Is my dad bipolar quiz

This test is recommended for people who experience systematic episodes of unexplained mood changes in their lives, both positive and negative.

Bipolar affective disorder (abbr. BAD , formerly manic-depressive psychosis or MDP) is a mental illness that manifests itself in the form of an alternation of mood background: from excellent / super-excellent (hypomania / mania phase) to reduced (depressive phase). The duration and frequency of phase alternation can vary from daily fluctuations to fluctuations throughout the year.

This test is a Russian version for detecting hypomanic conditions, the original name is HCL-32 (Hypomania Checklist) .
Typically used to detect BAD type II among patients with a current diagnosis of RDD (recurrent depressive disorder).

I remind you: this disease is unambiguously related to pathology, only a psychiatrist or psychotherapist can deal with diagnosis and treatment.

Instructions for filling

Try to recall a period of "elevated" state, which at the same time was not caused by drugs or alcohol and lasted more than two days (4-6 days in a row). How did you feel then?

Please answer the questions about how you felt while on the rise no matter how you feel today.

Lifting I:

• An overview of major mood disorders (article).
• Bipolar spectrum diagnostic scale (test).
• Young Mania Scale (test).

All about bipolar disorder, or what is really hidden behind the "bipolar"? Part 1

Advanced Bipolar Disorder. Part 2

My personal hell: How is it

Reading hour: (Amount of words: )

