There's a #manic post in my Facebook memories from three years ago, and my goodness... It's a little (or a lot) embarrassing. 

On this day three years ago I was released from my city's (City A) General Hospital after a 72 hour hold, still incredibly sick with mania and psychosis. In hindsight, as much as I hated it... I wish they had kept me longer. 

What I did next was not rational. I hopped on a train to my home city 3 hours away (City B) which my dad begged me not to do. He knew how sick I was. He'd been through it a hundred times with my mom. 

I have never spoken about this publicly because there is a lot of shame attached to having this illness and being that sick. It's a tricky disease, because mania is a pathalogical liar and I had zero awareness that I was even sick! 

That train ride from City A to City B was... Embarrassing, overwhelming, and I truly believed there was going to be an emergency on the train like a crash, or a bomb... I was packed for it, a huge bag with supplies one might need during a disaster with lots of injuries (food, bandages, towels, first aid kit, toilet paper, etc). I even had a clip board to take a roster of people after the disaster. 

I got off the train in random City D, because I was Sherlock Holmes and figured out that the disaster was going to be on a train to a completely different city, and I had to be on that train. Standing on the train platform I saw some police officers in the distance and my sick brain told me I had to call 911. So I did. And they came. Many police officers came and the rest is very hazy... I do remember believing Google was recording absolutely everything, and I remember the police trying to calm me down. It was a process but I eventually got there. They knew my dad was going to pick me up at the station in City B so they let me board the next train. 

My dad picked me up at the station, and took me straight to the hospital emergency room. I think deep down by that point I had a very small notion that the hospital is where I needed to be. 

I spent three days in the emergency mental health hold room. No windows, wasn't allowed outside at all. I slightly remember a freak out one night that required me to be injected with sedation. 

They were trying to get me a bed in the hospital there, but because of the wait times and the fact that my address was in City A, they transferred me to the hospital there. That 3 hour drive was the only fresh air I'd get for the next five days. I wasn't allowed to leave my hospital ward, and they didn't have anyone to take you for fresh air. You had to wait until they deemed you safe to go outside and return on your own. 

I ended up staying another 28 days, and was still sick when they released me, still manic, but much more calm and now medicated. The coming down time from that psychosis was slow. I remained high for a few weeks before the big crash. The crash was the worst if ever felt in my life... The shame, the loss of my best friend, meds with serious side effects and cognitive decline. Worst winter of my life. 

By July 2020 I was still on disability, unable to work and unable to survive living alone, so I moved from. City A to my home City B in with my mother and elderly aunt. 

I ended up cycling into another manic/psychotic episode in August 2020 when I was visiting my now husband (in a whole new City), and ended up in hospital again for 8 days. I had arrived for a visit with him already manic, and over two weeks it turned into psychosis. The difference this time is I was with someone who took very good care of me through the big "up" and then the terrible crash down. 

I have been stabilized now for about two years, mostly suffering from bouts of depression, as I always have... Except now, they're not lasting as long, or running as deep. 

Healing has been happening for a very long time. That first hospital stay was my worst nightmare and biggest fear... That I'd end up like my mom, who at 64 is incredibly mentally unwell and not expected to improve. Scared of being in and out of hospital for months at a time and basically living my entire adult life mentally ill. 

#BipolarDisorder is a lifelong illness. Genetics, childhood trauma, interruptions in development, being parentified, alienated, etc etc have all culminated in a brain that works very differently from others. It means an enlarged amygdala constantly putting me in a fight, flight, or freeze survival mode. It's having to learn to navigate life on your own. 

All this to say: I believe the worst is behind me. I believe I have learned about my disorder and have so much lived experience with it, that I will not follow in my mom's footsteps. I believe that I may very well never experience another mania and psychosis because I am on medication to prevent it. I believe that if I do have an episode that I am surrounded by incredible people that will do their best to support me in my time of need in whatever way they are capable. 

I got married Saturday, it was a fairy tale wedding and we were surrounded by love and family and friends. Our honeymoon has wrapped up and my husband and I are on the drive home today. I definitely rode the high of that wonderful wedding experience and feel myself coming down now and will focus on self care to hopefully prevent a crash. 

There is always hope. I found my hope a long time ago because sometimes it was literally all I had. Hope and baby steps. In the depths of despair, hope and baby steps are about the only thing that kept me hanging on. 

Well, my hope flourished into a life I never really imagined possible, and I march towards mental wellness with every baby step I take.