Bipolar 2 From Inside and Out

Posts tagged ‘bipolar disorder’

Lifelong Meds?

I was in my 20s when I started taking Prozac. Now I’m nearing 70 and still taking SSRIs, though the names have changed over the years.

When I was first diagnosed with depression (which was before I was diagnosed with bipolar 2 and anxiety), I understood it to be a lifelong condition. When my diagnosis changed, I still thought of it as a lifelong disorder requiring lifelong treatment. So far, that has proved to be true. I have been on antidepressants ever since and fully expect to stay on them forever, or at least until a cure is at last found.

Recently, however, the New York Times published an article that examined whether the received wisdom was still true. Did someone, once prescribed antidepressants, whether for depression, OCD, PTSD, or another mental illness, have to continue taking them for the rest of their life? The article noted that the FDA’s approval of the drugs was based on trials that lasted only a few months. Other “in-depth” studies lasted two years or fewer. The Times also noted, “Current clinical guidelines do not specify the optimal amount of time they should be taken for.”

Many people stop taking antidepressants on their own, based on side effects and a dislike of them, the fact that the drugs seem to stop working (either fairly quickly or over the long term), or simply because they dislike taking pills. According to the Times, however, “The answer depends on your symptoms, diagnosis, response to the medication, side effects, and other factors—all things to discuss with a medical professional.” In other words, cold turkey isn’t the way to go. With psychotropic drugs such as benzos, it’s positively dangerous, and quitting antidepressants brings the risk of falling back into the depression you and your doctor were trying to alleviate. Tapering off the drug with the help of your prescribing physician is recommended.

And about those side effects—some disappear over time as the body gets used to the medication, but others, particularly annoying ones like weight gain, sexual dysfunction, and possibly increased heart symptoms, linger. A doctor can prescribe a different drug in hopes that the side effects will not be so severe, but they may only be similar or worse. Patients generally don’t like tinkering with their medication and having to wait weeks until the effects appear and the side effects disappear. It’s a tedious and discouraging prospect.

What do the clinical guidelines say? Experts say that antidepressants, once they work, should be taken for four to nine months. Any quicker than that, relapse may occur. To maintain the positive effects, they should be taken for two to four years. Taking them for longer periods is sometimes advised, depending on how long the depression lasted and whether the patient has had several depressive episodes. Long-term use depends on whether the illness has continued for a long time and whether the depression is very severe, causing hospital stays and a loss of the ability to perform daily functions.

All in all, says Dr. Paul Nestadt, the medical director of the Center for Suicide Prevention at the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health, “I’m still of the opinion that, in people who have real depression, the benefits outweigh the risk.”

So, continuing to take antidepressants is really up to me and my doctor. At this point in my life, I see my doctor quarterly for a med check. We sometimes tinker with the dosages, based on my symptoms at the time, but for the most part, we stick with what has been working. As the saying goes, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” And since it ain’t broke, I’m content to keep taking my antidepressant (and other medications) for the foreseeable future.

Note: This post is not medical advice and should not be taken as such. Discuss medical questions with your physician, especially before stopping a medication.

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Love, Hate, and Mania

Mania, or in my case hypomania, is easy to love. It creates a buzz that carries you along, although you’re not always sure where to. Ordinary things become extraordinary, and extraordinary things become magical. I love mania. It can be fizzy, like champagne.

I hate mania, too. When it leaves, it leaves a hole behind. It leaves depression that’s like a nasty hangover. And many times, it can leave consequences. Sometimes dangerous. Sometimes shameful. Always unexpected.

I’m in the grip of hypomania right now. I recently got through a series of medical difficulties. Now, I’m back home, and not dependent on nurses and aides to bring me meals and wipe my ass. It’s glorious. And I’m celebrating by enjoying a burst of benevolence. It’s holiday time, and I’m back to my computer with a debit card and a desire to shop. That gives me an excuse, if not a reason.

