Rollercoaster of Denial

 

Rollercoaster of Denial

 

Accepting that I was bipolar was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. I felt like my dreams would shatter into a world of insanity. It was too overwhelming for me. I tried to cling onto my dreams, but couldn’t. They were like sand running through my fingers. I felt like I couldn’t hold onto anything, having bipolar disorder. “There goes my life,” I thought. I went insane. All my life I was told how smart I was. My teachers raved about how successful I’d be.

Mr. Cotten, always told me that I was a diamond in the rough. He said I would do great things because I was so determined. He always uplifted me and said I would make all my dreams come true and accomplish all my goals. My psychology teacher, Ms. Bayha, said I was so driven. She was all about female power. She motivated me and said I would move mountains. My honors English teacher, Mrs. Cervantes, said I was such a talented and natural writer. I would write my essays during nutrition in fifteen minutes and still get an A. The principal of my high school, Mr. Schwartz, even sent me to the Latina Leadership Conference. He only sent two students—me and the valedictorian. It was an honor to meet all those Latina authors, politicians, and businesswomen. He chose me because he had faith in me. I prayed that maybe one day I would be like one of those successful Latina women at that conference.

My teachers believed in me so much, now, I wondered how I could live up to the faith they had in me if I was labeled as “crazy.” Bipolar disorder was a disability. I thought I could never go on. What does one do after they are diagnosed? People cannot just accept it that easily. I considered it a curse that would follow me forever; yet I tried really hard to believe that the illness would magically go away. I prayed and prayed to God to cure me, but the illness remained in me and would torture and haunt me wherever I went.

When I was released from the mental hospital, they opened the doors of freedom and I walked out and saw the sun shining down on me. My mom and Junior came to pick me up. They helped me with my belongings and we got in Junior’s truck. We drove home and I watched all the cars on the street and people walking by. I was back in civilization and it felt good. Now I had to go out there and live my life. The question was, was I ready to go out there and face the world? Could I possibly go back and try to fit in society? Would I ever be able to blend in? Or would I be an outcast? Would I be a pitiful person on the street, or the crazy girl people laughed at? I just didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know if people would be able to see that I had just became a bipolar and psychotic girl who was once so full of promise.

Now that I was out of the mental hospital, I had to attempt to pick up where I left off. I knew deep inside that I needed to take the medication and my biggest fear was that I would end up crazy in a mental hospital again. I wanted to prevent that by doing what the psychiatrist ordered, which was that I had to go to out-patient care. I was referred to East Los Angeles Mental Health for out-patient care. It was a dingy, run-down facility. The walls looked dirty and the chairs very old. I saw an Indian psychiatrist named Dr. Hussian who had a very dry personality. He didn’t seem compassionate and understanding. He just prescribed my medication. I didn’t feel comfortable around him. I felt awkward. Still, I saw him once a month with the attempt to better my well being. I was trying to come to terms with the idea.

I had a case manager, Monica, who was a pretty, young Hispanic lady. Her face was always shiny and she wore her hair slicked back in a braided ponytail. She was very friendly and would talk to me about my everyday life. She’d observe me and ask me what my goals were and how I felt with the medications, recording everything in a medical chart. I’d only see her for about thirty minutes once a month after my appointment with Dr. Hussian. Monica motivated me. She told me to just go back and do everything that I was doing before I was diagnosed. She told me that I could live a normal life and that there were many bipolar people who were very successful. She said she knew I could be one of them.

And so, I went on with my life. I went back to college and was back on track. I also went back to work at Hometown Buffet. My general manager, John Sanchez, had allowed me to take a medical leave. He said I was welcome to go back to work whenever I was ready. I went back to live my life and acted like nothing ever happened. I was back in school like a bookworm and back at work pretending to be little cheerful dining room attendant. Now it was just a bad memory that I had to completely block out of my life. It was like I went away for a while and came back and picked up exactly where I left off. I know that people knew what happened to me, but I never talked about it. It was like it never even happened. I’d take my medication every day as part of a routine because the thought of me being locked up in a mental hospital terrified me.

I was doing well but then started to notice that I was gaining a lot of weight. The medications’ side-effects were weight gain and drowsiness. I hated the side-effects and always having to be concerned about my body. My weight was always going up and down and I had always been an emotional eater. When I got on the medication, I started eating more because I had so many mixed emotions of what had happened. I would just eat and eat because while I was eating, the only thing I would think about was how yummy the food was. Food had always been my comfort and I solely blamed my weight problems on my medication. I gained thirty pounds and got stretch marks all over my body. I went from 150 to 180 pounds. I was miserable. My customers at Hometown Buffet would actually ask me, “What happened to you? You used to be so thin!” Relatives would say, “Oh, estas muy yenita” (Oh, you are very full). Now this was really starting to annoy me. The medication also increased my appetite significantly and I was always so tired. Then I started acting very vain and said to myself, “I’d rather be crazy than fat!” Oh boy! That was the worse thing I ever told myself. I started going into denial. “I’m smart. I’m a hard worker and for goodness sake I don’t have bipolar. All you stupid doctors don’t know what you’re talking about. This was all just a big mistake! I don’t need this stupid medication!”

I’d go back and forth with my denial but the day I actually stopped taking my medications was the day I ran into somebody I knew. I was coming out from an appointment from Dr. Hussian. I walked out to the parking lot and a guy pulled up next to me. It was a guy I went to high school with. He asked me if I needed a ride but I told him I had a car. I was driving my mom’s car. He said, “OK. So, how have you been? You must work here.” I didn’t say anything. I changed the subject. I asked him if he was going to college. I felt so bad and embarrassed to say that I was a patient at a mental facility. I started telling myself that it couldn’t be true.

“I just had a breakdown, a nervous breakdown,” I told myself over and over. I made excuses. I told myself that I just had some kind of breakdown because Junior was suicidal and I was stressed out with school, so of course I had a breakdown. Anybody would, but now it was all over. Now, it would just be a bad memory. Little did I know that it wouldn’t only be a bad memory, but a future of nightmares.

Don’t look at me like you don’t know who I am. Don’t look at me as if I’m a stranger. It’s still me. I’m still Mari. I’m no longer in that foreign land. My mind found a safe place. I’ll never go there again. Can’t you see? Who says I need this stupid medication? Who said I’d be doomed to be crazy? It’s not true! Don’t you dare tell me what to do! Whoever called you God? You don’t know my destiny. You don’t hold my future in your hands. I decide what will happen next. It’s my life and I will live it as I please. I’ll go on to bigger and better things. Bipolar is a wretched disease and no, it’ll never haunt me! You’ll see; I’m free and I don’t have this curse of a disease.

I was arguing with her with all my might. I hated her and how she made me feel. I yelled at her and then I looked at her face in the mirror and saw that it was me. It was my reflection that was trying to warn me but I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to hear the truth. I felt like the truth would destroy me so I convinced myself that the crazy girl had died and I buried her, but the truth was that her soul was alive and all I could do was continue to fight. I was two different people: one sane and the other insane; one would laugh and the other would cry; one loved God and the other blamed Him. As much as I would fight with myself, it felt like I would never win. I hated being a bipolar girl but the thing that I didn’t want to admit was that bipolar girl was the same person as Maricela Estrada.

Let’s face it friends, the first step will always be denial. No one wants to believe that they are “crazy” back then I would stigmatize myself. I was only eighteen years old. That was fifteen years ago. I’m not that girl anymore. I’m a grown successful woman. It didn’t feel like I would ever make my dreams come true because was so full of denial. Now I’m so proud to be me and I thank God for blessing me with bipolar disorder because he knew I was strong enough to survive it. It has truly made me a better person.