I began suffering (noticeably) from bipolar (or Manic Depression as I prefer to call it) at around age 19. I'm now 23. At first, I just thought I was doing exceedingly well in life. I was writing songs, making a ton of friends, and generally "ruling the world". After a few months however, I felt the downside. I was so depressed I could barely get out of bed. I no longer talked to any of the friends I had made and dropped out of school. When I came home, I quickly began feeling better and thought nothing of it. People get depressed, you know? Man, how wrong I was. God, I would do anything to go back knowing my diagnosis. How did none of the numerous counselors I saw even suggest this as a possibility when I told them exactly of my experiences? No doubt, I am very, very bitter. It's hard to help. Because this is what happened.

About a year (at 22) I began to "rule the world" again. I had a beautiful girlfriend. I was making incredible music, playing concerts twice every week in my city. I was making a tons of friends and contacts, and generally having a blast. I was living the dream. I was invincible... Seemingly.

After a few months of feeling great I started getting delusional (instead of getting depressed like last time). I thought huge record labels were going to sign me, I thought I was on some sort of holy crusade for humanity. JUST EXACTLY the kind of (stereotypical, for lack of a better term) symptoms that are listed as psychotic symptoms in medical books or internet databases. And, it was a about to get a lot worse. My mom was terrified (no wonder) and called for me to be taken in for evaluation. I was taken to an intermediary facility, you know, while they find you a real psychiatric hospital.

I actually had a normal conversation with one of the staff members there, compared to what was just about to happen. The first night I was in this nightmarish place, my worst nightmares came to fruition. I had the most horrific psychotic break (mental breakdown) imaginable. And it came very, very suddenly.

To make a vast story short, suddenly, I witnessed the end of the world. Though I had the delusions before, it was literally crashing down all around me this time. And strangely enough, I often felt incredible from the manic avalanche that was happening in my brain. There was no stop to my mania or the fantastical hallucinations. I was creating so much havoc in my room that I had to be subdued by a police officer and pumped up with drugs to put to sleep.

They shipped me off to an emergency room in a REAL hospital. Hallucinations still vivid beyond your wildest dreams. I was literally receiving visible "messages" from God (like from a chat room). It's completely absurd, I know. Anyways, I was so insane there they had to knock me out again.

Next thing I know I wake up in a psychiatric ward with what felt like nothing more than a bad hangover. Hallucinations were gone. Of course I was still manic for about two and a half weeks there but I was put on lithium (that's it) and eventually I was normalized and very calm. I got out in a month. The doctors all thought I was doing great (they were wonderful). I thought I was great. Wrong. I suffered another psychotic break about two days after I came home.

The second or third night I began to feel incredibly dysphoric like I have never felt in my life and then all of a sudden the next day the "messages" came again. The "messages" are the reoccurring manifestation of my delusions. I have hardly ever heard "voices". I don't even want to say what they claimed to be (and claim) because perhaps interesting as it is, I don't want scare people with my delusions. Unless someone asks, I think it's irrelevant. But yeah, I was back in the intermediary center (same place). Given no medications. They can't give them there. Though it wasn't as severe as the first time, it was a "depressive break" rather than a "manic break" and again I thought the world had ended, and this time I was not the hero. It was my fault. And again, please don't think I take the delusions as reality. I firmly believe they were (and are) just visual manifestations of my most grandiose hopes and fears. Again, I was moved back to the emergency room in a REAL hospital. Hallucinations still ongoing. And they never would have stopped. But they gave me some 'antipsychotics' and the hallucinations went away almost immediately.

So now, almost a year after all this happened I am on 400 mg of Seroquel. And let me tell you, I am painfully made aware by my doctor that I will never get off of antipsychotics, and thusly, my life will never be the same. This medicine is awful. I hate it more than hate itself. It blocks dopamine and serotonin (happiness chemicals) in your brain, and I almost always have to sleep 12 hours to function. My 5' 8" 145 pound body just cannot handle the sedation of my dosage, and the "messages" never really stopped. Not even to mention the potential long term side effects which I'm not even going to name here.

When I decrease the dosage, the "messages" are unbearable. Now they're faint, but they're still there, and they bug the living blank out of me everyday. In conclusion, I hope somebody learns from my story, DO NOT let your mania get too out of control or you could pay the severest of consequences. I will never enjoy life or be able to control my life the way I did. No doubt. A psychic in the psychiatric hospital told me I had entered my second life. He was right. But I didn't think my second life would be living in regret everyday for the wish of my former life. Love to all with this illness, I have great sympathy for what people are going through and I will try to be a help on these forums. Best wishes.

Rob