I’m buying gifts for Dan and a few friends. I’ve bought so many for Dan that, now that the packages have started arriving, even I am a bit embarrassed. Fortunately, he has a birthday in April, and I can save some of the gifts for that.

In the past, Dan had the advantage. He could follow me around and watch what I oohed and aahed over, then sneak back and get it for me. But I am buying exclusively online now because I rarely go out. Dan doesn’t know how to buy online. I’ve offered to show him, but all the financial stuff goes to me, so I’d know where he bought stuff and how much he spent on it. This leaves only the store where he works to buy gifts. And he says he doesn’t know what to get me anymore, as I spend most of the day in pajamas and don’t wear earrings at home, so clothes and jewelry are pretty much out.

Anyway, I’m definitely manicky. I can tell. And I’m definitely spending more than I should. Fortunately, I just got paid for a freelance job I did, more than I usually get, so I haven’t gotten us into financial trouble, though it was a close thing. The check came just in time.

So. I’ve loved buying presents. I hate that I almost overdrew the bank account. I’m happy that I was saved by a check. I hate that the shower of presents may embarrass Dan, who won’t be able to reciprocate in a like manner.

Manic and hypomanic episodes are like that. A buzz and then self-doubt. A thrill and then regret.

I used to wish that I had mania too, instead of just depression. My theory was that if I were manic, I would get more accomplished. But I once knew a woman who had bipolar 1, rather than 2, so her manic episodes were more extreme. And her plans crashed and burned around her. She would start a project, tear it up, and redo it, even more than once. Her sense of humor was extreme and not really funny. (Once she mimed swallowing a whole bottle of pills.)

After that, I no longer wanted to be manic. But, as it happens, when my depression stabilized, my hypomania had more room to express itself. I haven’t indulged in the more dangerous behaviors, like drinking and driving. But this month, I can’t deny that I have hypomania.

I’m getting better at telling when it’s going to happen. Once I’m in the episode, I know. I feel the buzz. I notice the bank account dwindling.

Dan notices when I’m getting manicky, too. I can usually tell him that I feel it coming on and check it out with him. But this time, secrecy was part and parcel (literally) of it. Once it was getting beyond my control, I told him. Not about almost overdrawing our account, though. Once there was money back in the bank account, it didn’t seem necessary.

I’m not quite over this episode. I’m cooled down enough to rein in the buying. Just a couple more small presents for friends. I swear. It’s progress, anyway.

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What Won’t Work

Actor/comedian Stephen Fry discovered at age 37 that he “had a diagnosis that explains the massive highs and miserable lows I’ve lived with all my life.” It was, of course, bipolar disorder. In documentaries, podcasts, and books, he has talked very openly about his condition, spreading the word about stigma and the necessity of getting help.

Fry once said, “You can’t reason yourself back into cheerfulness any more than you can reason yourself into an extra six inches of height.” And he’s right. If one could, I would have done so. With years of debate behind me and an extensive knowledge of rhetorical fallacies, I can argue nearly any proposition into the ground. I should have been able to reason my way out of depression.

But no.

Fry was right. There’s no way to reason cheerfulness into your life. Emotions are not so easily controllable, especially if you have bipolar disorder or another mental illness.

Nor can you reason yourself into having thicker skin. Throughout my youth, I was described as “too sensitive.” I was genuinely puzzled. I had no idea how to make my skin thicker (and it was never explained to me how such a thing could be done). It took a long time and many life lessons and mistakes to make any progress at all.

There are other things that won’t make you mentally well, either. Expecting the first medication you try to be the cure is unrealistic. It can take a long time (in my case, years) before a medication or even a combination of medications will ease your suffering. And if you can’t work out a medication regimen that works, other treatments such as ECT, TMS, EMDR, or ketamine therapy are not guaranteed to work, or at least not completely. If you go into those kinds of therapy expecting a complete cure, you may be disappointed.

