Rachel's Story - secret exposed

I started university at the age of 17 and was really passionate about my chosen subject, theatre.  Unfortunately, though, it was at this time that what I now realize were symptoms of manic-depression (bipolar disorder) began to really emerge and intrude on my everyday life.  I complained constantly to my mom about being tired and unmotivated.  Periods of depression much like the ones I described last week continued intermittently, seemingly without a trigger.  I remember several occasions where I would be driving at night and have to pull the car over to the side of the road because I could no longer see for all the tears streaming down my face.  It felt like my emotions were out of control.

 At other times, I was angry and irritable, frustrated with nearly everything and everyone.  It seemed like no one I encountered could do anything correctly or fast enough.    Oftentimes, my patience expired and I took it out on the people I love most: my family.  Because of this, I lost my self-esteem.  I felt so guilty about the terrible way I was treating them.  I started to believe I was just a mean person, intrinsically bad.  On one occasion I remember going to my brother in tears, begging for him to forgive me for the disrespectful way I had treated him; I was panic-stricken about potentially losing my best friend.  I explained that I had lost all control, that every moment of my life these days was just so difficult, I was struggling minute by minute to exist in this world and keep from killing myself.  It was the first time I’d admitted to anyone that I was suicidal.  I was using so much energy trying to keep this to myself, not to let it show…it was a BIG secret.  I can still remember so vividly how torturous and alone that felt.  Once I admitted my suicidal feelings to my brother I developed even more guilt, this time about asking him to protect my secret…I had begged him not to tell our parents.  He encouraged me to go to them, telling me that he knew they would be supportive and would want to know.  I was still far too ashamed, though, to take that step.  My brother told me through tears that he loved more than anything in the world and that his whole existence would be devastated if I ended my life.  He said he would do anything he could to help me.  His words were enough.  They didn’t stop my suicidal feelings, but they were enough to prevent me from following through.  My mind was still rational enough at that point for this to be an obvious, valid reason to keep fighting.