Sometime around mid April last year I was released from Montreal General Hospital. I think it was April 14. I had just confirmed what I knew to be true for many years: I have bipolar disorder.
Unfortunately for my bank account, I was released from the hospital too early: I was still manic, just in more of a hypomanic state rather than my previous full on mania. For the past year, I’ve learned to accept my manic self, love her, forgive her, and keep her inside of me. I was so full of shame and embarrassment following that first bout of mania that I hid away for most of the year that followed. But, now I am finally accepting of it, finding the words to write about it, and feel very open to speak about it.
I made some crazy purchases while I was in mania. From the beginning, my dear friends always told me I would one day be able to look back on my manic episode and laugh. It’s true: the funniest part of my manic episode was everything I bought. Let’s take a moment for me to confess my sins. Here is the list of almost everything I bought during mania: an iPad (WHICH I LOVE SO MUCH TO THIS DAY!!!), along with every accessory from the Apple Store you could think of, an iPhone, a fucking Vespa lol (I ended up selling it during my Great Depression, because I couldn’t be arsed to deal with the SAAQ in French, and I didn’t want to switch my British Columbia drivers license to a Quebec one lol), at least two full outfits from Lululemon, items from my workplace such as two bags, sunglasses, and some shoes (of course, I asked them to secure my discount before going on sick leave), and many products from Sephora and Nanami. Lol. I’m sure I’m missing some, but for now you can imagine me wandering around Montreal, tapping my cards at every chance I got. 🙂 FML lol…
I can’t blame the hospital for releasing me too early, because not only did I beg to be set free and my parents had flown into Montreal to be with me, but the hospital system is overloaded and understaffed. So I walked out into the world, continued to be manic, and about one week and a half later, I welcomed in a big truckload of The Great Depression. It lasted from May to November/December. Honestly, getting myself out of depression was the hardest thing I have ever done.
Thus, in May, I began my second stay at the hospital, but this time at the CHUM instead. This is like my second home now. I’ve spent the last year in and out of the CHUM as an inpatient and outpatient. I go there at least once a week. The staff have gotten to know me, are so kind, and take the best care of me. My friends and I have a running joke that if I got the chance, I would stay there again in a heartbeat, because I enjoy it so much. Montreal General Hospital and the CHUM renewed my faith in the Canadian healthcare system. It is built of so many kind, compassionate, professional people that show up everyday and take care of anyone and everyone to the best of their ability.
I had been informed prior to the arrival of The Great Depression that it was coming, but I underestimated how bad and how long it would be. Although I’d love to tell you about my time in The Great Depression, there are so many other excellent books about this topic that I will spare you. One in particular that I love is Hello I Want to Die Please Fix Me: Depression in the First Person by Anna Mehler Paperny. She does an excellent job of describing what depression can feel like. I read this prior to my diagnosis, and I am so glad that I did, because it gave me insight into what to expect while I was on my way to the first hospital stay in early April last year, in the middle of the night. I knew that legally they could keep me there for 72 hours if they deemed it an emergency. So I packed a bag, and decided to try and make the hospital a home. I ended up staying 10 days.
I’ve known for a long time that I have bipolar disorder, but not many would listen to me. Not because they didn’t care, but because the only times I would seek help was when I was conscious and doing well. When I’m doing well, I present myself in such a manner that you would never believe that I am living with mental illness. Because the stereotypical person with bipolar disorder that we have formed in our head doesn’t typically act like me. Before I was diagnosed, I also had a skewed perception of what someone living with bipolar disorder looks like.
Another reason I was ignored was because there was no living proof that I was bipolar. I had never had a dance with mania prior to April 2023. I also didn’t have strong memories of the feelings that were accompanying me during the previous hard times, so I wasn’t able to fully describe it to anyone, medical professional or not. But those close to me during those hard times could sense I was suffering: I was in so much pain and anguish but unable to pinpoint exactly what was going on in my head. So unfortunately, I was misdiagnosed two times.
First, in December 2019, after suffering from years of insomnia, I was told I had severe depression and anxiety. I went to the walk in clinic with the goal of sleeping, but she sensed something else was at play. We did a psychiatric evaluation (aka a survey that I filled out on the spot) and I started taking the wrong medication that same day, but luckily, it helped me sleep right away. Still, things felt wrong, and continued to feel wrong. So years later, after an episode in my kitchen that my dear friend witnessed, where I had a fit over how poorly I cooked my dinner and proceeded to violently throw it in the trash and cry for about one hour ranting about my purposeless life, I promised that I would get help. I called around to get myself a psychiatric appointment. Unfortunately, for a private psychiatric evaluation it would have cost me upwards of $3000. So, instead I took the public route. After six months of waiting, my episode was long gone. It was summer of 2022, and I was in a relatively good place, mentally speaking. I met with a nurse who gave me a survey-type interview, and the psychiatrist came in during the last 10 minutes of my appointment to inform me that based on the 30 minute conversation I had with the nurse, without him in the room, he could conclude I had a plethora of disorders including: panic disorder, dissociative disorder, chronic depression, and general anxiety disorder. I know and love someone very close to me who has dissociative disorder. The minute the psychiatrist said that I had it, I knew he was all wrong. I went home defeated that day and I spoke to my loved one about it, and she also agreed that we both knew I was facing something very different. We concluded it was likely I had bipolar disorder or borderline personality disorder, and that once again, I had been misdiagnosed. What a shitty feeling, to wait for a public service for 6 months, only to be told false information about yourself, after a 30 minute survey to conclude what’s going on in your brain.
So finally, in April 2023, I began my first manic episode. There is a long list of potential triggers that could have caused it: the change from winter to spring (accelerated by my trip down south that week), over consumption of marijuana and other drugs, etc etc etc. I’m still figuring that part out. I guess all that to say is it took me one manic episode, the police showing up to my house in the middle of the night to take me to the hospital, and 10 days of pacing around the small emergency psychiatric ward to finally get the answer I wanted. I have bipolar disorder. I chased this diagnosis for almost four years. I was so relieved when the psychiatrist looked me in the eyes and told me I have bipolar disorder that I started to cry and fell to the ground, saying “finally someone listened”.
One year out from being in the hospital, as I mentioned in my Instagram post, I am doing better than I ever have before. I am on the correct medication, getting plenty of sleep, living sober (for me this means not being intoxicated: I still love a pint of stout and a glass of light red wine from time to time), being consistently active, spending tons of time with my friends and family, spending tons of time alone, finding creative outlets in writing and playing on my iPad haha, wearing sunscreen, spending lots of time outside, and the list goes on. I live a very beautifully routine life. I have my little daily routines that only the ones who have lived with me will ever know of. I wake up and I shuffle around the house and I make my coffee and I put on my brave face. I stretch a lot. I drink enough water. I enjoy the simple things again. And I finally feel really lucky to be alive. 🙂
Third times a charm! 