Gotta get out. Gotta find my way out.
Ok ok ok.
Numbers, numbers, numbers...
Gotta take them. Gotta get them out.
Gotta get out. Gotta find the limits.
Factors. Conjugate.
Gotta find the numbers. Gotta get them out. Gotta find my way out.
Sammy, sweety.
You have to stop writing on the walls.
Those are telephone numbers.
Come on. Follow me.
Let's take your medicine, okay?
so you can go home real soon and be with your family.
I think a lot of people including me earlier in my life,
would hear the word "bipolar" and think
"moody".
That's what it's about, right?
Going from high highs to low lows over periods of time.
The thing that many people don't know is how high those highs can get.
I always thought that the worst thing about mania
was the extreme impulsiveness and extreme happiness.
But I learned the hard way
that I barely understood what a manic episode really was.
Throughout my life I struggled with depression and anxiety.
It was just something that I always had lived with.
In high school, I began taking anti depressants
and received extra support for my emotional disability
because it tended to affect my performance in school.
By the time I graduated,
I had found a good balance between my mental health and my academics
and I was super excited to be starting college for Math Education.
I decided when I got there
that I wasn't going to sign up for those same supports
because I had already learned how to balance everything.
Things were okay throughout the first semester,
I always struggle with my depression
but it was always to a controlled extent.
However,
everything changed in my second semester.
I had started to irregularly take my medication,
and I was partying a lot.
I had trouble sleeping quite often,
but I was still passing my classes with good grades
so I figured,
everything was okay.
One night, like many others,
I was laying awake in bed trying to get myself to sleep.
But,
something changed this night.
My thoughts were racing.
So I pulled out my phone
in an attempt to write everything down and make sense of it all.
But I could barely keep up with my thoughts,
I was going on and on about theories about life,
about soul mates,
about happiness,
I wrote for hours
and before I knew it,
it was the morning.
In full confidence,
I decided I need to immediately change my major to philosophy.
I had ideas and theories
and I thought I was gonna change the world.
I went to my classes but
I didn't hear a single word the professors said.
I just kept writing more and more of these amazing ideas I had in my notebooks.
I was also telling my peers as well that I wanted to switch,
and about all my great ideas.
They just kind of laughed me off and said
"dude, what are you on?"
I didn't care though
because I was confident that they just weren't smart enough to understand me.
I didn't sleep another night,
and the next day I was at the library with Sarah.
I told her how I had all these ideas and that I couldn't focus,
and she recommended that I reach out to my parents.
She had to constantly remind me to keep my voice down,
but I didn't care if other people heard me.
So I did my research and I re-diagnosed my depression for OCD
and then I called my parents
demanding that they take me to the doctors to have my medications changed.
They picked me up and brought me to an emergency crisis center
I sat there for a whole hour telling this woman about my
theories about time travel, medication, and family history.
She sent me home with them for the night
and again I tried to sleep,
but I just couldn't.
I felt...tired,
but it was like my mind just wouldn't stop.
The next day my parents took me to the hospital,
I was confused but
I figured this was a way for me to quickly get my medication changed.
Once I was admitted,
my memory got fuzzier.
But I do remember some specific vivid memories;
One was when I was sitting next to the phone attached to the wall.
It was the only phone in the psych unit and I was trying to take the limit,
you know as in in calculus,
of the phone numbers posted next to it
because I was convinced that the entire place was a giant escape room
and that this was one of the clues.
Another one was when I believed I was Moana
and the Disney movie was made for me to realize my own truth.
I was also convinced that
this place was a place where Walt Disney would observe me from afar
to confirm that I was the right person.
And he would communicate with me through the shower
by turning the water off and on
(it turns out that it was just an automatic shower).
Another time I sat on the floor for the entire night talking to another patient
about how osmosis was something that cults were using to brainwash people.
I even let another patient take me into her room and perform an excursion on me
and I believed it gave me the ability to sing like an angel.
I was trying and trying to decode words into numbers to find their hidden meanings.
And I drew all my theories on the walls in my room
and because of that
I kind of got all the crayons taken away for the entire floor.
But then one day,
I just woke up.
And all these things that had happened to me since the first night I stayed up
were like memories,
like memories of someone who woke up after being black-out drunk.
I had absolutely no idea how much time had passed.
And That's when they told me I had Bipolar disorder
and that what I had was a "textbook"
manic episode.
I was given new medication,
and I had to stay in the hospital for a while longer so I could adjust.
I was terrified and confused
because I could remember all these things I had believed
and could see all these strange things
that I had written on the papers I had accumulated.
Everyone at the unit disliked me
because I had been running around crazy for the past week,
and even some of the nurses seemed kinda scared of me.
When I got out I just wanted to go back to normal life.
I wanted to put this whole week behind me
like it never happened and just go back to college.
But I was put into 4 days a week outpatient therapy
and forced to withdraw for the semester.
On the first weekend chance I had,
I went back to my college and I just partied.
I didn't take any of my medication
and I felt a little bit like myself again,
finally.
So I stopped taking my medication all together
because I liked the way I felt without it better.
I went to therapy but I barely participated
and then I just hung out at home.
But then few weeks later, I had taken my brother out to eat with me
and that was when I started to feel off again.
I saw a sign about arts and crafts
and I freaked out that witches would be showing up at the place
and so I told my brother that we have to leave.
I started driving home but he said he felt sick
so I stopped at Target and took him to the restroom.
All of a sudden,
I became convinced
that I was the one who was making him sick,
and that if I stayed with him
he would die.
The scariest part about mania
is that you truly believe these things
the same way you believe 2+2 is 4,
its just the truth.
I called my mom and asked her to pick us up.
She came right away because she could tell something was off.
In a panic, I also called my uncle who was a priest
to ask him what I could do because I didn't want my brother to die.
He was about to teach mass
so he said he'll call me back at 4.
I freaked out at him and told him that 4 would be too late,
and he said "Why? What will happen?"
and that's when I realized...
I didn't know what would happen.
I hung up,
now completely convinced
that I needed a silver necklace to prevent anything from going wrong.
I begged and begged my mom to get me one
but she knew what was going on
and insisted that I go back to the hospital with her.
I was really hesitant
because I didn't think anything was wrong with me
and I knew they wouldn't have necklaces there.
But she didn't give me a choice.
Eventually, I was admitted
and I went through another week of blackouts.
That time,
I remember thinking that I had traveled back in time
and that I had somehow erased someone from existence
and that the only way to get them was through the shower.
So I kept walking into the shower with my clothes on,
just sobbing.
Eventually, they had to have someone watch me all the time.
I also thought tattoos were a way to teleport
and that if someone touched mine,
I would just disappear.
I also believed that when somebody new came in,
I was the one who had brought them into existence
and if I forgot to remember to will them to breathe,
they would die.
And I also thought there was an invisible person
that my uncle had sent to watch me at all times.
And then, I woke up again.
I felt really defeated this time
because I knew what had happened.
They also didn't let me leave for a while
so that they could make sure I wouldn't be back for a long time
and that was really hard for me.
We barely got to go outside,
there wasn't much to do,
the food got really old really quick,
and I just wanted my own bed more then anything.
After this manic episode,
I started to participate in therapy,
I started to be more communicative
with my psychiatrist about my medication
and I took it very consistently.
I just stopped running from my diagnosis
and I accepted the help that was being offered to me.
And that was the only way that I could get better.
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