This is a letter (fictional letter) written by someone with bipolar disorder. It provides a personal view of this debilitating disease:
To whom it may concern:
Everything is hopeless, but at the same time, well. I can't help but mull over my life's tides and turns, my time misused and wasted, my relationships gone sour. Cecilia Myers, my dear wife, please know that I do and will always hold a special place for you in my heart. Dr. Timothy, my ever-forgiving, always helpful psychologist, thank you for your treatment. Thank you for putting up with me all those days. My kids, Josh and Rebecca; you are my 'resilient little soldiers,' and I thank you so much for that. With this said, I need to pour out my heart and soul onto these pages, for only then will I feel complete.
When I was diagnosed with this debilitating disease ten years ago--manic depression (or as the doctor called it, bipolar disorder)--I guess I really shouldn't have been surprised.
I've always known something was wrong. Cecilia, before you knew me (when I was about 23 in grad school), I started to suffer from extreme mood swings. Uncontrollable, unpredictable changes of character haunted my daily existence. I remember one night, I was so depressed I considered suicide. Studying was pointless; I believed I would, inevitably, fail all my classes. A straight 'A' student at the time, I couldn't seem to stop myself from thinking pessimistically. My life was horrible; I was always sad. I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't concentrate. I tried taking some friend's marijuana to alleviate my depression; that didn't help. I lost weight rapidly, because I barely ate anything. This deep depression made my life a living hell. Day after day I lived in an inferno; the flames were closing...