Teaching Bullies

I’m writing this story in a hospital near where I live in Bordeaux, France. This is my second hospitalization; after several depressions and manic episodes, I was recently diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

People might wonder, “How is she better if she’s still in the hospital?”— but for the first time in my life, I have hope. The diagnosis is what gave me hope; it means we can find the right medication and the right kind of therapy with a psychologist.

I always felt different, and deep inside I always knew something was going on. I’d say my life is quite peaceful today, even though I am not stable yet and still think about self-harm and suicide from time to time— I am surrounded by nice people, people I love and who love me back. It wasn’t always like that.

I was bullied as a young teenager. Someone noticed my weakness and, out of pure cruelty, decided to stab me there. This cruel girl turned my best friend against me and used her to deliver the messages. The two of them would come every day to call me Axelle the ugly. They would tell me that I was worthless and would never find anybody to love me. These were only some of the awful things they said all the time.

The pain was made so intense because I still loved my friend and always hoped she would someday be my friend again, but she never was— even when the girl who started all this went to a different high school. I was all broken, I felt so alone. Everybody saw what was happening—my other friends, my teachers—yet nobody said anything. That was when my first wave of self-harm happened.

Later, at 16, I was unable to make new friends. I had some friends left from before but still felt like I was alone; nobody saw how hurt I was. This prompted the second wave of self-harm and a depression that wasn’t diagnosed because I wasn’t seeing a psychiatrist.

I think my bipolar disorder emerged when I started university. I always had excellent grades, but after high school, it was like I wasn’t able to do anything anymore. At age 23, I had major depression. I was suicidal and went to the hospital for the first time. In the hospital, the psychiatrists could adjust the medication faster. Being in the hospital was like a cocoon to protect me from myself and the outside world. My stay in the hospital lasted three months. I wasn’t going to university anymore; I was unable to study, so I failed the whole semester and couldn’t graduate. I failed the entrance examination needed to become a teacher because the medication made me dizzy. Nonetheless, it was worth it: I felt better—although at first most people, including myself, couldn’t really tell I was better.

I just felt numb, but that was a step outside the suicidal and demeaning thoughts. Then, little by little, my psychiatrist and I agreed on reducing the medication, and I could eventually get back to my life. After that came my first major manic episode, but it didn’t last too long. I am not stable yet, but I know this time the doctors won’t let me out until I am, and this is why I still have hope.

My past experience with the ups and downs of bipolar disorder, and the anxiety due to bullying, positively impacted my current life in three ways:

First, I’m trying to become an elementary school teacher. I want to teach love and empathy to the children; to guide them so they don’t become like the bullies who broke me, and won’t be afraid to speak out if they are victims of bullying. I can’t help all the children in the world, but I can help those in my classroom. That is a good start.

Second, this condition— bipolar disorder— increases my sense of creativity. I have a lot of ideas flowing in my head, and I use them for my drawings, writing, and photography. I may not always create masterpieces, but I make artwork about the things I need to express. It’s very therapeutic for me to express and describe my feelings in writing.

Third, I am now modeling. I started modeling for fun a year ago. Lately, I have been taking it more seriously. I have received only positive feedback. How ironic: after being bullied for my physical appearance, I am now in the business of physical beauty. We all have beauty and sensitivity, and shouldn’t be afraid to use it. I may seem weak because I was a victim, or because I have mental health issues, but I feel stronger because of them.

I am still standing even while I’m going through this, and it takes a strength I never thought I had.