I’ve been hearing pretty much all my 20-something life ‘think positive’ or ‘stop thinking negative’ or ‘if you think negative that’s all you’ll attract’. Sure, it’s easy enough for a ‘normal’ person to push away less pleasant thoughts, but what about someone who tries and tries again and again and fails? Fails to be ‘positive’, like ‘the others’. These two words have been foreign to me for a long time now.
I grew up in the times of ‘in my time there weren’t so many problems’, ‘in my time such a thing didn’t exist’. Because you can’t see the dirt as long as it’s swept under the carpet. If we pay a little attention to the details that make up history, we will realise that mental disorders have always been present. Including among great painters, musicians, scientists, leaders, etc. In Romania, at the moment, there is still a lot of stigma surrounding mental disorders, which makes the recovery of the diagnosed person much harder and more painful. Many people suffer in silence because of this stigma. I consider stigma to be a great handicap for society. For a long time, I was also one of those people who suffered in silence because of the fear of being judged, but mostly because of a fear of feeling that pain that overwhelms you when you truly see that the people around you cannot understand you.
The fact that I am a victim of abuse and, implicitly, of trauma, took its toll from the age of 14 when I was first diagnosed with major depressive disorder, subsequently receiving both medication and psychological treatment. Of course, I felt that something was wrong with me long before this first diagnosis. The first symptoms were self-harm and a state of sadness so intense and painful that there was a great need to effectively translate that inner pain into a physical one, on the grounds that physical pain would be easier to manage. I had no one who was attentive to my needs and what was happening to me, I had no one to talk to, there was no one to listen to me.
So, at the age of 15, I became a survivor of a suicide attempt (another taboo subject, treated superficially, which is not only stigmatised, but the word that starts with the letter ‘s’ is barely pronounced). The first words I heard as soon as I opened my eyes were ‘it’s a miracle you’re alive’ from a doctor who was right next to me at that moment. My health condition, over time, worsened even more, and at almost 17, I was admitted to a paediatric psychiatric hospital. On the day of my admission, I met my new therapist and began cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT). The fact that I followed a well-structured treatment plan helped me then and still helps me to be here today. The simplest activities such as washing, dressing, walking, etc., often seemed impossible for me. In addition to all this, there were memory losses, great difficulties concentrating, and others.
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Following many evaluations, I received the final and current diagnosis of bipolar disorder (type 2) and schizotypal disorder. Bipolar disorder is one of the most stigmatised mental disorders. The term ‘bipolar’ is most often used as a negative adjective by people who do not know that it is effectively a real illness that incredibly diminishes a person’s quality of life. When you are diagnosed with bipolar disorder, it means you are at the mercy of the chemicals in your brain. Just as, in leukaemia, certain blood cells go haywire, so too in the brain, in bipolar disorder, some brain chemicals fluctuate abnormally. Every day I am helped by the medication I take to cope with the symptoms. There have been moments and days when anxiety and the sudden shift from one state to another severely limited me. These ‘unannounced’ mood changes are exhausting. Both mentally and physically. From good states with energy, laughter, enthusiasm, joy, it leads to depressive episodes with very intense, sometimes frightening thoughts and emotions due to the fact that certain sombre thoughts may also be present, which you have to face. When you live with bipolar disorder, a state of uncertainty is always present. You go to bed feeling one way and can wake up with a completely opposite mood. You are effectively on an emotional roller coaster.
However, this is most likely not visible. Often, when I happened to tell someone about my diagnoses and the situation I was going through, I felt scepticism, being told that I didn’t look ill. Many illnesses are invisible. But that doesn’t make the torment a person goes through non-existent. I am fighting with 3 invisible enemies: bipolar disorder, schizotypal disorder, and chronic migraines (meaning I have a headache almost every day, for 4 years). I don’t look ill because when I go out into the world, I pull myself together. My bad days are only seen by my doctor, my mother, and my therapist. In society, I always appear with a smile. Because the nature of my diagnoses requires the symptoms to be hidden. I have never been seen in moments when I almost fainted due to headaches, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. No one has ever seen how exhausted I am (due to chronic fatigue) after taking a simple shower. Probably no one has ever noticed how much my hands tremble, in some situations, due to anxiety, or how I struggle to breathe, counting when I have a panic attack. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I haven’t been seen in these circumstances because on days when I feel unwell, I isolate myself. I need time to get back on track. After I’ve gotten back on track, I know that because of my diagnoses, after a while I will be under it again and will have to start over. Again and again and again. But it helps me enormously that I know what I have and I have learned how to act.
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Receiving a diagnosis regarding mental disorders is very important. That’s when you feel like the last piece of the puzzle has been fitted. Because, from the moment the patient knows exactly what is happening to them, they can begin to learn how to manage their situation. Bipolar disorder and schizotypal disorder are not diagnoses with a prognosis of ‘cure’ or complete recovery. However, they are disorders that can be kept under control by managing the symptoms with a long-term treatment plan. Is it hard for me? Yes. It’s a continuous struggle with all the symptoms, but I’ve learned to find joy in very small things. Everything that happens to me exhausts me, and often I feel like I can’t go on. However, I am currently receiving help. It seems most impossible when there is no help or when the person is treated superficially.
Some time ago, I promised myself to be the voice of people with a psychiatric diagnosis. I promised that I would be there for anyone who needs to be heard. I have been and am a shoulder for victims of abuse and neglect to lean on and cry when they need to. I know how painful the feeling of loneliness is. My diagnoses have taken a lot from me, but at the same time, they have offered me something very valuable: empathy. I am happy with how far I have come. I am happy that I survived and grateful that I can share my story. For anyone fighting a mental disorder, I have an important message: you are not alone, and you matter more than you think.
To create a safe space for people diagnosed with bipolarity, Mental Health for Romania is now starting a discussion and support group on Facebook, which will be coordinated by Denisa, the author of this article. Together, we want to create a community where everyone feels included and understood, this being the first step.
Resources:
[1] Informative article about bipolar disorder
