Christine N.
Neha Kinariwalla
Being an Asian American, I think it makes it even more difficult to talk about mental illnesses because of our traditional cultures, how we are raised, the model minority myth, or just in general not being taught to talk about our feelings. I know most Asian families don’t believe in mental illnesses, or they’re in denial, or uneducated about it, or there are families who don’t believe we need medications. There’s so much stigma around mental illnesses, or Asians feeling ashamed that they need to hide it and stay silent.
I want to share my story because I hope it opens up conversations for those who struggle with mental illnesses so that we can break the silence and end the stigma that it's a taboo topic. I think it’s especially important during this pandemic because I know everyone’s been feeling the blues here and there, but those of us with mental illnesses are much more susceptible to falling down a dark hole during this time. So even if sharing my story helps just one person, I hope that person knows they are not alone.
To this day, the causes for mental health conditions are still unknown, but studies suggest that traumatic life events, your relationship with others, and environmental stressors contribute to the early onset of first episodes. I was 28 when I experienced my first episode and was diagnosed with Bipolar Mania in 2013, and later on, was also diagnosed with a mild Anxiety disorder. Doctors said it was uncommon for me to have my first episode so late in age because people usually experience their first episodes in their teens or younger. What it means to have a Bipolar Mania disorder is to experience both manic and depressive episodes. And it’s an endless cycle. When a manic episode is over, the next cycle I have to prepare for is a depressive episode, and when a depressive episode is over, then it circles back to a manic episode.
When I was first diagnosed, my friends and family urged me not to reveal my condition to anyone. They were scared that I would be discriminated against and judged by those who didn't understand it because of the stereotypes that revolved around it. "Crazy" is usually the first word that pops up when people think of mental illness because they're uneducated and don't know any better.
In 2013, I was in a relationship for 2 years where I was verbally and emotionally abused. I felt trapped and helpless that I am ashamed to say I thought about taking my own life many times just to escape from him. When I was finally able to end the toxic relationship, my ex let his anger consume him and he physically assaulted me to the point that I feared for my life and wanted to call the cops on him. After our breakup, it triggered something inside me.
I started having racing thoughts. I had a list of a million unrealistic projects I wanted to do. I stayed up late in the night writing anything that came to mind because it felt like I was running out of time. I was so busy writing I would forget to eat and got dangerously underweight at only 85 lbs. I isolated myself from friends and missed work for a week. I slept less than 10 hours that week. I couldn't sleep because my thoughts came in faster than the time I had to process and make sense of everything. I had grandiose delusions- what that means is believing you’re the messiah or an angel sent from God to be a messenger or save the world. My behavior became extreme, erratic, and strange. It was like being in a bad dream and watching a completely different person control me. That week was the scariest week of my life because I was left alone with my thoughts, and I didn't feel safe with my own mind. Despite being delusional, I was still very alert and aware of my surroundings, that I could have easily been a danger to myself or someone else. Imagine me being in that state of mind and getting in a car or something, I could have easily caused a car accident.
I ended up being hospitalized because I was experiencing my very first manic episode. The breakup, the episode, all transpired in just one week. It's scary to think how quickly a manic episode can escalate, and that ONE week is all it takes to lose your mind. To an outsider, I just seemed super energetic and hyper and “happy.” Something was clearly off, but no one knew what was wrong. My friends and family feared that my mind reached the point of no return and that they had lost me forever. That was when the doctors diagnosed me with Bipolar Mania. Although it is hereditary, it was the first time my family and I have ever heard of it or had any experience with anyone with a mental illness. I had to take medical leave from work and it took two full months for me to recover, and for me to wind down, and for my manic episode to finally end before I came back to “Christine” again.
Because I never had any manic episodes prior to the breakup, like most people, I had the misconception that I only needed medications if I was unwell, and that I’d be fine without them once I was stable again. Working with my psychiatrist, he agreed that I was stable enough that he felt comfortable to go ahead and let me wean off of medications if I wanted to, even if it’s not what he would advise. I naively thought that as long as I steered clear of any drama, stress, toxic boyfriends, and stayed positive, nothing could happen. I was wrong. Despite being the happiest I have ever been in my life at the time, depression decided to hit me in the subtlest way. I worked with my psychiatrist for many years, so I am very self-aware of early-onset symptoms to catch them before they get worse. So the subtle things I started to notice would be my lack of concentration and my forgetfulness. I’m a forgetful person in general, but this was different. I would go into a store to pick up some things, and I’d literally stand there, and have no idea what I came in for. Or I would drive, and miss my exit 4 times because I couldn’t focus or pay attention.
It made me learn that you don't have to feel sad, to be depressed. Sometimes depression happens for no reason without any triggers. Depression comes in many forms and is unpredictable. One thing I know for certain is that as hard as I try, I still have no control over the chemical imbalance in my brain. I've accepted that this will be something I have to struggle with for the rest of my life.
