And so, I have decided to write again.
I have been wanting to write since August, because even then, I knew something’s not right. Thoughts were racing rapidly, wildly inside my head. I could not just walk a simple walk. And even though the sky was bright back then, when I was having a trip in Europe, I couldn’t forget how I desperately tried to look down every time someone approached me–just so I didn’t have to talk with them because I was afraid that they’re going to realise that something’s off with me.
“Nothing’s off with me.”
At least that’s what I was hoping. That’s what I’ve been telling towards myself for the last four months. But, obviously, it’s not true. People around me would be able to tell what’s going on with me. The highs, the lows. But, that’s not what I want to hear. It just validates that there’s something wrong with me. That I’m like this and people are not like me.
The doctor’s first diagnosis was Bipolar I Disorder–previously, I was diagnosed with Mild Depression by a different doctor–of course, this confirmed all the impulsive behaviour, and the mood swings, and the unpredictable actions I have made these last four months. I think it’s partly funny because I was into an Indonesian metal band called Bipolar Disorder when I was in Junior High. That time we had a Friendster community and I was an active online fan. Partly ironic because that’s also the very first time when my self-harm behaviour started developing. Yes, the cutting behaviour started when I was in Junior High.
I, too, recently deactivated my Instagram account and emptied my desk in the office. These were taken as some of the countermeasures against the manic episodes I’ve got in October–November. Everything was too overwhelming, and I tried to immerse myself into work. So I work whenever I can, just so there will be no more racing thoughts. I couldn’t get a good sleep (I can sleep, but it’s always a bad sleep). Apparently, this created a new problem as now I know that I’ve been pretty delusional in seeing things.
The doctor said that the delusional activities include me being overly overconfident. This is very true. I thought anyone can’t be as good as nor better than me in doing my work. That I am able to do every work presented on the table. Et cetera, et cetera. I also believed that everyone in the office conspired to bring me down with my work. Of course I wasn’t aware that I was being a total douche. It didn’t sound like a lie to me, that was what I actually saw and heard in my head. So, I apologized to everyone and accepted that those experiences gave me another extra experience where I have to take two pills every day before bed now.
I don’t know how I should react to the doctor’s diagnosis. It’s somehow expected? But it did trigger my anxiety attack on the same night I was diagnosed – partly because the meds made me feel damn sleepy and I still had to drive home. I was having another tantrum. Hit my steering wheel so hard that it actually hurt my hand, haha.
Right now I’m just trying to get a grip on everything. Looking for other hobbies (I have no interest in drawing anymore, too bad that now I think it’s very tiring). And weirdly, I want to be invisible and visible at the same time. I want people to know that this invisible illness is real. But at the same time, I want to hide for having this “thing”.
On being invisible.
Some of you who have read up to this point might think, “What good would this post bring to my/your situation?” – Wouldn’t it make others wonder of something bigger? What’s the urgency of sharing things like this online?
Hear this out. This is my attempt to be “in/visible”. Upon reading, people won’t be able to experience what I have experienced, but at least people will ‘know’. If it develops to ‘understand’, it would mean the world to me. But ‘knowing’ is enough, for now.
In my attempt of being in/visible, I think it’s unfair if I skip the part that tells the history of my invisible illness. Here I will spoil just a little bit–as a background–and perhaps share more in the future, if I think the time’s right and I feel comfortable enough to share more.
- 2016-a: Went to a psychologist. Cried for almost 2 hours long in the first session. The psychologist stopped the session after she thought that I was doing okay. Went on the worst breakdown ever in my life the next following week.
- 2016-b: Diagnosed with Mild Depression by a psychiatrist with an ancient point of view (close-minded) in Depok, few months after graduation. Was given Frisium and two other kinds of meds. But, gave up taking them shortly after.
- 2016-c: Went to a group therapy. But didn’t work out as I feel awkward meeting new people and having to share such an odd topic.
- 2018-a: Went to GP in September and was given new meds. Gave up shortly after.
- 2018-b: Went to another psychiatrist, this time I actually went with my boss. Still taking the meds up until now; 1 week on Depakote and Zyprexa.
Taking pills every day before bed is now my routine. The pill makes me feel sleepy. It makes me feel sick as well. But the doctor said the particular effects would be gone just after a few days of the medication. I’m not gonna lie, I hate taking pills. It’s like I’m broken and I need a fix. I also hate having to go to the doctor every once in a while. Aside for it being so expensive, I feel awkward telling personal stories to random people too.
I had never thought that I’d gonna go through what I’m going through right now. It’s a mixed-up feeling between sadness, anger, and confusion. I don’t know what to do. I keep asking myself some rhetorical questions that I would be able to answer if my mind was in a better state. I need people to know that this is real and I’m deeply mad out of people’s ignorance. Sorry.
And so, I have decided to write again. Just so I can be in/visible to you.
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