The Magic Pill

Today while scrolling through my Facebook feed I came across two posts by The Mighty titled "I'm Bipolar and I'd Take That Pill written by Becs Purcell. A response to another Mighty article entitled "I'm Bipolar And I Don't Want To Be Cured" written by Rudy Caseres. (Feel free to take a moment to read them, I'm including links below) It got me thinking about the age old question: If there was a magic pill you could take that would cure your Bipolar Disorder, would you take it? In short, my answer is, no I would not. Below is a response to both articles with alternating commentary as to why I would abstain from a "miracle cure".

I agree wholeheartedly with what Caseres says about Bipolar being part of his identity. In his essay, Caseres makes an interesting statement about Bipolar, calling it neither bad nor good, instead contending that it is ourselves that put the meaning into our diagnosis. (heavily paraphrasing again, do go and take a minute to read his essay) As someone who is relatively new to this world, I think it's only fair to acknowledge that my take on BP is slightly different than someone else who has been diagnosed longer than myself. I celebrated my 1 year diagnostic anniversary in August. There is a lot that I have yet to experience, but there is a lot that I have seen in my many moons of diagnostic journeying as well. I would strongly concede that each person's walk with BP is drastically different. Our neuro-chemistry varies widely and our life experiences play into our realities most certainly. With that being said, I do consider being BP part of my identity. It is as much a part of me as my heritage, my culture, and my blood. I also don't look at being Bipolar negatively, although as stated in my previous post, I would go as far to call it a gift. And while I do believe the above to be true, I would humbly submit that it is possible to partake in both identities simultaneously. I am still a part of the BP community but I am first and foremost a daughter, an older sister, and a partner. I believe that it it important to draw the line somewhere and have boundaries.

In Caseres' essay he shrewedly points out how most mental health advocates focus on the aspects of recovery, and the ability to be stable or high functioning. In his eyes this almost silently encourages us to try and be as "non-Bipolar" as possible in order to fit in to this neurotypical society that we live in. He asks whether it is worthwhile to be himself and celebrate his differences if society will discriminate against him and view him as something that is in need of fixing. He goes on to equate it to the Autistic community and their battle for acceptance within society, asking if they can push to have their rights respected while maintaining their identities, why can't the BP community do the same? Truthfully I don't know how I feel about this. On the one hand there is considerable pressure to be "healthy" and high functioning, but what about those of our community that are't so privileged as to have access to modifying tools such as medication and therapy? Are they to be condemned to a second class life because they don't fit into someone else's box that defines what "normal" is? And yet there are still those who do indeed have access to things like medication but choose not to be medicated for fear of the serious side effects that come with being on mood stabilizers and the like.

However there is the argument to be made for the other side in which one could state that if someone had a broken bone they would seek treatment and strive to return to health, so why should mental health be any different? The only problem I see with this state of mind is that it assumes that people who struggle with their mental health are not "whole" until they are stable, which as anyone who battles mental health whether that be BP or otherwise knows, being stable is an ongoing battle and is far from a resolution. You have to fight to stay within the parameters of high functionality and it is most decidedly not a polar process. Another thing that the broken bone analogy fails to address is that the stigma that surrounds mental health and the like is vastly different than the stigma that envelopes that of a broken bone (if such a thing even exists). Many people refuse diagnosis or treatment for fear of the discrimination that can come from being branded as Bipolar.

Our stigma is different than that of those who struggle with anxiety disorders or major chronic depression. No one mental disorder is more difficult than others, but our day to day experiences are very different. In the last 50-60 years we have made significant strides as a societal whole in our acceptance of mental health. Things like anxiety and depression are more widely acknowledged and openly discussed (at least more so than they have been in the last several decades) and the common person's understanding of anxiety or depression is much more developed than that of a psychosis related diagnosis (i.e Bipolar disorder or Schizophrenia). In short, mental health has come a long way but there are still significant strides that need to be made in order to ensure that we are all equally (and objectively) represented.

In Purcell's response she denotes that she shares her story and without BP she may not have a story to tell at all, but she also wonders if she wouldn't feel the need to do so at all. Instead her life would be filled by her marriage, her career, and her life. There would be no more micro mood monitoring, suicidal thoughts, and instead she would possibly be carefree, and be able to exist in society and have a job that would enabler her to collect a paycheck at the end of each month. To this I pose a singular question: Can a story devoid of conflict even exist? Personally, I would say no, it cannot. Everyone has SOMETHING they battle. Whether that be a mental or physical illness, a socioeconomic struggle such as poverty or homelessness, or something else entirely, to live is to struggle. I believe if I had not been dealt the BP card, I would have been dealt something else. And personally, I am grateful that I have the struggle that I do. I believe it makes me a stronger, more empathetic person who better equipped to help those around her who are hurting or struggling. I wouldn't change that for anything in the world.

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10-17-2018