Trying to wait it out or tough it out is likewise ineffective. Again, this is a strategy I have tried. I used to believe that my depressive episodes would abate if only I waited through them until they went away naturally. Eventually, my mood might improve slightly, but that was due to another mood cycle kicking in. Naturally, depression was still there, waiting for me to fall back into it.

I know this may be controversial to say, but religion won’t cure mental illness, either. Having a supportive religious community around you can be an asset—if you happen to find a church, synagogue, mosque, or other community that treats people with mental illness in a caring way. Prayer and sacred music can be a great adjunct to other treatments, but by themselves, they’re not a cure.

Exercise and yoga are not cures. They are also great adjuncts to other treatments. They can increase your number of spoons—if you have enough spoons to do them. But if someone with bipolar disorder or depression can’t manage to get out of bed, how are they going to avail themselves of the benefits?

Likewise nature. It’s a great way to lift your spirits to walk among spring flowers or autumn leaves or to plant a vegetable garden. But again, you have to be at a certain level of recovery to be able to do these things.

Changes in your physical circumstances may lighten your mood for a while, but they aren’t a cure. My mother used to believe that if only I got a better job, my depression would lift. And it did, but only for a little while. It certainly didn’t cure me. There were plenty of things about the job and about my brain that brought the depression roaring back.

So, what are we left with? Therapy and meds, and other medical treatments such as ECT, TMS, and maybe ketamine or other novel medications. One can hope that science will discover better ways, like fMRI, that can determine which treatments will be more effective. But it’s far from clear how soon that will be and when they will be available to the average person.

So, when is your reason an asset? When you’re deciding which treatment and which adjuncts are right (or possible) for you. For example, I had to think long and hard—and do extensive research—on whether I should try ECT.

I’m not a doctor, and Your Mileage May Vary, but for now, all I can recommend is to keep on keeping on with what we know can work. There’s no guarantee that these options will work, at least not for everyone. But they’re the best options we have.

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The Difference a Diagnosis Makes

Is a diagnosis of mental illness a bad thing or a good thing? It depends on whom you ask.

On one hand, some argue that a diagnosis is merely a label. It puts people into neat little boxes defined by the DSM and determines how society reacts to and treats them. (The DSM, of course, is for doctors, but some version of what it says sneaks out into the general public. Then it’s fair game for tossing around and labeling people by the uninformed or the barely-informed.)

The labels are harmful, this school of thought goes. A schizophrenic is violent and incurable. Bipolar disorder means daily giant mood swings and real danger if said person goes “off their meds.” Narcissists, gaslighters, and sociopaths are people who act in any way that you don’t appreciate. Autism, notoriously and according to people who should know better, is the gateway to a valueless life.

With diagnosis come stereotyping and shame. Rather than reacting to these harmful effects, some people focus instead on what creates the stereotyping and shame—the diagnosis, which is seen as a lifelong label. Protests decrying this labelling happen outside psychiatric and psychological gatherings and garner media attention. And if that makes life easier for a person with a diagnosis or generates greater understanding, then it’s a good thing.

Diagnosis-as-label is an example of the harm that diagnosis can do. Nor is it limited to the general public. Once a person is in the system with a diagnosis of whatever condition, they’re generally stuck with it. Reassessment and a realization that a diagnosis is misapplied come too rarely. Personality disorders, for example, are squishy around the edges. Similar criteria could lead to a diagnosis of narcissistic personality disorder or sociopathy, to use an extreme example. Careful consideration will distinguish between the two, but how often are such distinctions applied? Once “in the system” with a particular diagnosis, a person tends to remain in that slot despite different doctors and different treatments.

But that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. A diagnosis, rather than being a lifelong label, is meant to be a signpost pointing toward likely development of the illness and ways to treat it successfully. That’s the ideal, of course, and sometimes, being only human, practitioners can get sloppy or too narrowly focused and add to the ills of bad diagnosing.

