Monday, November 20, 2017


"Bipolar robs you of that which is you. It can take from you the very core of your being and replace it with something that is completely opposite of who and what you truly are... I spent many years looking in the mirror and seeing a person I did not recognize or understand. Not only did bipolar rob me of my sanity, but it robbed me of my ability to see beyond the space it dictated me to look. I no longer could tell reality from fantasy, and I walked in a world no longer my own."

Alyssa Reyans

“Stay awake. Stay awake. Head up. Eyes open."

As I laid in the ambulance, the voices around sounded as though they were quickly being turned up, then down, like someone was twisting the volume knob on a radio back and forth. My head was pounding. I couldn’t open my eyes for more than a second without feeling nauseous. They were so sensitive to the light that it felt like the brightness was burning through them. I’m not sure how long the ride was to the hospital, but I knew we had arrived from the sudden drop and jerk of the gurney being lowered to the ground.

I was wheeled to triage where a curtain was immediately drawn. A nurse handed me a styrofoam cup with a straw. Inside was a dark, chalky looking mixture. “You need to drink this,” she said, extending her arm towards me. She also passed me a large, cylindrical, blue bag. I don’t remember the mixture having a smell, but it was thick. I opened my mouth and let the liquid crawl down my throat into my gut. It took only a couple minutes before I was throwing up into the bag.

The vomiting continued until my stomach had emptied. My wife was at my side the entire time before I was checked in to the behavioral health center and taken to my room. I was still nauseous and couldn’t raise my head up without feeling sick. I stripped down, got into the shower, turned the water to cold, and began throwing up more. Blood and bile covered the floor as water washed it down the drain. I crawled into bed that night not realizing the severity of what had happened.

Again, I don’t remember the details of my stay. I recall there were cameras in the corner of my room watching my every move, which increased the paranoia I was already feeling. I did push-ups and sit-ups during the day to pass the time and to attempt to prove, to myself and the staff, that I was mentally strong enough to leave. The psychiatrist there treated me like I was a criminal instead of someone who was mentally ill. He came into my room berating me for what I had done. I was released approximately 36 hours later with the intent to be taken to a different behavioral health center. However, as soon as I was out of the hospital, I refused to go anywhere else but home. My wife and I argued while sitting inside her car in the parking lot. I called my psychiatrist in hopes that he would side with me - he didn’t. He said I needed to be taken to a different hospital to be treated properly, not like someone who had done something wrong. Still, I was unwilling to change my mind. My wife did not want me coming home with her in the psychotic state I was in, so she took me to my parents house. There, I had a moment of clarity and realized I needed help. My mom drove me to the hospital and I admitted myself once again.


Post a Comment