Hi, glad that you posted. Sorry you are going through this right now....

Ah, I remember my first hospitalization! The indignity of the paper robe, cutlery restricted to spoons, every meal tasting like cotton batting….Sorry to seem flippant, I guess can look back on it now with some humor, but at the time it was very hard to accept I had a problem (aka Bipolar).

Think many here have posted that it is so hard to accept a diagnoses – there was something, to me, so damning and “final” about it. I remember telling myself that this could not be right, that I just needed to try harder; friends told me that I just needed to be myself; family told me to get it together, stop “wanting to be sick.” But it was only with accepting my illness, taking meds and getting therapy, that some of the mania/depression/paranoia, etc was relieved, that I feel I can bring my best, sober self to life.

Antidepressants also kicked me into a he** of a mania (thank you, Eli Lily!) Truthfully, I had been experiencing highs/lows since approx. 13 years old, but the antidepressants by themselves were also triggering.

I was initially diagnosed with major depression, because when I felt manic, I was a ton of fun, and it was good times – it was during the “clean up” phase (eg reconciling the damage I’d done on one of my tears), that the depression set in and I sought help.

Hospitalization actually saved the direction of my life, b/c without proper diagnoses, this probably would have gone on for years, and I would have caused even more chaos than I had. Mind you, this knowledge was not gained with my first hospitalization, but around the 4th or so (I’m a slow learner). But I’m grateful for finally accepting it.

I’m not familiar enough with marijuana for medical reasons, I hope someone who is can share their experience w/you.

But as someone who has been hospitalized due to mania, I can share that I dealt with it by taking my illness more seriously. What I mean by that is, I, personally, accepted that I had Bipolar, it wasn’t going away. I had to be strong enough for myself, that no matter how others might dissuade me or try to discourage my acceptance of it, that I had to do the work necessary to build a better life for myself. I didn’t necessarily share my diagnoses w/every friend, or bring it up, but those who know me, who knew I had been hospitalized – I felt great stigma in accepting a “label.” I can’t tell you how often my best friend said that I didn’t need the meds, I just needed better diet/more exercise/get out more/etc when I struggled with mania/depression. I guess it was just residuals of peer-pressure that I was exerting on myself, really, that made me feel like I needed to get over it and not realize it was a problem. I now know how hard it is for others, who don’t have m.i., to understand it.

This wasn’t a clear trajectory for me – I’ve fallen a lot, and set myself back. But I’ve moved slowly forward; while I still have a lot to tackle (intimacy, retaining relationships, consistency), I feel I’ve gained a lot in accepting my diagnoses.

Anyway, blabbity-blah blah – final anecdote: My father recently got angry with me when I told him I couldn’t meet him, had psych apt. He asked why I still went on and on about this, why I didn’t just stop making excuses and pull myself up, etc etc. I told him mental illness was not like Santa Claus – just because he didn’t believe in it, doesn’t mean it didn’t exist. Not to score points off my dad, but think it was beneficial to set a boundary.

Wishing all the best for you- Bol