– Nina*, what is wrong with you?
– I feel bad…
– Why? What's happened?
- Nothing happened, I'm just FUCKING BAD!
– How so?
This story is about a total wall of misunderstanding. Lack of understanding of society, loved ones and oneself about how to live and function with a mental illness. For me personally, it's survival. My personal hell.
Reference: Bipolar disorder, also known as manic-depressive psychosis, is a mental illness characterized by atypical mood swings, fluctuations in energy and ability to function. Unlike normal mood swings with its ups and downs, which are inherent in everyone and everyone, the symptoms of bipolar disorder can lead to very serious consequences. They can destroy personal relationships, affect the quality of work or school performance, and even lead to suicide. Bipolar disorder is treatable and those suffering from the condition are able to lead full and productive lives.
From early childhood, I saw a clear difference between myself and the people around me. It was hard not to notice when they poke your nose into it, like a cat that shat in the wrong place.
I grew up in a small village where everyone was the same and it was not welcomed to be very different. My words, actions, logic of actions and thinking were not typical for this place and time, therefore they were sharply condemned. First of all, my parents. Phrases: "What, can't you be like everyone else?", "What will people say?" and “You do everything completely wrong” became the slogans of my difficult childhood.
I expected praise from parents and society for my uniqueness, but in return I received only disapproval. Because of this, I had no one to talk to, to throw out my experiences, which every year accumulated and took root deep in my psyche. Because of this, I was notorious and insecure. In the end, I closed myself off from a world that was so hostile to me. It felt like I didn't belong here.
At the age of 10, I had the idea to take my own life. At 12, I made my first attempt - I drank some pills from my parent's first aid kit, but it all ended in a slight malaise.
Transitional age was a real nightmare. I started with half a turn. She was quick-tempered, over-emotional, cried for any reason and without, took offense at everything in a row, closed herself off from people more and more.
I was severely “pinned” by mood swings and negative thinking. Fussy, awkward and restless, I kept everything to myself, and it seemed that I was about to explode. So there was another suicide attempt. I remember cutting my veins with a blade when my mother came into the room and called for dinner (she did not understand anything). Then it clicked in my head: “You just don’t have the right to do this, mom won’t survive. She didn't deserve this. "
I didn't care about my dad, because he gave me a lot of complexes. The rejection of his appearance and obsession with losing weight is the result of his so-called jokes about being fat and the like. Mom, although she did not understand me, often supported me in my creative endeavors and, most importantly, believed in me. I couldn't hurt her like that!
Since then, she held on and tried not to bring herself to suicide. Alcohol and marijuana helped to cope. It was with their help that I was able to stay afloat. I was thrown into extremes, so I had to somehow ground myself. I usually drank alcohol on the “up” when energy was in full swing, brilliant ideas gushed out and it seemed that I could move mountains. At such moments, I was “on horseback”, and I wanted to “throw firewood”, that is, to strengthen this rare state for me. Alcohol in these moments made me even more confident and relaxed. The fears instantly disappeared. From a gray tucked up mouse, I suddenly turned into a shocking young lady who attracts everyone's attention.
But there was another side of the coin - the decline. The energy ran out quickly, and it took a long time to recover. My hands dropped, I didn’t want to do anything, I didn’t believe in myself, and brilliant ideas now seemed worthless. The depression was horrendous. To survive this state, I smoked grass, and it became easier. You could exhale and say: “But it’s not so bad after all.”
As the years went on, the swing became more and more sweeping.
After the institute, I stayed to live in Kyiv, so the question became an edge - always be able to provide myself with accommodation and food. For a while, I got it. At times, I even made good money and there was progress in terms of my career.
But the mood swings became more and more severe, and the intervals became very uneven. Every year, the bright "ups" became shorter, and the "recession" lasted longer and longer.
It became obvious that something was 100% wrong with me. I looked at people and realized that they live differently. That it is not so difficult for them to be in society, build relationships, work, and the like. I did not understand how to communicate with people at all, and even more so with the opposite sex. I didn’t really have normal relationships with men - only continuous toxic illusions at a distance, which brought only suffering. My unhealthy attachments to men can only be compared with heroin addiction, which I consider the worst of all addictions.
I understood that I needed to somehow resolve the situation. Desperately looking for answers in esotericism, Buddhism, acid and, in principle, the results were, but quickly dissipated. There were not enough resources to practice Buddhist practices on a daily basis, because during the recession I fell into depression and apathy and “scored” everything. And the knowledge and revelations received during the “journeys” through the consciousness had to be not only comprehended, but also strenuously applied in life, but again, during the recession, everything went to hell. So I gave up trying and just kept grounding myself with alcohol and weed.
There were no special problems with the first one, as the duration of the rises became shorter and shorter, and, alas, I became addicted to smoking. It got to the point where I was under the influence all the time. I became hyper-anxious, anxious and fussy. I thought very negatively and depressingly. Chaos reigned in my head and in my life. No order.
