Pain-stained Journals | Anthology

6 | Broken mind

Crash. That's how my mind felt after my first psychotic episode. When you are in one you are just oblivious, oblivious to what is happening to you. People around are seeing with their eyes that's something isn't right; they can't wrap their mind around it.

Psychotic episodes are something you get used to after some time. There comes the medication that is used to numb you. Numb your oversensitive emotions that keep on banging your fragile heart. When you are sick to your head, your thoughts become your enemies. Having experienced mania and depression, I know the true pain of mental illnesses.

Depression came first. It was years ago when I got to experience it. The numbness was there even without the medication. The Feeling of despair and deep sadness used to overwhelm me so much that I couldn't sleep at night. Endless thoughts that just couldn't give up. They clouded my mind at night and used to haunt me.

Hallucinations came within the first few nights without sleeping. Remembering how I was looking around me just to notice the imaginary people that my mind made up, make me sick to my stomach.

Depression is just like a pandora's box, you never know what terrifying symptom you are going to get. The box opens itself some time in your life, just when you become to feel lifeless.

In my school people used to make fun of a child that was going to class with a blank expression. They never really cared about what was going inside his head. From all my classmates, I was the one who knew what he is going through.

With depression, you either act like everything is alright or you give in completely and feel no hope. After some time, all mentally ill people give up. But they got to give up experiencing recovery.

Recovery is like the flower blooming. In the first few steps, it's not noticeable but in the end, it's admirable.

I never felt like the others. Seeming different from them made me more anxious day after day. Illness comes, and you just abort yourself from everyone else. You act out your play. It is not a weakness, it's just a way to cope with reality.

I was fulfilling my passions until the time I got depressed. When it got me, I just stopped? Stopped living my life to the fullest. Aspiration was something I have driven myself to for years. Self-appreciation of the things I have done in my entire life was my daily routine. By the time I got depressed it all suddenly stop mattering.

Being a ballet dancer, having the ground underneath your feet and hoovering on top of it was my passion. When I danced, I used to feel fulfilled. I got everything I wanted, career, love, money, and family. But one crucial thing was missed. Health.

Health was something that I lacked. Pushing myself to the limits of each practice and giving out my best, was drastically bad for my well-being. Trying to keep it all inside, I suddenly broke. Broke apart. Hidden feelings came out. My perfect glamours face was no longer smiling. I had tears on the corners of my eyes every practice from that day.

I lost a lifetime opportunity — the final championship. Some may think it is stupid to worry about such things, but it was my dream, and that dream was now lost. I had danced, danced and suddenly, I regretted doing the unnecessary thing. Wanting to impress the jury, I did a triple jump in the air, and I landed with my knee on the ground. I didn't recover until now.

I tried to do more practice, to push myself even more. The Doctor said it is suicide for me to practice more, I didn't listen, I made my choice. When I saw that I was losing my attention more from the time of that fall, I hid. Hid in my mind. It was a not safe place to be.

The depression started, when I just gave up. My passion was now lost giving me great dissatisfaction. My parents tried to help me every day. Family home alongside my boyfriend was something that kept me still for some time. The worse time came, and my stabilized state didn't last. I went to the psychiatrist, and he gave me medication.

Depression was tough for me, just like it is for everyone else experiencing it. Staring at the wall opposite of me I contemplated my life. Fractured knee and a deep misery inside my head. My heart was crying too, it couldn't bear the heaviness of depression. Illness is something you can't control on your own, especially mental illnesses. I have this opinion because of what I experienced and by looking at what helped me along the way.

The medication I was prescribed was not like a dream come true. I felt that my true emotions are neutralized but no one believed me. My parents wondered what has happened to their daughter. I wondered that myself.

Life is not your best friend when you are depressed. Everything around you feels as if it's black and white. You don't see colours as others do. All you see is stretched out emptiness. Every depressed patient has a pile of cards. Cards that can help or hurt. When I got my chance to play, I pulled out every positive card and was left with nothing. They were gone, just like my willingness to live.

I didn't eat much too, if I ate, it was forced. When my parents weren't looking, I was throwing up every meal. I mastered the perfect excuse to do so, as simple as it is I just rushed to the bathroom. Telling them I had diarrhoea was a small lie I could not spare. Giving out lies to people I know was easier when I was depressed.

After some time, I recovered, as unbelievable as it seemed to me then, I did. It was hard, but I knew the medication coupled up with my fragile want to get back on track, gave me the hope I needed. Recovering from mental illness is just a part of your life.

I didn't know that this recovery was just short-lasting. Being without preparation for what was coming next, I tried to get back to life at a steady pace.

The Maniac episode came next. There was no coming back from it, it overwhelmed my mind, just when I thought that everything is now stable. With bipolar disorder, you never know what's coming next. You may be well one day, a month, or even a couple of months but when it gets to you it's just done.

Actions I couldn't sign myself to know were undeniably dangerous. Decisions made in a rush of a moment, diving into a risky situation were now daily. I didn't control myself anymore, the disorder controlled me. It is a disorder for a lifetime, you can't break free from it. Bipolar may give you some period to recover from the episode, only to give you the next one later. You never fully recover.

I triggered my episodes many times out of my stupidity. I was said not to drink alcohol, take any substances and not involve myself with potential dangers, but I did the opposite. Alcohol is a liquor that I used for a long time since my fall in the ballet championship. Drinking it made me forget about what's bad and what's good, so all that was left was emptiness. That type of emptiness that you just want to feel something again, so you drink more. When you drink you fool your mind, it becomes more noticeable after some time. People glance, people, talk.

I was in a psychiatric hospital for a tremendous amount of time just because I decided not to follow the given instructions. Every next time I spent there; I was becoming number. Suddenly, I felt like I was vegetating, I felt like my mind aged a thousand. I slowed up the mind process was now my brain reality. Every time stronger medication soon later made me feel blank. Blank like paper, that we were used to being given in hospital. Blank like my mind. Thoughts didn't come more. But deafening silence was no better. Even though I had no disturbance in my brain, I could feel how badly it is misplaced in my head.

Mental illnesses are things that you can't expect, they come, and they go. If you want to go nicely on them, you got to follow their instruction. Ending up like me is something I don't wish for anyone.