Healing With Others

Hope by Ryky

A really beautiful thing just happened and I wanted to share it with you to give you hope.

After a long day of intense group sessions and meetings with psychiatrists, the other women at the ward and I were sitting in the dining room, unwinding, when I saw another patient burst into tears by the medication room. Immediately, I felt distressed seeing her break down in such a strong way, when she was usually the one who was so protective and generous with advice. She was my roommate, and just the night before, I was crying in my room, frustrated at the information they were giving me as I felt that it wasn’t helping me in any shape or form. Having been in and out of mental institutions her entire life, my roommate sat down and explained to me what it’s like to heal within a system – the language that’s expected of you, the key things nurses look for to determine whether or not you’re progressing and the realization that I cannot expect a miracle cure that would heal me forever at the end of my stay here. She reassured me that it takes a lifetime of coping to be able to deal with trauma, and that pretending you’re fine when you’re not, only deny others a chance to be in the program when they need it so much.

Talking to her felt entirely different from talking with the nurses, or my friends, because it came from a person who was in the same place as I was – and so hearing her words and stories made me feel more confident about the program and finally motivated me to start working within it. And so, seeing her so distressed, made me feel so worried. A friend of ours immediately came over and hugged her, and the same nurse I had fought with before – Nurse Ratched as we call her, told them that hugging wasn’t allowed. I could see two other concerned women milling around at a near distance, watching  my roommate break down and wanting to hug her as well, but they kept their distance as Nurse Ratched was watching.

She went back into our room and I didn’t know if I should go with her or not because I didn’t know if she wanted to be alone. She came out after a while and asked us if we could go down with her, where the nurses couldn’t see us, and pretend we were on a smoke break. Immediately four women, including me, ran to our rooms to get our jackets and as soon as we were in the elevator, we hugged her as she cried on our shoulders.

By the emergency entrance of the CAMH building, the first place we saw when we were first brought in there filled with so much pain and unhappiness, we each took turns embracing each other and comforting each other, and telling each other positive things to keep us alight.

And then, with my roommate facilitating the discussion, just like in group therapy, she said, “Let’s all say things that we’re grateful for today. Today, I’m grateful that I met you guys.”

Another woman said, “I’m grateful that disturbing emotions are temporary and don’t last forever.”

The next one said, “I’m grateful to be a mother who is on her way on getting better.”

And I said, “I’m grateful to have you as a roommate and because of our talk last night, you made me trust in the program and one of the main reasons I am working so hard in this program is because of you.”

And she looked at me with such happiness and mouthed, “Thank you.”

When we got back, we all sat down with her and ate junk food that we shared with each other – one ate a strawberry and jam sandwich, I ate chocolate cake and another one ate a freezie. When Nurse Ratched came back doing rounds, she tried to say that it wasn’t her fault, that the reason why she didn’t let us hug is because they can’t have five women in the unit breaking down, and while she said this, we all looked at each other in mutual understanding that despite their belief that we can be triggered by each other’s breakdowns, our instincts to protect each other is much stronger than they could understand.

It was an amazing thing to witness and be a part of – that incredible impulse to nurture and care for each other. Within a second, we were making each other foods and brewing teas to keep each other from breaking down. Whispering things to each other like, “Don’t judge yourself,” “You’re doing a great thing,” “You’re learning – don’t deny yourself that education”, and quickly holding each other’s hands as the nurse’s backs were turned and then staying up with each other despite the medications we were on, knowing that if we let each other go to bed too early, the nightmares could begin — these are the basic, human things we do for each other, that keeps us alive and well, and to see it come so naturally in a place where you would least expect it – is something I believe will give me hope forever.

Tonight, I’m going to stay up and keep the light on, and listen to her breathe, and make sure to wake her up once the nightmares begin. I am happy to know, that despite being here, I still have the strength to look out for those who need me.

Like she said: “If you hold a person’s hand today, someone will always hold your hand tomorrow.”

Living with Bipolar Disorder at CAMH

I debated about publishing this – I didn’t want it to sound too patronizing or too awkward, and unrealistic – too Girl Interrupted. But for the longest time, I felt that this part of me has been hidden and denied from the public. Staying at the Women’s Inpatient Unit at CAMH has made me realize, as heartbreaking and as lonely as it can be – that my illness is part of who I am. It doesn’t go away, nor sleep, it’s always awake, and no substance or distraction can break it – nor cure it. So today, I decided that I won’t sleep the day away in my room at CAMH tomorrow – I will go to group therapy and meet other people who have experienced trauma in their lives so that I can learn to live with my disorder, instead of running away from it.

Obviously, writing this post has been the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. I can only hope that it can help others acccept themselves fully, as daunting as that task may be.

