The following 24 hours are blurry in my mind.
I know there was a day between my return from Limassol and my visit to the psychiatrist, but I’m not sure what exactly happened that day. I remember visiting mom and having lunch with the girls. I remember my mom being worried that I wasn’t eating enough. I remember playing with my nieces and giving them my pins. I remember alternating between being angry and being sad a lot. I remember smoking and smoking and smoking until I could barely breathe anymore. I remember Eli’s uncle coming by and having the weirdest conversation with me. Eli had told him that I was unwell but couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, so his uncle came to try to figure it out. They were trying to diagnose me by proxy as his uncle called the family’s psychiatrist to tell him my symptoms. The psychiatrist advised them to take me to the ER, but Eli knew I would disagree and would prefer my family doctor to diagnose me. The next day, Eli took me home, and my brother came by to take me to the hospital and visit our family doctor. I was still as paranoid as fuck, but a wave of sadness had taken over me as I realized how fucked up I was and how inevitable my diagnosis would be. Mental, I was mental; it didn’t matter what kind, I had a mental breakdown. I told the doc what was happening, and he said it delicately: system failure. Let’s see what the countess has to say about it. He wrote me a prescription for an STD panel and sent me to a psychiatrist. I went back home, and Hala was there. Hala is my sister’s best friend. She’s also one of the best psychologists in town and happens to have bipolar disorder. She was one of the most reassuring figures I could hope for. She explained that we were going to go to a psychiatrist and that we were going to find a solution to ease my pain. A couple of hours later, we drove to the psychiatrist. The weather was starting to be bad, and I thought the pouring rain was acid and would burn us the minute we walked out of the car. I was still seeing danger everywhere. I glanced out the window and saw a colossal graffiti that looked like a monster was coming out of the wall to terrify the fuck out of me. We are watching you. Read the caption on the wall. It was just an ad for Adidas, and the writing on the wall was completely different, but I couldn’t see that. The paranoia was not easing up. It didn’t take the psychiatrist long to come up with my diagnosis. Dr. Michael was a kind soul. He asked me questions about what was happening to me, and he explained what was going on in clear words. I was in the middle of a mixed episode with a solid paranoid psychosis. He suggested that I be hospitalized for the treatment, but I told him that it wasn’t necessary and that I could be treated at home surrounded by the love of my family and friends. I’m unsure if I said that or if it was Hala and my brother. I can’t remember exactly what happened. I just remember leaving his office and sitting in his waiting room while my brother collected my prescriptions. I was crying, and Hala was trying to comfort me. We went back home, and my brother went to get my meds. Eli came by, and we explained to him what had happened. Part of my recovery required us to stop smoking to keep me safe. I think every person in the house went up to him to tell him that at some point because he did his best not to smoke or bring up smoking in front of me for the next few weeks. My sister was here, and she’d taken up the task of calling my 4 clients to let them know that I was taking a three weeks break to recover from severe burnout. We decided to order pizza. It was like any other regular night, except I was still going out of my mind. The neighborly dog I’m accustomed to hearing barking felt like a threat. I hadn’t taken my meds yet. After dinner, there was my first dose. 3 or 4 pills. Lithium, depia, lorazepam, I think I remember. I wasn’t yet in control of my treatment. I didn’t know yet what each of these pills would do. I just knew I needed them to get back to normal. It didn’t take long for me to start dozing off after taking my pills. After all, it had been almost a month since I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep. Eli tucked me in, and off I went.
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AuthorI was born in 1986 in Lebanon. I'm still trying to find my passion in life and in the meantime I'm learning to navigate my bipolarity and redefining stability. Archives
February 2024
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