I have a huge photo album and scrapbook in my head that's chock full of snapshots of memories, stories and anecdotes about my family, friends, lovers and acquaintances. I think I have one for each year of my life that's full of organized chaos.
When I write about my life, I like to think that I'm pulling them out of a bookshelf so I can look at them again. I am bad at keeping journals but I have Twitter so that's okay. I guess my descendants will just have to deal with 240 characters containing my nuggets of wisdom.
Honestly, I'm having a hard time choosing a moment to share right now. I have so many of them. I want to talk about all of them and how they are important in shaping me as the person that I am right now. That's pretty narcissistic and ambitious but I digress.
The most important moment in my life so far was when I found out about my bipolar disorder.
Four years ago, I brought myself to the psychiatric ER of the National Center for Mental Health (NCMH) in Mandaluyong. There was a series of dark, traumatic, and unfortunate events that led to a brief period of time where I experienced full-blown psychosis. I was so deep into my suicidal thoughts that I hallucinated that my dead child was haunting me.
Believe me, I was so scared about what's going on. I called my brother's then girlfriend who studied psychology because I didn't know who else to ask for help. At that time of my life, I was isolated from my family and close friends. It's the only period in my life where can say that I was on my own. She calmly told me where to go and to go there ASAP.
I remember that I was wearing jeans and a t shirt with my favorite pink Guess bag. I withdrew all of the money in my payroll bank account before flagging a taxi. On the way to the hospital, I was crying like there's no tomorrow.
When I entered the ER, I was immediately welcomed by two orderlies and a resident doctor. I started crying even harder as they asked me what's wrong. It was probably unusual for someone to walk into the ER without a companion so they were curious. They tried to make me smile by cracking a few jokes but I didn't bother to smile. I was crying so hard because I wanted very badly to die.
A doctor came to sit with me and he asked more questions. I told my life story to him in between sobs and wails: I told him about my abortion, my breakup with my married ex boyfriend, my parent's separation, my struggle at my job, my coworker raped me, my money problems and my anxiety caused by my most recent ex. I was very, very depressed and I was all alone.
I went on to tell him that I've slept with more than 30 people, risky sexual activities, impulsive decisions like quitting my more stable job in a whim, my fears, my anxieties, my grief and my anger.
I could clearly remember how much stress I was in, how much pain I felt in my chest and how badly I wanted it to stop by killing myself. My hallucinations and psychosis was more than enough to convince them that I was truly mentally ill.
They gave me a sedative and called the last person on my phone's contact list, Nikon. He was a fling who told everybody that he was my boyfriend but he was abusive, toxic and narcissistic. I was obviously not in the right mind to keep him around. In the past, I always found myself stuck in a toxic and depressing relationship. This was a pattern that would be continuously repeated until I met my current boyfriend.
I dimly remember that they asked me who they should contact while I was sedated. Why I didn't tell them to call my mom to pick me up is still unknown to me. But she was in Batangas with the rest of my family so I guess I didn't want to inconvenience them... That was the the wrong call.
Anyway, he still came to pick me up after a few hours and I was woken up from a heavy, dreamless sleep.
The doctor asked me if I wanted to be committed into the facility and I said no. They diagnosed me at first with major Clinical Depression until I told them about all of the boys I've fucked before. He got up, went to the nurse's station and made a correction on my file. He went back to me and gave me the words that irrevocably changed my life.
"You have bipolar disorder..." I was still sedated so I didn't understand much of his explanation but it made sense. It explained my erratic moods, my bad decisions and my lack of direction, structure and self-control.
It just clicked to me that I've been driving on a one-way street in the wrong direction for the past five years of my life.
I was 26-years-old and I had bipolar disorder. Yes, I was actually sick and nobody knew. I didn't know. A light bulb clicked inside the darkness of my mind. It all made sense and it was that moment that explained why I'm such a wreck.
I still remember the doctor's kind eyes behind his glasses and his kind voice when I bade a weary goodbye. "Please get well and please take care of yourself..."
I don't remember his entire message but I think it's still good enough. There's something to be said in the kindness and compassion of strangers because it will truly leave a mark on you.
After my visit to the psychiatric ER, I was taken home to my family. Nobody wanted to believe my story even when my ex confirmed it.
Nobody in my tight-knit and traditional family wanted to accept that I was mentally ill and have been ill for quite some time. They didn't want me to go into medication and they didn't believe in therapy. In fact, they didn't know what to do with me.
My Tita Babes took me to another psychiatrist in a private hospital for a second opinion. He confirmed my illness and my family had no choice to accept it. I had to shake myself out of denial to accept it and to tell myself that it's a manageable illness like diabetes.
I haven't forgotten how surprised, saddened and worried I felt in that exact moment I heard that doctor's diagnosis. I've just gotten better at living with it.
You're probably wondering why I talked about this particularly sensitive topic instead of something more cheerful. I shared it because it's definitely the moment that changed the course of my life. Without it, I wouldn't be in a much better place right now.
I have medication, doctors, therapy and support from my family and friends. I've got a healthier, more peaceful and more intentional mindset. God is pretty good because He gave me all of the things I prayed for including healthy relationships and better opportunities in life. If I didn't take medication, go to therapy and consciously tried to improve myself and my lifestyle then I would have spiraled even further. Even God won't be able to help if I dug myself into a deeper hole of debt, toxic relationships, sleeping around and switching jobs at the drop of a hat.
I like to believe that there's something good that came out of that experience.
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