Running around my dorm’s neighborhood barefoot at 2 a.m. is not something I ever imagined myself doing, until it happened.
I still remember that day as if it were yesterday. It was March 2024. Spring break had just passed, and I had been feeling anxious for the past few days, my mind full of racing thoughts and my sleep intermittent. As the days went by, things got progressively worse; my thoughts started to make no sense, and yet, to me, they made all the sense in the world; I couldn’t stay still, and I was doing things I normally wouldn’t have done before.
So, while trying to fall asleep one night, I got bored in bed, got up, opened the door, and just walked, without any shoes, phone, keys, or anything. Walking then turned into running, and it felt amazing. I felt the happiest I had ever felt in my life, like nothing and nobody could stop me.
But when I got home, I remember falling to my knees and just crying. I went from feeling absolutely everything to absolutely nothing in what felt like two seconds. My body felt completely numb, I felt embarrassed by everything I had done, and I felt hopeless. So I stayed in bed, and I didn’t move, eat, drink, or shower for days until one of my best friends took me to the hospital. What happened after that, though, was exponentially worse.
After being partially hospitalized, a psychiatrist sat me down, and he just said, “You have bipolar disorder,” just like that, and my world crumbled into a million pieces. I basically knew nothing about bipolar disorder, nor what it was. I was not ignorant of mental health or mental health struggles, but suddenly, I had these doctors telling me that I was sick, and I was going to be sick for the rest of my life, and I felt devastated.
When I told my family, I was met with a huge wave of both support and denial. From some, I heard “No, you don’t have that” or “No, I know people who have had that before, and that’s not what you have. You just had a breakdown.” From others, I heard that they would be there for me and help me with anything I needed. But even though I had all this support, especially from my parents, aunt, and brother, all I was hearing was that my experiences were not valid enough, not textbook enough, not enough to be considered over the idea they had made in their heads about what bipolar was.
And as a result, it affected me; I stopped taking my medicine, and I stopped caring about my bipolar diagnosis, because if there was someone who wanted to believe that I didn’t have bipolar disorder more than them, it was me. I felt ashamed of my diagnosis, like I was permanently broken and nothing was ever going to fix me. But over time, my mindset slowly shifted. I took it one step at a time, minute by minute. I started realizing that having a chronic mental illness was just like any other chronic illness. I started moving forward because getting stuck in the same place felt like I was letting myself down. And little by little, I started to understand that, even though I am not the person that I was before, I am not broken, nor should I be ashamed of living an absolutely human experience that could’ve happened to anyone else. I’ve learned to appreciate things so much more and see that every little win is truly a blessing. But the most important thing I’ve learned is to give myself grace and not be so hard on myself.
Two years have passed since that day. I haven’t had a manic episode since then. I am not even close to being the perfect spokesperson for bipolar disorder. I quit my meds all the time, and sometimes I forget to eat and neglect my self-care. I even sometimes find myself forgetting that I have bipolar disorder, which is why it is so important to have a circle of people you can trust and who you know have your back. If it weren’t for my family and friends, I know I wouldn’t be here today. I still remember the car rides with my brother, where I would tell him everything I was feeling, and his advice, for some time, was the only thing that kept me grounded. My best friend, Claudia, educated herself on everything bipolar disorder-related and would tell me every five minutes, “So that’s why you did this!” My best friend, Alejandra, who is also my roommate, knows all the key things to look out for and always checks in on me. My friends in school always help me out if they see I’m having a hard time. I know that if it weren’t for my circle, this journey would’ve been exponentially harder.
So, if there is anything you can take from my experience, it is to be that circle for the people who need it most, not a hurdle in their journey. See, we need to learn to view the world beyond ourselves. To understand that our experiences or the ones that our loved ones have, or what we’ve heard, are not a singular or linear experience for people with bipolar disorder or for anyone with any other mental illness.
Today is Bipolar Awareness Day, and based on my experiences, I would love for everyone reading this to understand that people diagnosed with bipolar disorder are just as confused and exhausted as you are by this whole process. But the least you can do is educate yourself, be compassionate, and never deny anyone’s experiences just because they don’t align with your worldview.Â
We want to feel understood, not judged, ostracised, or mocked. If you pretend the problem isn’t there, trust me, it will not go away, because behind every diagnosis are real people who need real love and support. And if we’re not giving them that, then who will?Â