My bipolar story
In 2005, I was seventeen years old and in grade 11. From the start of the year my parents and I noticed there was something different about me. I was more depressed and lost a lot of weight, but we never talked about the problem.
We had planned to go on a two-week holiday when I had a mania episode and my behaviour went out of line. I knew then that I needed help. I turned to my mom and asked her to help me find a psychologist, and not go on holiday. The psychologist admitted me to a hospital immediately because I was past the point of suicide. I was in hospital for more than a month but still didn’t know what was going on. Within two days of being discharged, I attempted suicide. I cut my pulse, but I fell asleep and somehow the bleeding stopped. The following day I was back in a clinic and asked a nurse what the next logical step would be. She replied: ‘a mental institution.’ But my dad had another plan. He invited his sister and her husband to stay with us and help look after me and rehabilitate me. That time was one of the most difficult times of my life, not only for me but for those closest to me.
There was a stage where I didn’t sleep for two weeks and my mood was unpredictable. One morning I woke up in an anger outburst and my dad fetched a doctor to help make sense of it all. His name was Dr Thinus Uys. He had lost his son due to bipolar; he diagnosed me on the spot and explained to us all what was happening. He offered his counsel, and this was a turning point.
He explained that bipolar treatment is like a railroad train. It has two tracks to stay on course, and an electric panel that provides electricity.
One rail is medication, and the other is treatment – psychology and faith are the sources to help me move forward in life.
