by Lyra //

I have been searching for the words to tell this story, and after more than a decade, it seems they have finally found their place. Being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder Type 1 at 21 years old was like a death sentence given the prejudice and stigma associated with it then. But today, we are in a different world – though we are nowhere near being a fully inclusive society – and important conversations are being had, beginning the butterfly effect we need to make real change. In that spirit, here is my tale.

In my twenties, I was constantly frustrated by opportunities and experiences being withheld due to my mental health situation. With every year that passed, I held on to the belief that I would be able to transcend this condition one day and return to who I used to be. I kept on rejecting the role that my condition played in shaping who I was and sought the holy grail for every person with a mental health condition – emancipation from the medication and association with the condition.

But every story has a turning point, and mine happened on 20 February 2022. After celebrating the 30th birthday of a close friend, as I headed home on my bike, I found myself catapulting through the air following a crash with another motorbike. 

They say that when you have a near death experience, life slows down and you can see everything frame by frame. As I was spinning through the air, I saw the carnage that was my left foot, hanging by a thread with the bone exposed and blood gushing out. I saw a life that had once been pass me by, with no clarity whether there would still be a life moving forward. 

Having to go through multiple emergency operations, I couldn’t take my mental health medication, and I entered a state of mania and psychosis. Emerging from a 15 hour operation, I remember feeling fire shoot through my limbs, as if I was being reborn from the ashes. Caught up in the flux of psychosis, I flitted between the present world and an otherworld, believing myself to be the reincarnation of the Prophet Jesus. 

It was also at this point that an actual death sentence came knocking on my door in the form of a blood clot that travelled from my leg to my heart. In Islam, there is a saying that God is closer to us than our jugular vein. Knowing that the procedure would require an incision through my jugular vein, I recalled insisting that I would not proceed with it lest it severed my tie with God. The doctors were shocked by my declaration, and were it not for my mom and my family, I would not be here to tell this story.

Unlike most people who would need two to three months to recover, it took me more than eight months instead. Those early months were agonising as I watched life from afar.

While friends and family had marriages, travels and job promotions, I stood still. My solution was shutting down social media and filtering the information I took in. But this was only a stop gap measure. I had to find a way to reconcile what I wanted for myself and what I was ready to accept. Was I going to keep bemoaning what I did not have or could I move past it and recognise my blessings instead?

Ever since my diagnosis, I had believed I was deficient because of my condition. I had to carry a silent burden, fearful it would one day rear its head and be used against me. But with this second lease of life, I understood that God was giving me a chance to reshape my future. Humans are funny creatures. Only when we are threatened by the loss of things do they become of value to us. It took almost losing my foot to realise I had taken it for granted. So what else had I been taking for granted?

Perhaps it’s the perspective that comes with being in your 30s and having a near death experience, or having a decade of life lived with my condition.

I have come to realise that it has given more than it had taken away. It has reshaped my value system, taught me what was truly important and made me strong enough so that I can in turn support those around me.

I wish the me in my twenties could have the courage and assurance that she would eventually find her place and her ‘ride or die’ crew. I wish she did not have to live with the fear of people finding out about her condition. I wish she did not feel the need to self-stigmatise just to be accepted. I wish she had met more kind and accepting people instead of being treated with wariness.  

Today, such a reality seems more possible. I have kept quiet long enough and now I hope to speak up for my community. I want to educate myself and the people around me on how we can best navigate this mental health space. Instead of viewing a mental health condition as a flaw that needs to be hidden, I want us to be able to live alongside it and embrace every peak or trough as an opportunity to learn and grow to be better people. I want to be a voice for my fellow peers because every voice means we as a community can be better heard. I am proud to be a pillar of strength for those around me who need support. I hope for love, and pray for strength, to all those who may be struggling with their mental health conditions. You are not alone, reach out, and you will find us. 

Lyra is currently a Civil Servant with some uncivilised grievances over the backwardness of some segments of our society. Hoping to be the change, she wishes to champion people, inclusivity and diversity through her personal and professional life. Outside of work, you can find her running around volunteering, reading, cycling, swimming, making music, art, photography and ending the day with a hammock sesh by the beach.

Read more of our Tapestry Stories here.

Image by ClickerHappy from Pixabay