I can truly speak only for what happened to me. At a certain point in my life, I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but it was clear to me that I was not mentally healthy, the term used at the time. I went to a community mental health center and was diagnosed with major depression. That was a good diagnosis, as far as it went. It put my life more squarely in focus and allowed me to get the medication and therapy I so desperately needed.

I lived for many years with that diagnosis and was considerably helped by the treatments for it. But, eventually, a doctor put together the puzzle pieces and rediagnosed me. Instead of having depression, I had bipolar disorder, type 2, with anxiety. This diagnosis more clearly reflected my symptoms and led to more effective treatment. In that way, one diagnosis improved my life, and a second, more accurate one improved my life more. I can only think of this as a good thing.

Was the diagnosis seen by some as a label and a stereotype? Of course. I can think of one particular coworker, hearing that I was bipolar, gave me the look that said, “You have two heads,” pasted on a strained smile, and backed away slowly. But, on the whole, the diagnosis helped me.

A recent article in the New York Times had this to say about diagnosis: “The shame that once accompanied many disorders has lifted. Screening for mental health problems is now common in schools. Social media gives us the tools to diagnose ourselves. And clinicians, in a time of mental health crisis, see an opportunity to treat illnesses early….As our diagnostic categories expand to include ever milder versions of disease, researchers propose that the act of naming a malady can itself bring relief.”

It’s something to hope for, anyway.

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A Bad Decision? Or Something Else?

I’ve been beating myself up for years. Feeling blame and shame. Not just for years, really—literally for decades. That’s a long time to carry the weight of those feelings.

I was in college, when many people make bad decisions as a function of venturing into a less restricted, more adult life. I certainly made my share of bad decisions.

I wrote papers the night before they were due and didn’t make a second draft. I skipped reading Moby Dick, even though it was on the syllabus for the course. I took Russian instead of Japanese simply because it was offered later in the morning, and I wanted to sleep in.

I switched from being a linguistics major because I thought there were no jobs in it, despite not researching the field or asking my advisor. I floundered, considering hotel management and landscape architecture for no particular reason.

Then there was the worst decision I ever made, the one that has haunted me all these years. I met a man—we’ll call him Steve—and went home with him that same night. A few months later, I moved in with him. This led to a year of gaslighting, depression, and more bad decisions about prescription drugs.

So, how can I explain my bad decisions? Some were simply the kind of decisions that a person out on their own for the first time makes. These don’t affect me the way the relationship with Steve did. Steve told my parents about our relationship instead of letting me do it in my own time, in my own way. That soured my interactions with them for quite a while.

Why did I behave the way I did? An avowed feminist, I let this man take over my life. I put up with emotional abuse for almost a year. I denied that I was mad at him for all I’d been through. I put all the burden of blame and shame on myself. And there it sat for decades. I had flashbacks and bad dreams. I had difficulty with further relationships.

Then, recently, a new idea came to me. At the time when all this happened, I knew I was depressed. I had never heard of bipolar disorder, much less been diagnosed with it. Now that I do know and have been diagnosed (and seen therapists and been properly medicated), my disorder has still leaned largely toward the depressive side. I do remember having hypomanic jags in which I spent too much, and a larger one when I got wrapped up in writing and tried to market a novel to 100 agents and publishers.

But the one aspect of bipolar disorder I never considered was hypersexuality. The idea that could be the reason I dove into the relationship with Steve so quickly and so deeply was a revelation to me. I hadn’t had any lightning-quick sexual encounters until then. I hadn’t thrown myself into them so wholly and so destructively.

Of course, I can’t blame hypersexuality for the whole situation. I did what I did, and I chose to do it at the time. That’s on me.

But the decades of shame and blame? Now that I know what hypersexuality is and what it feels like, I don’t have to carry that burden with confusion, devastated by what happened, and wondering why it all happened. I can see that I have carried those feelings with me for too long. I can perhaps lay down that burden, understand why it might have happened, and move on.