On the "rise" I spent a lot of money - I'm "on horseback", and I, such a genius, have everything under control. I got involved in some projects, agreements, and then, in the recession, I realized that I wouldn’t pull it off, that I had no strength and energy, no experience, and in general “I’m a mediocre ugly woman,” and refused everything.
I either spent a lot of money and lived beyond my means, or lived in debt and fell into poverty. Either she took on a bunch of jobs and activities at the same time, or did nothing because she was not able to. For example, she could buy an expensive gym membership with a personal trainer, pay for creative courses, start negotiations on organizing a festival with influential people, without having any experience in conducting them. I had enough energy for all this, I was on edge.
Then abruptly - bang! You wake up in the morning and you can't get out of bed. You look at yourself in the mirror and cry because you are fat and ugly and you can’t leave the apartment because of this. You smoke, eat whatever you like - as a result, you get even better, you cancel all agreements, you can’t return the money, your reputation is damaged, a number of people don’t want to know you anymore. This leads to even more depression, and you start smoking even more to make it easier, and a wave of problems and troubles rushes like a snowball ...
It was not life, but a complete mess. I was thrown from activity to inactivity. From side to side. I wanted to sing, then to become a director, screenwriter, photographer, cameraman ... “Still, singing is a dream of a lifetime. But no - it seemed! My calling is to write scripts. I will be writing a full length script. No, it's better than the show. Comedy. No, drama. Oh, I came up with - tragicomedy. Exactly! Or maybe write a book? Or still sing? Or I'll play the piano! It’s decided, will I become a great pianist… or is it a director?”
Everything was destructive: I changed housing and work more and more often, running away from my previous place, and not very good from the point of view of employers and landlords. She framed everyone, did not fulfill agreements, etc. But I did not understand how to explain my situation to everyone. She said that I was just unwell, but people still turned away from me.
By this point, I had become less and less likely to see my friends and "go out." Turned into a reclusive sociopath. I tried to work exclusively on freelance, coming to the office only when needed.
I did not love myself, my life and thoughts of suicide began to crowd out all the rest. Plus, I was filled with various fears. Panic attacks, breakdowns and prolonged depression began. The "swing" became so sharp that shocks and suffering became my very essence.
It seemed that it couldn't get any worse. But I was wrong. One day I got a phone call that knocked me down completely. “Our mother has stage four cancer, she has a maximum of a month left to live ...” At that moment, something broke in me forever. The ground is gone from under my feet.
Mom lived for another six months, but during this time I completely went crazy. My emotional stability left much to be desired. By that time, I worked on live broadcasts and came to the office only for shooting. She behaved inappropriately, rushed at people, could start hitting her assistant on the hands for turning on the wrong frame or sound, and the like. She could leave the presenter, whom she “led” in the earpiece, in the middle of the air and run out into the street to smoke herbs. Live broadcasts shook my psyche. I don't know how people put up with me. I personally simply didn’t have the strength to endure myself like that ...
After the death of my mother, the hands dropped completely. I understood that now I could commit suicide with a clear conscience (the mountain of resentment against my father had not gone away). This idea took root in my head and seriously frightened me. I wanted to save myself. It was obvious that I could not cope on my own and I needed to go for help.
I went to a psychologist. She was shocked by my condition, said with regret that she could not help me, and referred me to a psychotherapist. After a series of tests and hundreds of questions, I was taken by the hand and taken to a nearby psychiatrist's office. He said that my diagnosis was obvious, but to be completely sure, I need to take a blood test for lithium.
The result of the analysis confirmed the alleged diagnosis - bipolar disorder. I was prescribed medication. But with the newfound status of a mentally ill patient, it only got worse. I felt sick on another level. Now I had every right to go to the bottom of my hell - because I have a bipolar disorder.
“This is not a runny nose for you! And it's not curable. That is all - there is no way out, this is my cross. I'm doomed."
I was sinking to the bottom at a crazy speed. The swing threw me in all directions. Everything became totally chaotic, chaotic, thoughts - even more chaotic. It was hard to get even one thing done. I couldn't concentrate - for the life of me. Zero perseverance. I could no longer communicate with people, go to work too. I survived only by freelancing, but the pay for the jobs I found wasn't great. I had to rent a room outside the city.
This went on for three years. It got worse. It was not always possible for me to earn money even for food. I remember the sensational story with Sinead O'Connor, who broke down and posted a video about her bipolar disorder. At that moment, I was already ready to scream at the top of my lungs and to the whole world: “P-O-M-O-G-I-T-E !!!!!!”
Close friends understood that there was a clear problem with me. I began to openly ask them for help. They found the best specialists for me, but to no avail. On the contrary, it made the situation even worse, since I was spending all my money on drugs and psychiatric sessions. I had to ask my dad for financial assistance for treatment. But how exactly to treat me, the doctors, apparently, did not know, because everyone had their own vision and diagnosis (whether manic-depressive disorder, or depressive - opinions differed). I, like a guinea pig, drank mountains of various pills, from which I eventually gained about 20 kg and became simply disgusting to myself.
Everything was falling apart. Depression, addictions, a mountain of debt, excess weight and a desire to die - with such a set I fell asleep and woke up day after day.
