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Bipolar disorder or manic-depressive disorder are terms that we hear in the media or possibly even from an acquaintance who is talking about knowing someone who has it. This disorder is characterized by extreme mood swings and changes in energy levels. This is a form of mental illness that affects not only the person who has it but also the people that live with the individual. I know this firsthand because my sister has bipolar disorder.
My sister has been seeing a psychiatrist regularly since the age of 12. She tended to always be somewhat emotional and impulsive as a young child. As she got older and started middle school, her outbursts increased and became very aggressive. I would dread the mornings. I would try to get up before everyone else and leave early for school to avoid the morning tantrums, as I would call them. My sister had great difficulty getting ready and functioning some days and would literally lay on the floor screaming while my parents would take turns trying to help her to be able to face the day. My mom is a therapist, so she was usually the one that my sister would respond to best. I could, however, see the toll it was having on my mother and how tired she often looked. I was powerless to help my sister or my parents, and the only thing I could do was pray that today would be one of the better days and she would be able to get on the bus without a scene. As she got into high school, we would often hear her up at all hours of the night arranging her room in different ways or vacuuming.
Thankfully, my sister sees a psychotherapist regularly, and her mood cycles have stabilized with medications and talk therapy. She has had significant improvements in her functioning level, but I would not consider her anywhere close to ‘cured’. She takes medicine to control the mood swings, but she still experiences manic episodes, or high swings as we call it in my household. This is when things become very tense with my parents and my sister. Because there is no rationalizing with her at all when she is manic. My sister becomes very defensive and anything I try to discuss with her she takes as a personal attack and becomes very aggressive. She usually doesn’t remember how bad she gets when she is in this ‘high’ state. I usually just spend a lot of time in my room to avoid conflict with her. Then there is the downswing period. This is when she has trouble getting out of bed and showering. These are the times that she often cries and tells us how much she loves us and will try to not do the things that she does to hurt us anymore. I began to realize that this illness that had such control over my sister also somewhat defined my life on a lesser scale.
I am looking forward to going away to college. I sometimes feel guilty about this. I want a life without mental illness, without the emotions of confusion and pain that my sister’s episodes brought to me. I realize I can be supportive from afar. At times I found myself feeling resentful of all the attention she required from my parents to help her to manage symptoms. I would also experience waves of anxiety. My family always gave 100 percent. One of my parents was always at my baseball games, and they never missed a parent-teacher conference. We had family vacations, and they did their best to instill morals and values in both of us. She just always required more.
I have witnessed my parents go through their own stages of grief, experiencing guilt, blame, and eventually acceptance of the illness. I was placed into therapy at a young age to help me to get through this process and make it out with minimal damage. I heard the statement ‘It’s a disease, it’s not her fault’ hundreds of times. Thankfully, my parents were smart enough to realize the impact on the ‘healthy child’, and that was me. I worked hard at understanding and processing my feelings in regard to witnessing my sister losing herself at times. My sister was supposed to be the one whom I played games with, socialized with, and who at times would be there for me while going through milestones together. Instead of this happening, I watched my sister’s mental functioning deteriorate.
I used to wonder if my experience should really matter since it was my sister that was the one going through the daily struggles to function. I have come to realize that I have gone through some devastating situations, no matter to what degree, and I have been changed by them. Over time, I have learned that I cannot judge or ignore my own feelings. I am learning self-acceptance and that means the scars too. My one hope I still have is that one day this illness will allow me to have the healthy, supportive brother and sister relationship that I still wish for.
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