I have made plenty of bad decisions, but I don’t have to cling to one of them and beat myself up for it. Perhaps, with this new insight, I can at last move on, chalking it up to a bad decision under the influence of hypomania rather than a lifelong journey of guilt.

Perhaps, now that I understand how hypersexuality may have played a part, I can forgive myself.

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I’m Not Fragile

TW: Suicidal Ideation

When my husband and I were looking for a new house, we checked out various options. I found a house I liked, but it was too far from the businesses and services we used. Besides, it had a water tower in the backyard (which I was hoping Dan wouldn’t notice).

Then Dan found a beyond-fixer-upper that was crumbling into pieces. He looked at it as a challenge. I told him that if I had to live in it for more than a month, I would be compelled to commit suicide. To this day, I’m not sure whether I was serious.

At last, we found just the right house. Three bedrooms, two of which would be turned into studies. Over an acre of ground with many trees. It was a little more than we could afford, but we decided that this was our dream home.

It also had a small creek running through the property—more like a run-off, really. Dan’s mom tried to talk us out of buying the house. She had been through a flood many years earlier and feared that the tiny creek could possibly get out of control and destroy our house as hers had been.

“Besides,” she said, “Think of Janet. She’s fragile.”

By “fragile,” it was clear she meant my mental health was sometimes shaky, or beyond shaky.

I had made no secret of my bipolar disorder. At first, Mom Reily didn’t “believe” in mental illness, but eventually she admitted that there was something wrong with my brain. But it pissed me off that she used my mental condition to try to influence our choice of houses. However fragile I might be, there was no way that a tiny creek could break me.

I was not that fragile.

Nor was I fragile when our dream home was taken out by a tornado. I survived it, though I was on the upper story when the roof came off. I dealt with the insurance company, the motels, the rental property, our finances, and many of the other details.

I wasn’t fragile then.

Of course, there were times when my mental condition was fragile. There was the time when I was overwhelmed by three full years of a depressive episode, unable to do anything, from self-care to reading. And there was the times when suicide crossed my mind. Sometimes, it was idly wondering the plane I was on might crash (passive suicidal ideation) or if a fall from the balcony I was on would kill me.

Then there was the time I had active suicidal ideation. I had made a plan and everything. But I dithered so long over how, when, and where that the feeling passed, and I didn’t follow through. I didn’t tell anyone for decades, but then I told Dan.

So, have I been fragile? Yes.

But those were all times when there was something wrong inside my head. Flooding and tornados didn’t break me. The times I was fragile were all things that happened because of SMI, not purely physical circumstances.

Now—I’m not broken. I’m not even fragile. Years of therapy, years of meds, years of not experiencing floods and tornados, and years of supportive love from Dan have made me not fragile, but strong at the broken places.

I don’t fear the future. I’m not fragile anymore.

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Politics, Mood, and Self-Care

It’s difficult for me to maintain a positive mental attitude when I’m troubled by bipolar disorder, especially the depression part. It’s even more difficult in today’s political landscape.

I don’t care what your political persuasion is or who you voted for. I don’t care if you’re for or against DEI or ICE. What I care about these days is what’s happening to mental healthcare in our country. But let’s leave government policies and programs for another day. Right now, I want to discuss politics and mood disorders.

We seem to be overwhelmed by politics, but also by our reactions to politics. Friendships have broken. Families have been torn apart. Lots of people suffer from cognitive dissonance when their brains try to balance their love for friends and family and distress at their views.

None of us knows what to expect next. The difficulty isn’t limited to one side or the other. People who want smaller government are learning that the cuts will include public services such as extreme weather forecasting and disaster recovery. Others with differing views are afraid to travel abroad because they fear that, even with passports, they may be detained when they try to return.

The situation is especially hard on people with mood disorders. People who have phobias or anxiety disorders can find their feelings increasingly out of control. Those who suffer from depression have exaggerated fears. Most debilitating of all is the not-knowing. Am I overreacting? Are these fears reasonable or exaggerated? Will the things I fear never happen? Should I watch the news? Should I avoid watching the news?