I became as vulnerable and sensitive as possible, as if I had no skin. Every look, every word cut me to pieces. A remark or correction at work - just killed. I hated my life and myself. Why should I love myself? I have achieved nothing, I am not capable of anything, I am ugly and fat, I have no money, no relationship.
I looked terrible, I stopped taking care of myself completely. I could no longer afford to live in Kyiv or even near the capital - I returned home to the village with my tail between my legs, which my father and his new wife were not very happy about.
I struggled to find a remote job, took any and agreed to any money, just to earn money for food and medicine. Dad knew that I had a mental illness, but he did not understand what it was and what it meant. Mom would immediately google, offer to help. But dad only showered reproaches: “Why are you sitting without work? Yesterday I saw an announcement in the market that a seller was needed there - why don't you get a job there? Does the crown interfere?
I tried desperately to make money online, but I got scammed several times in a row without paying. I lived exclusively in debt. In recent years, she made attempts to work outside the home, but at first she had enough strength for a couple of months, then weeks, then a maximum of a couple of days. I was usually not paid for such a “job”, because I was fired or I myself ran away in hysterics.
I couldn't stay at home either - I had to get a job as a dishwasher in a cafe on the sea. I chose this option, because they gave me a bed and fed me. I thought if they fired me, at least there would be a place to live and what to eat. But I held out until the end of the season and was able to repay the debts.
Returned home - back to her personal hell. What to do next? It's only getting worse and worse, so it's only going to be like this. And where is it worse? Live on the street with the homeless? It no longer made sense to smoke - I no longer received the desired effect of relaxation. Though all at once smoke - nothing.
Therefore, I simply "extinguished" by tranquilizers and slept for days. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that I could not stand even a minute in a sober mind. She drank tranquilizers again and passed out.
I was left alone with suicidal thoughts. They pressed me against the wall. Paralyzed. There were no other thoughts. There was no desire and strength to fight. Obviously I lost. game over.
I had a double lethal dose of a very strong drug. It used to be scary to commit suicide. I was afraid that I would remain a cripple and only exacerbate an already unbearable existence. But by this point, I didn't care anymore. No fear, no doubt, I understood - this is the only way out of this situation. A miracle won't happen. I will not wake up tomorrow morning mentally healthy and capable of a quality life.
There were a few minutes left before my next birthday. I wanted to do it on this very day. The suicide note was already ready, I went to the social networks to post it and schedule the publication with a margin for two days (suddenly they will pump me out, save me, and then such a fireplace out!).
In the messenger, I saw an unexpected message: a man from the distant past, with whom we had not communicated for 10 years, was interested in whether it is true that I am completely on the verge and everything is really very, very bad? I wrote that everything is wonderful with me, and his questions are complete nonsense. Then I thought to myself – I will make another attempt to help myself.
The next day - my birthday - I was already in a psychiatric hospital. They took me for free. With tears in my eyes, I explained that if they did not put me in, then by the evening I would no longer be alive.
I knew that one day I would be here, and here it is. The place was not what I imagined: I did not meet Napoleons, Van Goghs and Beethovens there. On the contrary, I saw a real cabinet of curiosities. I'm sorry, but there's no other way to call it. It's hard to imagine so many weird looking people in one place. One is incredibly tall and thin, the second looks like a big ball and at 40 thinks like a 10-year-old girl, the third is crooked like a question mark, the fourth drags his leg behind him, the fifth walks back and forth with restlessness syndrome.
It was a rural psychiatric house, so there were mostly people with mental retardation, alcoholics, drug addicts, and don't understand who else. In my room, for example, there was a young girl who was on heroin and methadone. She managed to bury her boyfriend and many mutual friends from an overdose. I thought that she wanted to get off, but it turned out that she just needed a certificate for the court - the police caught her red-handed, and by being treated voluntarily, she can avoid prison.
Drug addicts there, by the way, are regularly "treated" for money, but only in order to be "cleaned" of drugs - zeroed out, so to speak. So in the future they will need a lower dosage to “smear”, and they can save a lot on drugs. Doctors are well aware of this - it's their business.
Nothing bothered me there except food. Neither the shabby walls of the Soviet building, which is about to collapse, nor the strict order in the hospital, as in the army or prison, nor the attitude of doctors and orderlies towards the sick. I was not even embarrassed by the common shower room, where I had to wash in front of all the women in the same room from a basin.
But it was impossible to eat food. Digested substance without salt for breakfast, lunch and dinner. What is this? Soup or porridge? And if porridge, what kind? Rice, millet, oatmeal? Can't tell by sight or taste.
Everyone ate their own supplies brought from home. I had no money, and very close friends, knowing where I was, sent me some for food. They also bought socks, shorts, shampoos and other necessary things. When a friend visited me, she was shocked to the core by what she saw: “Is it legal to keep people in 2019 in such conditions?”