Bipolar Disorder is present your whole life, however, many of the symptoms of bipolar disorder simply look like high-enery normal behaviour in its early stages. This is why most of you know me as energetic, enthusiastic and motivated, even creative at my most manic of stages.

However, my symptoms worsened as the following occured since the beginning of September: I entered full-time at OISE while working everyday as  a program coordinator for a not-for-profit organization and then going home to tutor Korean kids from 6 pm to midnight. That left me after midnight to attend to homework and other pieces of creative writing my job entailed me to do. Within these months, especially during practicum, I ran on a 3 hour sleep schedule every day, feeling very energetic, motivated and driven, despite not having slept for an entire week. Along with juggling social events, paying bills for my house, running a house with 3 roomates and taking care of a psychotic cat, I didn’t realize how much stress this was doing to me until I stopped completely.

Enter the holidays. No school. I also took vacation days from both of my jobs. For the first time, I was doing literally nothing for a week – and it felt great. I’m not going into full detail about what went on during this week, but some of you have already been introduced into the new set of friends I discovered, which allowed me to be “excessively involved in pleasurable activities that had high potential for painful consequences” – another symptom of mania.

The next three months have been a blur of panic attacks, staying in bed all day yet not sleeping at night, watching  movies to keep myself distracted from the fact that school and work is now slowly falling apart – as well as my relationships with other people – partying recklessly, abusing alcohol and other substances excessively – anything to keep myself from myself. I became unsually violent, irritable and socializing with people who knew me became very much like cutting through thin skin – each conversation was a battle; each response from me was forced, full of denial and guilt for not being able to be more truthful to others, and shame for not being able to accept myself.

What finally set my commitment to CAMH in stone was a nervous breakdown I had at my dear friend’s condo. It was an unbelievably happy day – we went for Chinese, went to buy board games and played Little World at Castle Cloud, and then went back to Etobicoke to be together for the night. Immediately after our sharing circle I started feeling awry, so they set a bubble bath for me which made me feel calmer. However, the next thing I knew, I had snapped at a friend of mine when he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and when my other friends tried to soothe me by explaining that he didn’t mean  what I thought he meant, the breakdown began and I started hearing voices that told me that they hated me, and that they wanted me to leave. The next thing I remember is that I was in a room with black, angry faces trying to control me, and that all I wanted was to go home. When I came to, I was at the back of my friend’s car, my face buried on my friend’s shoulder, too embarrased to look up, as I held on to his thumb for dear life while he spoke to kill the incredible silence. I know I have great friends. I know they did all they could for me out of love. But all I can think of is how much of an inconvenience I was to their day, and how much they’re willing to cope with this crazy behaviour.

And so here I am, at the Woman’s Inpatient Unit, 9th floor at CAMH. I am on form for 72 hours which means I cannot leave, and my pschiatrist and social worker has informed me that they may extend this form to 3 weeks. Hopefully, in that time, I can try to see who I am, how I can deal with who I am, and how I can take care of those around me knowing the responsibility of loving me entails.

To end this post on a cheerful note, I met a wonderful girl here that we’ll call Jane. My first conversation with Jane involved her having a panic attack trying to find Rexall all within the 15 minutes she’s allowed to go outside. When she got back to the CAMH building, there was a shift change with the conceirges, and so for a full 10 minutes, she tried to find CAMH, not knowing she was already at the building the whole time.

My second conversation with her involved me asking why she was dressed so nicely. She said that she had tried to go out of the building, but upon going outside, began to have a panic attack, called the ambulance only to find out that she was still in the building she was supposed to be in anyway.

Tonight I caught her brushing her teeth and she asked me about my tattoo. All of a sudden, as I was explaining it to her, a whole new meaning began to take form. My tatoo is of a quill with a writing that says, “Find the others”. This was a quote from Timothy Leary who encouraged people to go beyond the social convention, the platitudes, and ask people who they really are, what they truly love, what scares them at night – create a conversation that is both awkward and depressing because that is how you can evolve an everyday conversation into something beautiful, into truly knowing someone for who they are. So find the “others” who are willing to participate in this kind of conversation with you, so that you may feel like you belong.

As I was telling her this, she began to get more and more excited about the concept, especially because living in a pscyh ward forces you into platitudes, while at the same time, necessecarily breaking those platitudes in order to reach out and make your stay, as well a the other person’s stay, more meaningful and enjoyable for both of you.

She said, “The other is you! And it’s also me!”

Which made me realize, in a moment of such euphoria, that I have found the others, after giving up my battle to become “normal”, and surrendering to who I truly was, disordered and bipolar, but HONEST – and that’s what makes me beautiful.