Prior to my diagnosis, I had been depressed on and off since I was 13. I would cry constantly, couldn’t concentrate, and couldn’t complete the simplest of requests. Because of this, my parents stopped sending me to school. I would miss a couple of weeks at a time, but when I returned, I was always able to catch up in a matter of a few days, maintaining an “A” average. Looking back, the doctors now know that those were manic episodes.
The day I was diagnosed, I was at a friend’s house. He called my parents because I was doing very strange things and he was concerned. My memories of that day are foggy, but I do remember thinking that I was cleaning the world by cleaning his mom’s house. Hours later, I was curled up in a ball in the emergency room, being given a shot that knocked me out. When I woke up, I was in a room in the intensive care wing of a psychiatric hospital. This would prove to be the first of countless visits to various psychiatric facilities. I don’t remember too much of the first few days during my time there, but I do remember being very disoriented. I wandered into other patients’ rooms, took a lot of showers, talked a lot to the other patients and staff, and looked forward to the very limited times I was allowed to speak to my parents on the phone.
From that moment on, I considered myself to be a “crazy” person. Due to the stigma of mental illness at the time, our family kept it very hush-hush that I had spent time in the hospital. My mom and dad lost friends, I ended up going to a different school, and— due to my mental health issues— my sisters did not get as much time from my parents as they deserved. The majority of my relatives distanced themselves from us, not wanting to know anything about the illness that would plague me for years to come.
As the years went by and I was forced to face the challenges of bipolar disorder, I did manage to accomplish a lot. I graduated high school and college. I was a manager at a movie theater, worked as a trainer at Disney World, taught for nine years, and became Teacher of the Year in 2003! However, my illness took its toll and my doctors forced me to go on disability after being hospitalized 16 times in one year. It was very devastating and made me feel like a failure.
I decided that I would not let this defeat me. I went on to teach myself how to be a digital marketer while working at my father’s company. This would prove helpful when I started blogging under the pseudonym, “Bipolar Bandit”. I set out to not only educate others about bipolar disorder and tell my story but was also hopeful I could help others along the way by offering tips. This led me into mental health advocacy— it’s a work where I truly feel like I am making a difference. I started a Facebook group called “Advocates for People with Mental Illnesses” and a page called “Mental Health Advocates United” where I have joined mental health advocates from around the globe. We have sent countless emails and letters, made thousands of phone calls, and met with politicians. We also have told our stories to the media, spoken with celebrities who have mental illnesses, and had events drawing attention to mental illness. Our goal is to raise awareness, end the stigma, and change the way people with mental illnesses are treated.