I decided to get back on medications indefinitely. But even with treatment, the road to recovery was a brutal battle. Getting out of a depressive episode is far more difficult than getting out of a manic episode. Finding the right medications and dosage through trial and error, not to mention the fun side effects I've dealt with was such a pain. I think it took maybe 4 YEARS before I found a combination that worked for me, and even then it's still not perfect. It becomes a sacrifice of which side effects I'd be willing to live with as long as it keeps me stable. I’ve been on Quetiapine, Adderall, Risperdal, Abilify, Zyprexa, Latuda. I am currently on Ambilify and Lamotrigine. Ambilify is an antipsychotic that also helps with depression, and Lamotrigine is a mood stabilizer.
I can do things like take my medications, go through therapy, work on my art, keep a positive mindset to keep the depression from growing, but that is only HALF of my battle. What most people don't understand is that the other half of the battle is the chemical imbalance in your brain that you have no control over. That half, no matter what you do, cannot easily be willed away. Professional help and medications does not mean that you're cured, there is NO cure. Medications help regulate your mood and help prevent your mental health from spiraling down further, but it does not cure it. It helps on the surface level, but it does not cure it at its core. There is no simple "off" switch when you're that deep in the depression. There is no simple change of mindset because your brain is too irrational at that point and throws all truth and logic out the door against your will. And it's an exhausting internal struggle to fight with your own demons every. Single. Damn. Day.
When I’m battling with depression I feel disoriented or numb inside that getting out of bed feels like a major feat in itself. It feels like I'm moving and thinking in slow motion. Things that might seem like simple everyday tasks to everyone else, felt IMPOSSIBLE to me. Being able to stay awake is a victory. Getting up to shower is a victory. Remembering to eat is a victory. Stepping outside of the house is a victory. Depression feels like a heavy, dark cloud, that sits on my chest and weighs me down everywhere I go. It feels like being paralyzed and caught between a dream and reality.
When people hear of a suicide, they don't understand it and they question how someone could be so “selfish” to end their life like that. But the truth is, unless you've been through it yourself, you cannot even begin to fathom what depression does to the human mind or what the mind is capable of. The human mind is extraordinary and can also be the scariest and most dangerous thing.
There are a lot of misconceptions that only someone who is “off” or unstable would be the kind of person who is capable of committing suicide. But look at Robin Williams, Anthony Bordain, or Kate Spade. I remember when people learned of their deaths, people were like “I guess money can’t buy you all the happiness in the world.” No, it can’t. The illness will eat you up. I remember talking to people about my own dark thoughts and someone else we knew who also had suicidal thoughts, and they said “yeah, but that person is really unstable and would totally pull it off.” As if I’m smarter than that other person, to not go through with it. And the thing is, as “logical” or “rational” one might think I am, I had intent. I had a plan. I was ready to write goodbye letters. The logical side of my brain tells me “No, you have people who love and care about you, this is just temporary, and it’s all going to be ok”. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to give up because I was just so damn tired of fighting with my own mind every day. I was so exhausted from having episodes after episodes no matter how proactive I was about my mental health by doing therapy, and taking medications, and seeing my psychiatrist, and I just wanted to be at peace. I just wanted to stop feeling this way. I wanted my thoughts to just shut up. So the irrational side of my brain would think, “What if I just disappeared, and jumped off a cliff.” Because my mind was so irrational at that point, of all the scenarios I played in my head, the idea of dying never once felt scary to me. It felt so serene and so much more peaceful than fighting with my own mind. What was scary was the idea of living with my own mind. It was like having an angel and devil on your shoulders, whispering things back and forth in your ears. It becomes like a tug of war with your own brain trying to keep the depression from winning.
I hope this helps provide insight to people as to how or why someone would go as far as committing suicide. These thoughts I had were a few years ago, and I no longer have dark thoughts anymore, I’m at a good place now. But that didn't happen overnight, I put in the work to get to where I am now. I have a great support system from my friends and family, and my parents came around and are accepting of medications now. I’ve found that my mental illness has had a huge effect on me when I’m working on my personal art, it’s when I feel the most creative. Art has been a major outlet for me. I work closely with my therapist and my psychiatrist to make sure I don’t reach that point again. Because I’ve had so many episodes, I’m very in tune with my feelings and aware of the smallest symptoms now. I used to feel like I was picking apart my own personality and finding myself endlessly trying to differentiate what could be caused by my mental illness or what is actually just "normal." But a friend reminded me that I am not alone, and there is no such thing as normal. I hope that sharing my experience helps others know that they are not alone too. I hope that you can find the courage to seek help and have these tough conversations with your family and help them understand mental illness as well.
I feel that Asian parents especially, still refuse to admit that mental illness is REAL and believe that it's all in our heads. By shunning the topic, they are contributing to the stigma we fight so hard to be free of. It is the reason why mental health still isn't being treated the same as physical health. If we cannot even turn to our loved ones for support, how can we willingly admit that we need help for ourselves?
1 in 5 adults in the U.S. lives with a mental health condition. Someone in your circle of friends and family could very well have a mental illness that you don't know about, and THAT person might not even know it. It is 2021 and people STILL don't understand or know about mental health. If you know someone with a mental health condition, help them. Talk to them. Lend an ear or shoulder to cry on. Invite them to go somewhere outside. Stay with them until they feel safe. Support them by being there for them. Ask them how they are doing. Check in with them. One phone call, one friend, one person could make all the difference and save a life.
What are some of your hobbies/interests?: Art, photography, film, and music.