Onika L. Dainty

Life Lesson #4

Seventy-one and a half miles. 

190,725 steps. 

18 days.

When I think about where and when I first heard this quote I draw a blank. It’s as if I was born with this philosophy in my bones and in my heart so the first time it appeared before me I already knew it. It's the story of my life, reminding me that no matter what my goals are, what challenges I face, what adversity I need to overcome to reach my final destination I must take the most important first step without fear of the outcome or even knowing where the journey will take me. Even when the walk feels impossible and never-ending, every journey is an adventure with no guarantees that it will help you or hurt your current circumstance. By taking the first step the only certainty is that you will have to continue to walk down an unknown path to gain knowledge and understanding of your purpose, to learn the lessons that every journey teaches you. 

I remember the fear I felt at 5 years old taking that first step onto an airplane at the Cheddi Jagan International Airport in my home Guyana where my mother and I would fly to Canada, to our new lives and it feels like I’ve been taking first steps ever since. 

The first step into a Canadian elementary school where I would experience racism and bullying. 

The first step into my new house in Pickering, ON where I felt love and happiness, where I wrote my first award-winning poem, where my family was whole. 

My first step into the hallways of my high school where I experienced gender-based violence, fear and constant anxiety. 

The first step onto my university campus where I found escape from my past, where I smoked my first joint while experiencing extreme depression, where I graduated with my first Honours degree in History

My first step inside the observation room of a Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU) where I would be diagnosed with Bipolar I disorder  and the course of my life would be forever changed.

When I was discharged from my first psychiatric hold I had no idea that on my journey to wellness I would have copious admissions, struggle with substance use issues, go to rehab, have a dual-diagnosis, have a co-occurring disorder, be non-compliant with my medication, be restrained to multiple hospital beds, be fired from numerous jobs, lose friendships, lose family, face my trauma, face the death of loved ones, experience homelessness, successfully complete two other higher-education credentials, become a national ambassador for mental health, start a podcast, be an advocate and public speaker for mental illness, write a book, re-write a book start a blog, be reunited with my family, enjoy cooking, live in a beautiful house or end-up going to the gym everyday.   

Seventy-one and a half miles. 

190,725 steps. 

18 days.

The above stats are the amount of miles I’ve walked on the treadmill and the amount of steps I’ve taken in the 18 days I’ve been going to the gym. It might not seem relevant in the face of everything else I’ve said but for me it represents what Lao Tzu is trying to say. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. It's about making a decision to change your circumstances, to be resilient in the face of adversity, being fearless and doing something you’ve never done before in an attempt to change the direction of your life. I have had a lot of tragedy on my journey but I’ve had a lot of triumphs as well. I choose to learn from the tragedy and celebrate the triumphs by filling my journey with things, people and experiences that bring me joy. I choose to fearlessly walk my thousand miles in happiness and hope instead of fear and despair. Thank you Lao Tzu for teaching me how important it is to take the first step.

It is well past midnight and right outside the bolted window all I can see is darkness. The lights from buildings and the flicker of headlights visible only through the rod iron mesh meant to keep me in, keep me safe from myself. The mesh makes the outside world look as if it is caught in a fisherman’s net, trapped, unable to escape. The truth is that I am the one trapped and unable to move. Still, I think of escaping into the darkness beyond my barricaded window.

Even in the darkness I can sense new life forming. Trees pushing through the black earth, rising above the green grass until their branches bloom and breathe. Even the branches know there is nowhere to go but up toward the sky, toward freedom. At this moment I envy those trees. I envy their path to the heaven of the sky. I envy the seeds they sow, that bloom into beautiful buds that grow fearlessly. I envy their right to exist when all my rights have been taken away, when my feet are strapped to a metal bed frame making freedom impossible.

