How I found out I had bipolar
It was summer time. I had finished second year at college. Everything seemed great. The weather was excellent, my family and friends were OK and a friend had invited me to stay a few weeks in Barcelona with her. I love Gaudí and his works and had never been in Barcelona, so I immediately said yes - not knowing this journey would change my life forever.
At first I was just happy, became more talkative - speaking even with strangers that passed me by on the street - and creative, making beautiful paintings in my friend's studio. Later on, I started sleeping poorly and disturbing my friend as I went through her stuff one night and made crazy artworks out of personal objects she had. I woke her up and she became angry at me and said awful things (now I understand why she said them). I was upset with her and very disappointed. I didn't manage to sleep the rest of the night and left her house, walking around the block in my pajamas until I felt tired and my brain stopped thinking about our conversation. Then, I returned home and slept. When I woke up, my friend took me to a local doctor, which diagnosed me with bipolar.
I returned home earlier (still remember how sad I was when I entered the plain), and had to be hospitalized. It was one of the worst weeks of my life. I felt so out of place in the mental institution, thinking "I am simply happier than usual. What's wrong with that? Why are people treating me differently? Why am I at the hospital?". There were people there so depressed that some of them had a blank face, looking like zombies. I did not relate with most of the people there. Deep down, I knew something was wrong with me, but I didn't know what it was. I had had so many depressions when I was a shy teenager that, back then (21 years old), I thought I was finally being my natural self. It was only later that I understood what euphoria was and what bipolar was.
At first I was just happy, became more talkative - speaking even with strangers that passed me by on the street - and creative, making beautiful paintings in my friend's studio. Later on, I started sleeping poorly and disturbing my friend as I went through her stuff one night and made crazy artworks out of personal objects she had. I woke her up and she became angry at me and said awful things (now I understand why she said them). I was upset with her and very disappointed. I didn't manage to sleep the rest of the night and left her house, walking around the block in my pajamas until I felt tired and my brain stopped thinking about our conversation. Then, I returned home and slept. When I woke up, my friend took me to a local doctor, which diagnosed me with bipolar.
I returned home earlier (still remember how sad I was when I entered the plain), and had to be hospitalized. It was one of the worst weeks of my life. I felt so out of place in the mental institution, thinking "I am simply happier than usual. What's wrong with that? Why are people treating me differently? Why am I at the hospital?". There were people there so depressed that some of them had a blank face, looking like zombies. I did not relate with most of the people there. Deep down, I knew something was wrong with me, but I didn't know what it was. I had had so many depressions when I was a shy teenager that, back then (21 years old), I thought I was finally being my natural self. It was only later that I understood what euphoria was and what bipolar was.