I’m suffering from news-dependent symptoms myself. I hesitate to discuss politics with friends unless I already know their opinions are similar to mine. And with new acquaintances on Facebook, I share memes and chat about books.

But when it comes to not getting overwhelmed, I have a few suggestions. Most of them you may already know—they’re versions of basic self-care.

Remove yourself from the trigger. Get out of the room or the house when the talk turns to politics. Offer to go on a beer run. Leave the room and make yourself a cup of tea. Tell your friends or relatives you need to get some air. The outdoors is largely a politics-free zone, aside from bumper stickers and billboards. If you walk with a friend, stay on non-threatening topics like your pets. And prepare a neutral topic to suggest: Do you think the Dodgers have a chance this year? What do you think of Beyoncé’s country album? Should I go on a Disney cruise this year or a trek to the Grand Canyon?

Self-soothing. Music is another way to distract yourself from the present chaos when you take that walk or any other time. Personally, I prefer music with lyrics, as instrumental music gives me too much time and space to contemplate difficult topics. If you wear earbuds (even without music), people are less likely to engage you in conversation.

Use distractions. If you read, stay away from news magazines, the internet, and newspapers. Instead, you may want to revisit books from your childhood. There’s nothing wrong with reading children’s books. They may take you back to a more pleasant time, or you may discover aspects of a book that you never noticed when you were young. Or try a new genre, such as a romance or mystery that isn’t likely to contain much politics. Old classics like Dickens or Austen are good choices, too.

Limit your exposure. Allow yourself 20 minutes for listening to or reading the news. You can do this more than once a day, but leave a couple of hours in between. Clean the bathroom or watch a reality show. Organize your closet. Plant flowers or herbs.

Do things that lift you up. Pray. Sing. Bake bread. Work on a journal or a painting. Do life-affirming activities that will improve your outlook and your spirit.

Oh, yeah. And remember to take your meds, especially if you have an anti-anxiety pill. You’ll need them.

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Growth Mindset and Mental Illness

Let’s start with a little levity, a quote from Groucho Marx: “Change is inevitable—except from a vending machine.” Putting the vending machine aside, Groucho was right. Change is inevitable. Even if you think that your condition will never change, your circumstances certainly will. Friends may come and go. You may run out of your medications or your therapist may go on vacation. With bipolar disorder in particular, change is not only inevitable, it’s part of the definition of the condition.

When it comes to change, psychologists speak of two types of mindset: fixed and growth. Both have impacts on mental illness and how you adjust to it. Both mindsets have to do with how you approach the world and, particularly, setbacks in life.

A person with a fixed mindset believes that their circumstances cannot change. To some extent, that’s true. Bipolar disorder may get better or worse, but it’s always there. There are treatments, but no cure. A person with a fixed mindset believes that they’ll never get better, their symptoms will never lessen, and that it’s fruitless to try. They believe that their traits and their limitations are carved in stone.

Someone with a growth mindset believes that change can happen. Their circumstances can improve. They may not be able to eradicate the disorder, but they can improve their functioning. There are things they can do to affect their lives and their condition. A growth mindset also correlates with resilience, the ability to bounce back from setbacks. It’s also been cited as a tool to deal with anxiety, depression, and “stress due to life events.”

It’s easy to see that for those with mental difficulties, a growth mindset is preferable. But is your mindset predetermined, or can it change? The good news is that someone with a fixed mindset can develop a growth mindset—if they try. But since the person with the fixed mindset tends to believe that positive change isn’t possible, it’s difficult to move from one mindset to the other.