I look to my left to see soundproof, bullet proof, unbreakable glass. Still, I hear the cries for help and the violent rattle of chains, and I am reminded— Although the sun is starting to rise over my right shoulder, insanity waits for me over my left. As night turns to day and the sky goes from black to morning’s indigo I remember I am not outside these four walls where freedom lives and my right to exist is unquestioned. Instead, I am in a dimly lit, locked room, strapped to a bed, on a 72-hour hold in the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit of the hospital’s tenth floor.

Final Thought

The loss of my freedom is my biggest fear. While hospitalized I spend a majority of my stay strapped to hospital beds, shackled by my arms, chest and legs, unable to move, panicking and unable to catch my breath. There is no pretty picture I can paint of this barbaric experience. Whether it occurs because my sharp tongue has offended the staff or as an arbitrary solution to a non-existent problem it's wrong and inhuman and I have the right to feel fear. This is a fear that is born of past trauma that has gone unexamined by the individuals that wield the power to restrain me. I can’t find neutral words, or hope in a system that uses these tactics to subdue patients. There is no kindness in this process, there is no empathy, just cruelty and It is one of my greatest objectives to abolish this practice in Ontario hospitals. I feel fear recalling and reflecting on my experiences with restraints but I also feel a sense of determination and obligation to my fellow men and women who still have to endure this savage practice. 

A Bipolar Woman’s Self-Reflection on Fear is a series of entries that will allow you a window into my past and insight on my present and the lessons I’ve learned over the years that have put fear in my rearview mirror. 

Coming Soon

Everything feels so bright and blinding and all the pretty colours distracting you from everything else that’s going on around you. The kaleidoscope stops you from seeing what’s actually happening to you, because of you. You are trapped inside yourself and the voice of reason that’s supposed to warn you that things are not as they seem is drowned out by all the pretty colours. But if you just reach out in front of you, you will realize what you are seeing isn’t real, what you are feeling isn’t real, what you are experiencing isn’t real, you are trapped by your own thoughts.

Nobody ever tells you that when you lose your mind you are fearless, weightless, floating with no idea where you are going to land and because you feel no fear you, feel no worry and when you fall, crashing down from that high nobody ever tells you what happens when you land, no one tells you about the wreckage below when you finally stop floating aimlessly and weightlessly in a world only you can see. When your feet touch the ground and clarity hits you, your fear returns and the harsh reality of all that has transpired must be faced.

Nobody ever tells you the hardest part about losing your mind isn’t the losing, it’s the comeback afterwards. Many people are not fortunate enough to attain a second chance. Their minds are too far gone to comprehend a world without the lens of a kaleidoscope. I am fortunate however to have lived in a world of second chance, more chances than I care to remember that I squandered. I have lost my mind many times over the years, each episode more damaging than the last but I have always managed to come back from the edge of insanity though I am still not sure why or how I’m still standing.

Final Thought

Bipolar 1 disorder can be a terrifying, dangerous and destructive illness. It’s not in experiencing Mania that I have experienced fear, rather as I said in my entry from earlier on in my journey it's the kaleidoscopic chaos that occurs when you are in a delusional state. In my wellness I have learned that I like to maintain a certain level of control over every aspect of my life. I have created structure, routine and habits to mitigate manic behaviours. The problem is no matter what systems I put in place, manic chaos lurks in the wings waiting to destroy all the hard work I have done to maintain my sanity. Therein lies the fear of Mania. When I’m experiencing an episode I am completely unaware of the destruction I’m causing to myself, my finances, my home, my career, my family and my friendships. What I have always labelled the comeback after the comedown is a period in my life where I have to face the damage I’ve done that often I don’t remember. I can say I’m sorry, I can express regret but in reality I don’t remember what I’m sorry for and what I regret. What I can say is that I continue to do what needs to be done to manage my mental health, I choose not to let fear of Mania dictate my future, I have faith and hope and an unwavering belief in myself and those that love and understand my illness that when another episode occurs we will be equipped to handle it together, no collateral damage necessary.  

A Bipolar Woman’s Self-Reflection on Fear is a series of entries that will allow you a window into my past and insight on my present and the lessons I’ve learned over the years that have put fear in my rearview mirror. 

Coming Soon