Call It God or the Government

Years ago, I was diagnosed with bipolar and it made sense. I had mood swings when I was 17 in California.

It didn’t come in like thunder, but it was more subtle. I remember coming back to Haiti and having three days to rest before going to California to see my sister. I didn’t get any sleep for those three days.

The month I was there, it was fine. I spent time with my sister and her family, but over the last week, things started to get blurry.

I was hyper-focused on purity. I struggled a lot with pornography at that time. I felt ashamed that I struggled with it because I was supposed to be a leader within my church, and I felt like a total hypocrite.

I remembered being frustrated with it, and the day when I went to the hospital, I smashed my laptop on the kitchen table and threw out the wifi card.

I remember the delusion I was feeling the night before, where I felt like I was being followed and watched. I felt like something was communicating with me. Call it God or the government.

I remember that I thought I was being communicated with by my youth leader and in some grand conspiracy.

I had thoughts of controlling a machine and locking myself in a room. I was all over the place.

My sister and her husband were concerned, and I was unhinged. The police came and wanted to arrest me. But my sister told them that something was wrong and I needed help.

I went to the hospital and became extremely agitated. I waited in the room to get transferred.

In the hospital, I became a madman. I remembered tearing off my clothes and yelling at God. I remembered defecating and spreading it on my bed.

It was there that I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and I couldn’t believe it because I studied psychology in AP Psych in high school.

I think it was about two weeks that I stayed in the hospital. I remembered my dad coming to pick me up and flying to CT on September 11th, 2008.

It hadn’t hit me that I was manic or psychotic. It was a blur, and I was on medication that dulled everything.

I spent time at home and was trying to go back to school. I gained weight, and I remembered how I felt out of my body.

Eventually, I broke down during a class in high school. I was sent to the counselor’s office and was driven to the hospital in an ambulance.

From that point forward, I got worse.

I was placed in Silver Hill Hospital, and I had a hard time there. I was placed in a padded room and was in restraints, tied to the bed.

I stayed there for about a month. My mind melted at the medications I was taking. I felt the safest place to be was in the shower, where no one could touch me. I spent a lot of time there.

After I was released, I was homeschooled for the rest of the semester. Mrs. Amenta came by to give me homework, and I did my best to complete it.

January came, and I was reinstated at school. I completed my senior year and graduated on time.

I was accepted to Liberty University in Virginia, and I was pursuing nursing. My mom and I decided that I didn’t need to take the medication, so for about a year, I didn’t take medication.

Everything was fine until the winter of my sophomore year. I became very depressed, and I also had a manic episode. I remembered taking a bottle of supplements because I wanted to be fit and maximize my mind.

I had this grandiose vision of becoming an influencer through my writing. I had read The Four-Hour Workweek by Tim Ferriss, and it inspired me to become an entrepreneur.

Then there was The Four-Hour Body by the same author, where I got the free supplements. I was heavily influenced by him, and it didn’t help my mania.

I was hospitalized for about a week. Spent New Year’s in the hospital. I was released and went back to school.

From there, it was okay, but eventually I became manic or psychotic. I skipped curfew, wandered the halls, had grand delusions, and was sexually frustrated again.

Eventually, I was reported for my behavior, and I was sent to the hospital. After I got released, I was banned and kicked out of school, and I only had a few hours to pack my stuff or get arrested for trespassing.

I spent the next couple of years in and out of hospitals. All of them were voluntary because I knew something was off.

It was my last hospital visit where I accepted that I had bipolar disorder. After I accepted it and was med compliant, life became easier.

I became successful in my own right. I moved to North Carolina and started a sales career in tech. Nobody knew the details of the years prior, and I didn’t tell anyone.

If you struggle with your diagnosis, it’s not a verdict. I understand if you feel like medicine is a cage or if you feel better not taking the medication. It took me years to realize that I needed consistent help with the medication. But eventually I conceded, and I took the medication.

I still had my creativity, and I was social and made friends. I wish I had been med compliant sooner because it would have spared me the years of being in the hospital.

~Barnaby