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  I was first diagnosed in 2006.  I was 15.  My doctor said that it was depression. Then he put me on a medication and said to come back in a few weeks. Those weeks went by and when I saw him next, he diagnosed me Bipolar II because when I was on the medication, it made me hypo-manic.  He then put me on another medication.   A few months later, I switched doctors. The new one confirmed my diagnosis.  My parents were supportive and wanted to know what to do next. The new doctor refilled my old prescriptions and added a new one. 


  I was in too much of a slump to care, honestly. I guess you could say I near the middle of a big, deep hole and I couldn’t crawl out.  The medications worked and I got back to a semi-sort of normal.  The next few months were great. Then in August of 2008, I had a boyfriend.  I was in total heaven.   I was with him for a month, and then we broke up.  I was devastated.  I couldn’t think straight.  I was “out-of-touch” with everything.  I don’t really remember what happened that night.  


I lost my safe spot I had claimed since my moods had levelled out.  I started to self-injure and planned my death out.  I wanted it to happen on my 18th birthday.  I wrote out my will that day at school. No one even knew what was going through my head.  I had no friends and the teacher could have cared less about what I was doing.  When I finished, I couldn’t handle the happiness that was occurring in the room.  I was that upset. So I went to the teacher and she excused me to go to the school counsellor.  I left with my will and showed it to the school counsellor along with my injuries.  She then proceeded to contact my parents.   I just sat there and cried.   Within the next few days, the school placed me in the home bound program.  I then moved in with my father to attend an outpatient day program.  I was in that for two weeks. I was getting better. 


I was doing fine until November 2008.  I was going to hurt myself in front of my parents just to show them the pain I was feeling.  I told my grandmother that I needed to go to the hospital.  She got my mother and I told her the same thing.  I was admitted into the Psychiatric Hospital that night.  I only needed to stay one night but I ended up staying for four days. When I got out, I was a different person.  I felt different, happy to be alive, I guess.


My advice is if you think you have a problem, go see a doctor.  In my opinion, it is better to be safe than sorry.  I am happy to still be alive. Not saying I don’t have problems, but they aren’t as bad as they used to be.  If you have been diagnosed, keep taking your medication(s). Please listen to me when I say that if they will help you down the road.  I know this from experience.   I thought I was getting better without my medications and I was so wrong.   But anyway, I hope that you take away something from this and know that if you or someone you know is having problems, get help.   Even if they resent you for doing so, YOU have saved a life. Just think that is pretty powerful and may turn that person around and have them say “I am glad that they did this for me”.  Thanks for reading. ----mcrfan90



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