“I lost physical abilities to this illness. But I learned how to be human—and how to be happy.”
Introduction: This Is Something We Need to Talk About
Today I want to talk about bipolar disorder and mental health.
Because this isn’t just about a “diagnosis”—it’s about awareness, transformation, and self-acceptance.
I’ve been through it. I’m still going through it.
And now, I’m ready to share.
Childhood: The Fear Behind the Success
As a child, I was strong-willed, irritable, moody—but also driven and successful. On the outside, it looked like a normal childhood. But I was always anxious. I was especially afraid of getting sick.
One time, I drank coffee for the first time. It burned my stomach (not that I knew that at the time), and I panicked, thinking something was wrong with my heart.
Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night with stomach pain, convinced something terrible was happening. But no one ever tried to comfort me—they just got angry.
“Why are you like this?” they’d ask.
Teenage Years: Crying in Silence
The panic continued through adolescence.
I became extremely withdrawn and antisocial. I’d lock myself in my room, cry to music.
But I never stopped working hard. I kept getting top grades.
It felt like if I didn’t achieve something, I wouldn’t be seen.
As if success was the only way to prove I existed.
University: A New City, Old Patterns
I chose to study philosophy—not exactly surprising. A new city and new people helped me open up a little. I made friends. Life seemed okay for a while.
But the panic never left.
Every night, I went to bed thinking: “I’m definitely going to die tonight.”
Eventually, I broke down and—thanks to a friend’s insistence—went to a psychiatrist.
They gave me an antidepressant and sent me on my way.
I had no idea what was coming.
Mania Hits
The first few weeks were great. I felt happy, social, even started jogging. I wasn’t crying at night. I wasn’t panicking about my heart. Sounds like a miracle, right?
But the high kept rising. I started spending excessively, dressing up all the time, sleeping less.
And then—boom. I crashed.
I couldn’t get out of bed. I felt detached from reality. “This isn’t me,” I kept thinking.
A friend saw what was happening and took me to a hospital.
The psychiatrist said I was having a manic episode. I was confused.
They asked if bipolar disorder ran in my family. It did. My mother is bipolar.
Turns out, the antidepressant had triggered my undiagnosed bipolar disorder.
Lithium, Stability, and the Fall
They started me on lithium. Within a few weeks, I felt stable. The panic eased.
Two years passed like this. I had occasional depressive periods, but overall, I managed.
Then something awful happened.
A major heartbreak. Rage. Disgust. Pain.
I stopped taking my meds.
I started drinking—one bottle of wine a day. I was angry, but hyper and productive. Wild, even.
You guessed it: another manic spiral. It lasted three months.
I thought I was fine. I told everyone I was fine.
Then I crashed again. Hard.
It felt like I’d been carrying a mountain on my back—and finally collapsed under its weight.
2017 to 2023: Surviving, But Not Living
I went back to the psychiatrist. They asked why I stopped my meds.
I had no answer. I had to restart. That was in 2017. I stayed on medication consistently until 2023.
So how was I during those six years?
- Depressed
- Angry
- Numb
- Obsessed with work
- Focused on the negative
- Resistant to change
I was alive, technically. But it felt like I was in a vegetative state.
April 2023: When Everything Changed
In April 2023, I got sick (read here) —while already feeling emotionally wrecked. I had a 40°C fever and refused to take any medication. Why? I was terrified of side effects.
Because I was always afraid.
Afraid of life.
This fear—this illness—had ruled me for so long.
But this time, something changed.
A New Perspective: Peace Over Perfection
That illness made something clear:
Mental health is more important than physical health.
Yes, I have this condition genetically. But that doesn’t mean I have to accept everything it tries to do to me.
When I left the hospital, I became obsessed with physical health.
Now, I prioritize inner peace.
I used to hate myself.
Now, I love myself.
I’ve learned to accept who I am—fully.
Every night, I thank my body. I thank myself.
And honestly?
I feel better now than I ever did before the diagnosis.
Isn’t that what really matters?
Final Thought: More Than Just Surviving
The more peaceful and joyful your mind is, the healthier your body becomes.
I lost some of my physical abilities to this illness.
But I gained something deeper:
What it means to live.
What it means to be human.
Wishing everyone peace of mind. Always.