But it’s not impossible. There are exercises for all ages that can foster the development of a growth mindset. For example, children can be introduced to stories of famous people who experienced many failures before they accomplished their successes. This can reinforce the belief that failure isn’t permanent; one can learn from it. They can also learn the power of the word “yet.” Instead of saying simply, “I can’t ice skate,” they can change that to “I don’t know how to ice skate yet.” It leaves open the possibility that they can still learn to skate, especially if they get instruction and practice. Teens or adults can set out to learn a minor or silly skill like juggling or sudoku puzzles. Learning purely for the sake of learning can prove to them that improvement is possible and enjoyable. Interventions that explain the neuroplasticity of the brain can also foster belief that traits are not immutable.

Fixed and growth mindsets have been studied as factors in mental health. For example, young people who had a fixed mindset were 58% more likely to experience severe symptoms of depression and anxiety than those with a growth mindset. Because they view improvement as possible, those with a growth mindset understand that anxiety is a temporary condition. Even someone with bipolar disorder can experience changes in symptoms, including positive changes. The changes may not be permanent, but they exist and can recur.

The takeaways are that a growth mindset promotes growth, change, and improvement in psychological symptoms such as depression and anxiety as well as other difficult life circumstances. That it is possible for a person with a fixed mindset to develop a growth mindset. And that a growth mindset will help a person deal with the difficulties and setbacks that mental illness so often involves.

In other words, you can get change from that vending machine after all!

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My Two Diagnoses

For all my childhood, I assumed I had depression, though I didn’t know that it was a psychiatric diagnosis. I was always a moody child, given to bursting into tears at the slightest provocation.

My first really major depressive meltdown came when I was humiliated by another child at a birthday party. I ran home, curled up in a beanbag chair, and sobbed for days. The only thing that snapped me out of it was the fact that my mother was being hurt by it too. She was crying too and had no idea what to do about my emotional implosion. At that point, I went down the street and yelled at the girl who had instigated the incident. (I suppose this could have been bipolar rage. I was pretty incoherent.)

I still remember this event as clearly as when it happened.

Another time, some friends were making fun of the way I laughed. Without saying a word, I got in my car and drove home, removing myself from what was distressing me. They followed me home and apologized. Then, I practiced laughing until I came up with something more acceptable. I think I accomplished it, though who really knows?

In my college years, I spiraled further. I was prescribed benzos for a TMJ problem, and I was in such a bad emotional place that I supplemented them with wine. There was some risky sexual behavior, too. It was the first time I recognized that I had a hypomanic episode. After I got out of the situation, I stopped relying on the benzos. (Actually, I had first experienced benzos in my junior high school years, when they were prescribed for an uncontrollable tic.)

Eventually, I went into therapy where I was diagnosed, as I expected, with depression. I continued that way for years, being prescribed various medications but still having symptoms.

Finally, I went to a new psychiatrist who, after some time, said he thought I had bipolar disorder. Eventually, we found a drug regimen that worked to alleviate my symptoms to an acceptable point.

I was still having symptoms, though, before the right cocktail was achieved. I was unable to work, get out of bed, or do much of anything, unhappy all the time. I applied for disability—and didn’t get it. When I got my file from Dr. R., I saw that my diagnosis was actually both bipolar and anxiety.

That threw me for a while. But looking backward and forward, I realize that he was right. I had anxiety episodes when I was a kid, usually regarding finding and keeping friends. I was terrified when my high school counselor suggested therapy. (I declined.) I panicked when it looked like I would have to go to community college instead of a four-year school, which I had always assumed was in my future. When I did get to that college, I had a mixture of the depression and anxiety, and took a year off to work and reset my brain.

Now, years later, my bipolar disorder is largely under control. But the anxiety haunts me to this day. I am anxious about family finances (which I am in charge of). Many nights my brain won’t shut up and I can’t sleep. (Sometimes it won’t shut up about the unfortunate episodes in my past.) I had massive anxiety recently regarding a trip to Florida.

So, I think Dr. R. was right when he diagnosed me with bipolar and anxiety. One has been tamed, but the other lingers. I am now working with Dr. G. to help me alleviate the anxiety without letting the bipolar kick up again. It’s a delicate balance.

