Why I Talk Openly About My Mental Illness

Some people dislike the label “Bipolar” because it carries with it ridicule and shame. But I have freed myself from that and in the process, I have been liberated.

The day I disconnected from the world was a sad day indeed.

I was sexually abused when I was seven years old. I won’t go into detail about it, only because this isn’t the place to write about it. But, it definitely is worth the mention. I believe everything stemmed from here- where I disconnected from reality, where feelings of guilt and shame arose. The safe world I knew so well was destroyed within an instant.

I attempted suicide at 19. It seemed to come out of the blue for everyone else. I was quiet, experiencing an untouchable pain. I couldn’t articulate how I was feeling.

Fast forward a few years and I find myself still lost and feeling detached from reality. At university, I was often charged with a surge of energy and intensity. I was a successful student leader whom everyone respected. The world loved me. But I needed help. I was too ashamed to ask for it. I couldn’t remember arbitrary things like my telephone number. I couldn’t remember work that I had just studied. I was overwhelmed.

My head was full.

Numbers would spin on and on in my mind. I’d be ruminating at night when I was supposed to sleep– creating complex mind maps of all the plans I had. It was like fireworks bursting in my mind, one idea setting off another.

I felt paranoid in every relationship. I drowned (often dragging the relationship down with me) in feelings of insecurity. A whirlwind of negativity would swoop over me and in an instant I was an anxious, scared little girl again. Hyper sexuality pumped in my veins but no act of intercourse was ever fulfilling. I’d lay there feeling empty and unsatisfied; guilty and dirty. It was never good enough. I was never good enough.

After weeks of sleeping with different men, or tiring out the ones I was with, I’d crash. I’d crash into a dark abyss. The ruminating about numbers became fixation about death or hurting myself. But I just could never do it- I had a child to care for. I felt like a coward. I was a failure. For days on end, I’d switch off my phone, group members would look for me, I’d miss tests and submissions.

I just couldn’t function.

I wouldn’t shower or brush my teeth.

I wouldn’t eat.

None of this was normal. But I didn’t know this. I didn’t know that there were other people who experience this- and that I was “normal”.

In 2011, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and soon the treatment started. I hated my tablets and wasn’t compliant. Things became increasingly worse. My anxiety manifested physically and my body slowly began shutting down. What started off with flu, evolved into so much more: my eyes couldn’t open, I experienced panic attacks and I couldn’t walk anymore. The neurologist on duty during one of my hospitalizations advised that this all was in my head and that I need to realize this.

The turning point came when I went to a support group for people who live with Bipolar Disorder. People shared their stories and it was like a light switched on for me. Although I was still depressed, I was hopeful. I wasn’t going to die.

I didn’t have to die. The illness could be managed. And I could find the power to manage it. That was it. I could take my power back. For years I realized, that I was powerless- giving away my power to my past and not realizing I took it away from my future. I started having conversations with myself, trying to understand the tools given to me by my therapists. I understood their purpose. I understood the purpose of my medication. I understood that I have a purpose too.

I talk about my mental illness because there so many people who cannot afford to do so. They live in fear of what others would say. They live in fear of judgement. They also live in fear of their jobs. They fear being termed “unreliable” or a troublesome employee.

Some people hate the label “Bipolar” because it carries with it so much weight: ridicule and shame. I have freed myself from that and in the process, I have been liberated.

I want to share that feeling of being labelled- to knowing what is wrong, to know how it can be managed. I want to share the education around the illness. I want to share that feeling having hope.

I want to give hope. Because although hope may grow dim on the darkest- it’s still there. It glimmers faintly to say, it’s going to be okay.

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