

His injury healed months earlier.  I shook my head.  No, Mom.

That’s right.  Dad is okay now.  You don’t have to worry about him anymore. 

That was all it took.  My insomnia and compulsive eating ceased.  The anxiety didn’t completely subside, though.  I bit my nails until they bled, a nasty habit that lasted until high school. 

In addition to nail-biting, I developed odd ticks to help me deal with life, many of which I still do today.  I’d chew on my tongue until my taste buds swelled.  Resembling a rabbit, I’d scrunch up my nose, over and over again.  I would also close my eyes and squeeze them tight until I experienced pressure.  Once I opened them, and the pressure was relieved, and I felt calmer. 

HEIGHTENED LIBIDO AND excessive sexual thoughts are some symptoms of bipolar disorder.  Obsessive thoughts of sex started in the first grade when I found nude magazines in the woods near my home.  I read them every night and became fascinated with sex and nudity. 

Wanting to impress my friends, I drafted a sexual letter and pretended it was from a popular rock star. 

At the lunch table one day, my friend picked up the letter and asked, What’s this?

It’s a letter from my boyfriend, I bragged.

Reading the note, she looked at me and asked, What does fuck mean?

Proud to know the answer, I replied, That’s when he puts his thingy in between my legs.

My friend’s eyes widened.  And he wants to do that to you?

I nodded.

I convinced them he wrote the letter, and my friends laughed it off, calling me a pervert.  I didn’t understand why they would call me that.  I thought my sexual feelings and urges were normal.  Although they never made me feel isolated, my friends considered me a pervert throughout my entire public school career.

My desires went beyond a healthy curiosity.  They became an obsession.  I assumed everyone else was like that but was too embarrassed to talk about sex.  How was I to know anything different? 

When my friends were playing with dolls, I was thinking of losing my virginity.  Excessive sexual thoughts consumed me, but I never considered them to be unusual. 

WHILE SITTING IN MY third-grade class, my heart started beating fast for no reason.  It felt like it was going to burst through my chest.  I didn’t understand the feeling.  I couldn’t keep still either.  Fidgeting wasn’t helping.  Neither was bouncing my leg or twirling my hair.  As if it were natural, I grabbed the crown of my head, took a fistful of hair, and yanked on it.  A few strands came out, and I dropped them on my desk, feeling instant relief.  I grabbed more and then more.  Soon, I had a pile of hair on my desk.  Realizing what I did, I looked around and found no one watching me.  I brushed the hair onto the floor, embarrassed.

I stayed after school that afternoon to help my teacher prepare for the following day, something I loved to do.  The janitor was sweeping the floor and noticed the pile of hair. 

Pam, she called out to my teacher.  Who sits here?

Mrs. Strickland pointed to me and answered, She does.  Why?

Because there is a lot of hair in front of her desk.

Worried, Mrs. Strickland came over to me and inspected my head.  Finding a bald spot on my crown, she asked, Ash, what have you done to yourself?

Not knowing what to say, I cried.  Mrs. Strickland called my mom and told her I was pulling my hair out.  Mom brought me to a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with depression and put me on medication.  The medication didn’t help, so when I ran out of my refills, I stopped taking it. 

Chapter Three

ANXIETY CAUSED NIGHTMARES throughout my entire life, but they were most intense during my elementary school years.  Most of them were reoccurring and the two main nightmares related to my parents trying to get rid of me. I woke up screaming in a pool of my sweat and tears, my blanket always in a tangled ball at my feet. 

The dream I had most often begun in the parking lot of my parent’s church. A tall, skinny doctor wearing a white lab coat stood with my parents. He handed them a wad of cash before placing his arm around my shoulders, leading me to his car.  I cried for my parents, but they walked to their car without looking back. 

On the way to his laboratory, I rode in the front seat of his long, black car.  In the inside of his lab, there was an operating room, but upon closer inspection, it really resembled a bad massacre movie.  Saws, knives, chainsaws, and ice picks hung from the walls.  There were also puddles of blood in various places on the concrete floor. 

I laid on the large, silver table in the middle of the room.  Wearing a paper gown, I was hooked up to an I.V. and felt loopy.  He was drugging me. 

With a head mirror on, he approached me with a large saw.  This won’t hurt a bit, he assured.

I thrashed and jumped off the table.  Still feeling dizzy, my legs buckled when I tried to run.  He laughed as he forced me back on the table.  The doctor told me to lie still, and when I didn’t comply, he strapped me down. 

He cut my head open, exposing my brain.  Grabbing a bottle of acid, he walked towards me, wearing an evil grin.  The doctor dripped some of the strongly scented liquid onto my brain and took out his notebook.  I watched him jot down notes as he obsessively watched me.  I felt nothing.

Once satisfied with the results,