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Is a Keto Diet Good for Bipolar?

I’m sure you’ve read the ads and articles that say apple cider vinegar is good for anything that ails you. There are also supposed “superfoods” that activate your immune system and ward off diseases. Then there are diets—Mediterranean, paleo, Atkins, gluten-free, intermittent fasting, vegetarian, vegan, low-carb, sugar-free, South Beach, carnivore, and more. Each of them is supposed to be good for your body or some part of it. And that may be true. I can’t say that one or another is good for everyone.

But what about people with bipolar disorder? A quick Google tells me that Omega 3, folic acid, probiotics, magnesium, walnuts, whole grains, CoQ10, tryptophan, Vitamin D, Vitamin B12, Vitamin C, and Acetylcysteine (which loosens thick mucus) are recommended nutrients for us.

But the diet (or eating plan) I’ve heard the most about in relation to mental disorders is the keto diet.

First, let’s look at what the keto diet actually is. It involves consuming a very low amount of carbohydrates and replacing them with fat to help your body burn fat for energy. That means you should avoid sugary foods, grains and starches, most fruit, beans and legumes, root vegetables and tubers, low-fat or diet products, unhealthy fats, alcohol, and sugar-free diet foods.

What’s left? Good fats like avocados and EVOO, as well as meat, fatty fish, eggs, butter and cream, cheese, nuts, seeds, low-carb veggies, and herbs and spices. This diet is supposed to be good for people with neurological disorders like epilepsy, heart disease, cancer, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and traumatic brain injuries.

Lately, however, the keto diet has been investigated as being good for mood disorders including depression and bipolar disorder.

Healthline reports that, based on the idea that a keto diet is good for those with epilepsy and that anti-seizure medications are often used to treat bipolar disorder, “during a depressed or manic episode, energy production slows in the brain. Eating a ketogenic diet can increase energy in the brain.” Also, the keto diet lowers the amount of sodium in the cells, which is partially the way lithium and other mood stabilizers work. They note, however, that very little research has been done on this theory.

However, UCLA Health is planning such a study. They note that, while most previous studies have focused on adults, the new study will include youth and young adults who have bipolar disorder. Participants will go on a ketogenic diet for 16 weeks while continuing their usual medications. Dieticians, psychologists, and psychiatrists are involved and there will be daily blood tests measuring metabolic indicators. In the future, the researchers say, they will compare the keto diet with another meal plan such as the Mediterranean diet.

Stanford has conducted a pilot study on the ketogenic diet. They say that, in addition to improving metabolic conditions, the diet improved patients’ psychiatric conditions and metabolic health while they continued with their medications. The results, published in Psychiatry Research, said that dietary interventions such as the keto diet may assist in treating mental illness.

A French study that was reported in Psychology Today focused on people with major depressive disorder, bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia. Symptoms improved in all the participants who followed the diet for more than two weeks. Almost two-thirds were able to reduce their medication.

There seem to be drawbacks to a keto diet, however. Healthline also notes that the diet can lead to shortages of vitamins B, C, and D, as well as calcium, magnesium, and iron. There can also be digestive difficulties such as nausea, vomiting, and constipation. They recommend supervision by a physician. Other people report mood swings related to the keto diet.

The advice from WebMD is that there is “insufficient evidence” to recommend the diet as beneficial for mood disorders. They don’t recommend it as a treatment option. As with any diet plan, consulting your doctor first is a good idea.

As for me, I have my doubts about currently (or formerly) trendy diets and superfoods, though the Mediterranean diet sounds good and balanced to me. Am I likely to try the keto diet? Well, I would miss bread, fruit, potatoes, and sugar-free products. Stocking up on meat, fish, avocados, cheese, herbs, and spices I could manage rather easily. But until more results are in from the various studies, I probably won’t change the way I eat very much.

As always, Your Mileage May Vary.

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Mental Health

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