Family of the "Patient"

Recently my family celebrated two birthdays; my niece now is 3, and my nephew is 23. So family is on my mind as I write this particular post.

My family was aware of the great changes I experienced – from widowhood in 2009 to a change in cities and jobs in 2010. But the geographical separation limited their intimate knowledge of my experience. Until 2013, when I relocated again – this time to my childhood home. Diagnosed with bipolar disorder weeks after my arrival, my family has witnessed my adjustment in the intervening two years. The drama of my manic episode was played out in my parents’ living room; their phone call to the police department led to my 3-week stay in a local hospital. Despite my being middle aged, I lived in my parents’ home for the first year. They had front-row seats as I adjusted and re-adjusted to medications and insomnia, while also struggling with the fears of unemployment and job searching.

My parents and siblings attempted to be supportive without enabling. They tried to impress upon me that my situation was merely temporary, a belief I had trouble sharing. I am told that after my phone calls to one sister where I expressed my fears, she called our other sister to express her frustrations with my poor attitude.

My mental-health status is far from a family secret. Extended-family were privy to my adaptation. While describing my attempted altercation with the police, a favorite second-cousin reminded me that another relative had been killed by police after a domestic-violence call. During one rough patch when I found myself unable to drive home safely, I ended up at the home of an aunt for about a week; another aunt transported me for an appointment during that stay.

My NAMI Connections support group has become a “chosen family.” With very few exceptions, I have attended my favorite NAMI support group weekly since my diagnosis. They have seen me through fear, mania, depression, and hope. They have offered boundless assistance – from offering the name of a psychiatrist who is taking on new patients to suggesting recruiters who hire accountants. Best of all, they can relate to the experience, which isn’t always rational.

As I improve, I imagine my families look on with guarded optimism. Since acquiring temporary but regular work several months ago, I’m feeling more like myself. My sense of humor has returned. And I’m able to look and act beyond myself; I’m now a partner within my families.