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My Mom - The Manic Depressive (for kids)

© Colleen Sullivan

My mother had Bipolar Affective Disorder (Manic Depressive Illness was what it was called at that time.). Strangely, her illness began when I was born. I have often wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that, of her three children I would be the one to go on to develop the disorder myself. She was 29 years of age when it began, and in an ironic parallel twenty nine years later I was diagnosed.

Of course, I have no memory of those early years and must rely on what I have been told. In 1950 there was no specific treatment for the illness, and she was subjected to many electroshock (ECT) treatments and heavy tranquilizing medications. She was put in a mental hospital for the first six months of my life and I lived with my grandmother. Did this also help set the stage for my future lapse into Bipolar Disorder?

I have read so much about genes and inheritance of the illness, trying to figure out the how and why of my diagnosis. Why me, and not my brother or sister? We were raised in the same environment and her illness would surely have the same effect on them as it did on me. Or would it? Why me??....is a common question asked by bipolars.

My mom died in 1974 due to physical reasons and never knew that I would be afflicted with the disorder. How often I have wished she were here to answer my questions, support and guide me. I know that more than anyone, she would have understood.

I have vague memories through the early years when things were not "quite right"...memories of a quiet and subdued mother who would lock herself away for days on end, refusing to participate, or even have a meal with her family. I remember other times having an excited, elated Mom who was truly "supermom" and could take on the world.

As I grew older I remember more specific details and events, and it is with regret and shame I recall my reactions. I thought she was lazy, a hypochondriac and procrastinator who would avoid anything resembling work or responsibility. As my sister and I, at an early age took on more and more of the household tasks, she retreated further. Much of the care of my brother, born 9 years after me became our responsibility as well. "Mom, I am so sorry, if only I had been able to see clearly with the eyes that I have now."

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