Born Bipolar: A Self Reflection Piece on Mental Peace

by positivepressagency I got up slowly, stretching my arms which had gone numb after three hours of acting as my pillow. The pillows they gave us were stiff and small and I had thrown mine across the room in an attempt to disobey the nurses. I stared ahead motionless, shuffling my feet in search of my slippers. The cold floor bit my feet and I quickly lifted them off the ground to avoid frostbite. I shivered as I put on my robe and spotted my left slipper under my drawer. It was the middle of May and temperatures outside reflected this time of season, but the air conditioners inside the hospital were kept on at all times. “No wonder everyone is sick in here,” I said to myself reaching for my slipper and the tissue box. “This room temperature would drive anybody crazy.” I walked towards the bathroom, feeling my way around the room which was filled with objects obscured by shadows. I could hear my roommate’s heavy breathing and I looked in his direction as he turned toward the wall. Edward didn’t seem like a bad guy, but we had barely exchanged two words since I’d been moved into his room. He seemed like a gregarious person, but his eyes spoke of introverted kindness as he often would peer out his window smiling at people walking by. He looked like he was in his fifties judging from his thinning gray hair, but a gentle peace lay within him as if he’d come to terms with his fate. I walked into the bathroom and turned the light on, hoping that I hadn’t stirred Edward awake. Since I had arrived at the hospital, I had been walking on egg shells in an attempt to avoid confrontation and reality. It seemed surreal to me that I was in my dorm room days before studying for final exams with my friends. The walls in my dorm seemed miles apart compared to the walls in the hospital. I splashed cold water on my face and looked in the mirror, hoping to wake myself up from this nightmare. “Why me?” I asked aloud shaking my head dry. My eyes were red and looked like hollow craters in my face thanks to my habit of crying. My jaw looked hardened as a result of losing my cheeks from a lack of appetite. My lips felt parched and appeared sun burnt as I turned away from the mirror disgusted at the monster before me. “Charles?” I heard from outside the bathroom. “Are you in there?” I recognized Edwards’s soft voice and replied “Yea, I’m just about done.” A short silence followed before I heard footsteps gradually soften as Edward went back to bed. He usually went to the bathroom several times a night, often waking me up despite the fact that I had been prescribed sleeping pills. I flushed the toilet and pretended to wash my hands to make it seem like I had gotten up to use the bathroom. “Couldn’t sleep?” Edward asked, surprising me as I made my way back to my bed. “Uh…yea” I replied after a brief moment of debating with myself about whether I should lie. He looked at me and nodded in agreement, “I can’t sleep either.” He seemed relieved that he wasn’t the only insomniac. “Are you taking the pills?” he whispered, almost stumbling over his words. I could sense the sincerity in his voice as I sat down on my bed, but I stayed quiet hoping that he’d just go use the bathroom and leave me alone. “Listen,” he continued standing up and moving towards the front of the room. “I’m not crazy…” He picked up my pillow and threw it on my bed. “Just because you’re in a mental hospital and they tell you that you’re sick, doesn’t make it true.” I could tell that he had overheard my conversations with the hospitals staff or read my diary. Most people in the hospital had witnessed my frequent outbursts at nurses and doctors trying to convince them that I wasn’t sick or crazy like the “other” patients. My attitude won me few friends and further alienated me from the other patients, but I remained stubborn fearing that accepting my condition would isolate me from all those I held dear. “Why are you in here?” I finally asked, avoiding his stare and focusing on the floor. “The same reason you’re here son,” he said leaning forward so that his elbows were lying on his knees. He seemed smaller in the dark as the shadows swallowed his medium sized frame, leaving his eyes and teeth flickering ripples of white in a sea of black. “I’m here because I’m sick and I need the doctors to help me get better,” he said smiling. “That’s why you’re here, correct?” “NO!” I cried raising my voice. “I’m not sick. I’m not crazy. This is a mistake. They have the wrong person. I’m not sick...” I leaned back and let out a defeated sigh. I could no longer convince myself that everything was fine. I felt a tear roll down my left cheek and reached for another tissue. “Everything’s going to be okay Charles,” he reassured me. “Everyone gets sick. Just because you can’t see your mind or touch it doesn’t mean it can’t get sick. It’s just like breaking a leg. It will heal.” He paused for a moment to gauge my reaction then continued. “You have to take medicine when you get a cold, don’t you?” I nodded solemnly without shifting my eyes off the floor. “Then why don’t you think we’d need to take medicine when our minds are sick?” I moved my eyes upward to meet his gaze. We stared at each other for a moment before he lay back down. “Your mind is like a muscle,” he said yawning. “Thinking too much can overwork it and cause it to snap. You’ve been thinking a lot these last few weeks and the fastest way to get out of here is by following the rules, taking your medicine –“ He stopped his thought midsentence and leaned closer for emphasis.  “Accept your condition because it will teach you a lot about the kind of person you are and the kind of person you are to become.” I knew that he was trying to help me and I wanted to thank him, but my words stalled as my mind and heart raced. “Think about it,” he said winking. “The only thing crazy about this place is the room temperature.” [ CMG ]