It was very cold. I slept in three sweaters and three pairs of socks. We were forbidden to drink tea outside the schedule. They forced us to chip in for an additional kettle, after which the tea was still on schedule. They were allowed to wash their hair once a week, or even less often, since hot water was considered a luxury. There were a lot of restrictions. The daily schedule is strict. Order in the wards was checked with meticulous scrupulousness. Everyone was constantly blackmailed that they would be transferred to the ninth department. That's where it really got really bad. People were tied to beds for several days and pumped up with strong drugs - the patients became "vegetables" for a while. They could lie in their shit and urine for days. Such a punishment awaited if you are violent and naughty, that is, you do not follow the strict rules of the hospital: you refuse to eat or sleep at the specified time.
This is how I saw our domestic "cuckoo's nest", over which I pretty much circled.
But even in this disgusting place, at that time I felt better than at home with my family.
The head physician diligently treated me for a depressive disorder, since, according to him, I do not have mania. Because of this, I began a strong bias from depression to mania. I, like Jesus, ran along the corridor of the hospital, telling everyone that I was cured and understood everything! Now I know how to live on and the like.
It's time to urgently escape from this place. The walls pressed on me, my eyes were suddenly opened to the terrible conditions and the people who were there. I was discharged and a day later I was already in Kyiv. She stayed with a close friend and immediately started looking for a job. But two days later she was again at the bottom ...
So I ended up in the Pavlovsk psychiatric hospital. They didn’t want to take me there, because there was no registration, no money. They don't take it that way. But my appearance spoke for itself, and in the end I was put in a good department of crisis states. Everything there was very different from a rural hospital. People, walls, human attitude of doctors, food. The patients were mostly creative people with similar or similar disorders to mine.
I was re-diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It was nice and comfortable here. The department looked more like a sanatorium than a hospital. A month later, I thought I was completely healed. She asked to be discharged, but the doctors urged not to rush. They gave me a week's sick leave. I left and came back the next day.
Another month has passed, the third in a row, spent in mental hospitals. I was afraid to check out, realizing that there was nowhere else to ask for help. All. Dead end. Leaving the hospital meant death for me. In "greenhouse" conditions - I'm fine, outside the walls of the hospital - hell.
An acquaintance offered to participate in a scam in another country in order to earn money. She did not know about my situation and my condition. I agreed. I had nothing to lose. Planted - so planted. Kill - great. I voluntarily flew there for two to four weeks, but they “released” me only after 5 months. I had medication for a month. But somehow managed to cope. Nothing depended on me anymore. I couldn't fly back. Something to decide and change too. The only thing left to do was to accept the situation. I started learning this. My head began to clear up.
I was paid money for the scam. You could spend them wisely: on housing, on psychiatrists and medicines, on food, while you are looking for a job. But I'm tired of all this. I just wanted to be in nature, in a shelter where it's good. And I found such a place, it turned out to be the right decision in my life. Awareness, understanding, insight began to come there, the processes of awakening began.
My eyes were opened to the fact that all my life I demanded that people accept myself, but at the same time I did not accept myself. She demanded love and respect - but she did not love and did not respect herself. She demanded understanding, but she herself did not want to understand others. Solid demands, resentment and claims to the world instead of gratitude. It dawned on me that no one owes me anything, that only I myself am responsible for my life. That my parents loved me the best they could, and the world reacted to me and transformed into life what met my needs: “Do you want to suffer? Get suffering!
I finally let go of my grudge against my father. Well, it was not given to him to understand me, so what now? Constantly feeling sorry for myself, I took the situation to the extreme. I always wanted change, but I didn't do any extra effort. Now I was ready for a lot of work on myself, and right there on my way I began to meet people who gave the necessary experience and knowledge.
Acquaintance and sessions with healers practicing theta-healing (The ThetaHealing method (“healing” - healing from English) is based on meditation, during which the patient, with the help of theta-healing master, falls into a state of relaxation. The founder of the practice is an American artist Vianna Stibal, who claims to be 19In 95, she was able to heal herself from a serious illness with the help of a special theta meditation. In 2000, she certified her treatment and published the book "Advanced ThetaHealing" with descriptions of the techniques - approx. DIVOCHE.MEDIA ), radically changed my mind. I now know for sure that nothing happens by accident. That all this is the result of my thoughts. It is up to me to decide whether to go down because of a negative situation or interpret it into knowledge and useful experience. Yes, it's not easy. But this is possible with daily work on oneself with maximum awareness.
I realized that in fact I'm rather lucky in life, and not vice versa. Friends did not turn away from me and helped, doctors treated for free.
I have decided that I am no longer sick with anything. It's easier for me. There is nothing to blame now. I am learning to accept and love myself for who I am. I no longer scold myself and do not consider it destructive. I don't set high goals or expectations. I'm just in my flow. Did something not work? Ok, don't be scared. Could not earn the expected money? Okay, let's try to save money this month. Gained a couple of kilos? So, for now, there will be an opportunity to reset - excellent, no - we will deal with this.
I descend from heaven to earth. I no longer use alcohol and marijuana - I try to ground myself in other ways: sports, hiking, yoga, various healing practices.
Very little time has passed to claim that I am completely healed, but now I am confidently on my feet.

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