
After my first stay on the psychiatric ward at the general hospital in Calgary, I felt completely lost and hopeless. In my upcoming book, Brain Betrayal: A Memoir, I describe the day that I was allowed to leave after being there for three months. It was a confusing day because I was protesting being on the ward since I got there but by the time I was discharged I felt like I lost everything. When I was admitted, I was working in Japan and my dream was to become a Japanese Interpreter. My employer was not able to keep my position open past one month so once I lost my job going back became an impossibility. I was left with the question, “Now, what?” Plus, the Psych ward had become a safe bubble for me with regular meals, nurses, doctors and the other patients had become my community. Once I left, the community was gone, and it was scary and demoralizing to be on my own with no path in life.
Looking back, I realize the “Now, what?” answer was to rebuild a life. Any life. The first step in achieving this was to realize that none of it was my fault. I didn’t do anything that caused me to have bipolar disorder. It was a result of my family history and the extreme stress that I was under. Many people around me did not understand that the lethargy and inactivity I was demonstrating at the time was a result of being over medicated and symptoms of the depressive episode not because of a lack of effort. The one person who was attuned to how much I was struggling and suffering was my Nana, who was not well herself at the time. Her compassion and understanding was the first step in me realizing I was not a bad person because of my behaviour. I was extremely ill.
I was so fatigued that to brush my teeth I had to use both hands and sit on the edge of the bathtub a couple of times to take breaks in order to complete the entire task. I had completely lost my ability to have a human experience of life. I could not receive any kind of pleasure or meaningful response to my environment. For example, appreciating the beauty of flowers would be impossible. I could identify the colours but beyond that I would have no reaction. The same would be true for music, food, or even spending time with people. I felt like I was a living organism with an extremely stunted experience of life. The only exceptions being that hurtful comments still hurt me emotionally and even if I could not interact meaningfully with others being in their presence provided some comfort.
One day, I realized that expectations/frustrations about my wellness by myself or others weren’t going to help me. The only thing that was going to help was to try and do a little bit more each day. This meant rather than lying in bed for hours I would spend some time sitting up. I tried to make every day a little better than the previous day. If I had a day I couldn’t, I wouldn’t beat myself up about it. The next day would be an opportunity to try again. After months of these incremental successes combined with the process of my psychiatrist find the right medication for me, I was able to return to a functional life again.
Looking back, I realize that I wasted a lot of energy beating myself up about how functional I was. Mood disorders seem to be the only illness where people blame themselves for their symptoms. There is no way to predict if my recovery from my first depressive episode would have been faster if I was more focused on healing than I was on dealing with the frustration. I know that for some people recovering from a depressive episode does not need to take as long as it did for me. Now, when I have a depressive episode it usually only lasts a couple of weeks because the first thing I do is I lower my expectations on what I am capable of accomplishing. I understand that I am physically unwell, and I expect that I won’t be able to do as much as when my mood is at a baseline level.
For me, the most supportive thing people can do is ask me what I need. When I recognize that a depressive episode is just starting, I generally request that someone come with me to go for a walk. When I notice my mood is dipping if I start walking more it doesn’t get worse and it doesn’t last as long. These walks are awful. I hate every second of them and once they are done, I don’t feel good. However, I know if I don’t do it, I will become more and more ill and it will take longer and require more effort to recover. If I am further down in the pit of depression, the support I would need would be different. If you are wondering how to support someone who is stuck in a severe depression just ask yourself what people do when people have any other illness. Common things like bringing food or just sitting with a person is just as helpful for us as it is for people suffering from any other illness.
Being discharged from the hospital and left to build an entirely new life while managing the symptoms of my first depressive episode and being over medicated was the worst period in my life. I think the key to finding a new meaningful path is to understand the fact that having bipolar disorder is not your fault and you deserve the respect, patience and compassion that anyone else with a severe chronic illness requires. Seeking out help with community social workers, peer support and online supports can be helpful but ultimately one has to just keep getting better in any small way that you can and acknowledge that doing so is a sign of great strength and courage.
Thank you for reading my blog today. If you found it helpful, it resonates with you, or you have any questions please leave a comment below.







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