Treatment Saves: Finding Stability Beyond the Shadow of Untreated Bipolar

Fourteen years after my diagnosis, reflecting on the chaotic search for the right care, the tribe that held me up, and why I’m glad I stayed.

The Weight of Untreated Memories

It’s hard to wrap my mind around today, and my heart feels heavy. Facebook memories are an interesting thing. Sometimes they make you reflect on really happy moments, funny memories, or silly things you’ve posted in the past. Other times, they bring up the painful chapters.

This time around, I was reminded that I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder around this time 14 years ago. The memories of living untreated are intense. Hearing my diagnosis for the first time, wrestling with the feelings that followed, and speaking hard truths out loud for the very first time—it is a lot to process.

Behind the Happy Picture

The hardest memory that popped up yesterday widened my eyes and brought tears to my face. Looking at the photo, it looks like a happy family picture from a great concert. But the reality behind it is that I barely remember it because I was so intoxicated and high. I was trying so hard to live on the outside because I was dying on the inside—lost, alone, and drowning in deep depression. Before receiving proper medical care, turning to self-medication was a desperate attempt to cope with a brain that was wired and out of control.

During that season, I created the Warrior Boutique, an "upscale garage sale" to raise mental health awareness and donate funds to a local non-profit. My tribe helped me bring that vision to life. Little did I know that just two weeks after that event, I would be checking myself into a psychiatric hospital.

Searching for Anything to Stay Alive

Back then, I’d often ask my best friend Justin to take me flying in his four-seater plane. I craved the rush of adrenaline. It was my desperate, natural response to find anything to keep living—anything to avoid going to a behavioral health facility.

I stayed in constant contact with my family and my tribe, letting them know I was suicidal while trying to reassure them (and myself) that medication trial number 41 would finally be the one to pull me out of my personal hell.

That wasn’t the case. Trying over 41 different medication combinations within three chaotic years was not working for my depressive episode. Every single day, I told myself, "This next medication will be the one." I delayed hospital care as long as I could, clinging to my safety plan until I couldn't hold on any longer.

Generational Pain and Lifelines That Held Me

My dog, Abner, was my absolute lifeline. Day in and day out, he was there for me. Even when he couldn't understand what was happening, he kept saving my life. I kept thinking: If I leave this earth, he will search for me for the rest of his life. No one will ever love him the way I do.

Abner and my family kept me tethered here, even when my depression brain convinced me everyone would be better off without me.

Reflecting on my family, I think about the generations before me—like my maternal grandfather, who struggled with his own mental health and died by suicide. Receiving his journals years later, filled with raw reflections and quiet pleas for help, echoed my own moments of despair when words wouldn't form out loud and writing became my only voice. It reminded me how deep these genetic roots go, but also how critical it is to break the cycle through open conversation and proper medical treatment.

Eventually, I made a deal with my tribe: If I still feel like I can’t hang on, I will admit myself right after this concert. Music has saved my life countless times across my 35 years. I needed one more taste of feeling alive through music before walking into Adam’s Memorial Behavioral Health.

When Real Treatment Finally Saved My Life

The day after the concert, the darkness hadn't lifted. My brain was still in severe depression, and I knew it was time. I couldn't fight these dark thoughts alone anymore.
Admitting myself to the hospital directly saved my life because it led me to a medical provider who actually LISTENED to me.

In the middle of that stay, I learned that I actually had a voice to stand up for myself, my well-being, and my brain health. Treatment didn't just stabilize me—it taught me how to advocate for my own care.

The Multi-Layered Foundation of Recovery

Without my family, friends, and tribe, I know I would not be here today to tell this story. Saving a life from severe mental illness takes a comprehensive, multi-layered approach:

• Targeted Medication & Medical Care (the tools that saved my life)
• ​Compassionate Medical Professionals
• Ongoing Psychotherapy & Self-Awareness
• Creative Outlets (journaling, painting, and art as medicine to externalize inner chaos)
• Faith & Hope
• Unconditional Family & Friend Support
• Education, Books, & Self-Knowledge
  
  

Equally important were the people who weren't afraid to ask real questions about my diagnosis—asking how my symptoms felt, how bipolar impacted my daily life, and how they could help. Those simple questions, asked from a place of genuine curiosity and love, allowed me to feel seen, accepted, and heard.

Choosing Medical Care Over Untreated Chaos

The truth about Bipolar Disorder is that just when you think you have complete control, you realize you don't. You can have all the therapy, knowledge, and medication in the world, and your brain chemistry can still attempt to override your hard work.

Maintaining stability is a lifelong commitment. Managing Bipolar Disorder is exhausting, but I would rather fight for stability with proper medical care than live my life in pure, untreated chaos. Treatment saves lives—it saved mine.

Life with severe mental illness isn't always lived day by day; sometimes we have to navigate it moment by moment. Bipolar is a challenging condition to battle, but by gaining self-awareness, communicating what bipolar looks like for us individually, and leaning on treatment, we can ride the waves and build a meaningful life.

I am here. My feet are grounded. I am living, learning, and managing this diagnosis every single day. My heart is endlessly grateful to those who continue to love me through the good and the bad. Your support changed my life, and I will always pay that love forward by transforming pain into purpose to help whoever I can.

Thank you for showing up for me. I’m so glad I stayed.

Note from Kerry Martin, Bipolar 1 Survivor, right to Care Alliance Co-Chair, SVP of Strategy and Impact

This post is a raw, unvarnished look at the grueling reality so many of our peers face when navigating severe mental illness: trial number 41 of medications over three torturous years, the exhaustion of fighting severe depression, and the desperate delay of hospital care out of fear and stigma.

It highlights the exact reason why our Treatment Saves campaign exists.

Too often, families and individuals are left to navigate a broken trial-and-error system alone, relying on sheer luck, dedicated loved ones, and personal lifelines just to stay alive until they find a provider who will truly listen. But survival should not be a matter of luck.
Proper psychiatric care, compassionate medical professionals, and early intervention are not luxuries. They are life-saving necessities. When we provide individuals living with SMI access to comprehensive medical treatment and wrap them in community support, recovery and long-term stability are possible.
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To everyone currently fighting through trial #41, holding on for one more day, or advocating for a loved one in the dark: Please do not give up. Your story is not over, and you deserve a healthcare system that fights for your recovery just as hard as you do.

need help or resources?

Everyone’s story matters, and yours isn’t over yet. If you or someone you know is in need of support or suicide prevention resources:

📞 Dial 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline
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🌐 Visit: Indiana State Suicide Prevention.

Author

Amanda | Right to Care Alliance Member | Lived Experience Advocate

Amanda has navigated Bipolar Disorder for over 16 years with honesty, creative expression, and unwavering resilience. A participant in McLean Hospital's national Deconstructing Stigma initiative, she founded a journaling organization to help others externalize inner chaos, process mental health struggles, and use creative expression as medicine.

As an active member of NSSC’s Right to Care Alliance, Amanda leverages her lived experience and family history to advocate for early intervention, proper medical care, and comprehensive support systems for individuals and families affected by severe mental illness. She resides in Indiana, where she continues to build community spaces that promote healing, self-awareness, and peer connection.