I walked into my 7th floor apartment the evening of New Year’s Eve, my mother standing by the dining room table tears in her eyes, my aunt and uncle stood frozen in my living room and three of my girlfriends who had proceeded me to the apartment stood awkwardly with party supplies in hand and regret in their eyes. I looked at my mom and the next words out of her mouth shattered my world, made all thoughts in my head disappear because life or rather death had happened when I was out making plans.

“Gran Gran Alvira died yesterday in Guyana,” my mother could barely get the words out past her tears. 

My response to the devastating news is silly to me now, “Yesterday was my birthday.” 

Then I fell to the floor and screamed from my soul where she had always lived and collapsed. I was never going to see her alive again, I was never going to smell her neck as I snuggled in her strong lap, I was never going to feel her arms around me or hear her soft voice telling her baby girl how I gave the best hugs, She wasn’t going to be at my graduation or wedding or the birth of my first child and we were never going to dance to Ella Fitzgerald or sing Summertime again. Life had gotten in the way of my plans.

After flying back home for the funeral and saying goodbye to my soulmate I simply stopped living life, I stopped making plans, I stopped smiling and laughing and loving the way I did when my grandmother was alive. She was 82 years old when she died and as an adult I understood she couldn’t live forever but the child she helped raise, that she encouraged to dream big couldn’t comprehend a world where Alvira didn’t exist. I spiralled out of control, I made a lot of bad choices after she died and two years later I found myself in a Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit being diagnosed with Bipolar I disorder. That was never the plan but life continued on around me, life continued to happen to me regardless of whether I had a plan or not. Sometimes choosing not to plan becomes the plan and life still happens whether you like it or not.

Fast forward 20 years, I recently went back home to Guyana following my spirit, my heart and my soul’s calling to be in the last place my grandmother was. I spent a month there including my 42nd birthday, I celebrated Alvira, I danced in the rain, I laughed until I hurt, I explored my birthplace and I remembered things forgotten long ago. I found what I thought I had lost so many years before: I found joy, happiness and the freedom to be me.  I had no real plans for this restorative and transformative adventure home, It's how I’ve learned to live my life, minute by minute, hour by hour and day by day because when you deal with a severe mental illness characterized by unexpected highs and lows you learn to enjoy life taking things as they come and feeling gratitude for every little moment of sanity I’m blessed with. 

Thank you Mr. Lennon, you taught me that living in the moment is better than making plans for an unknown and uncertain future because no matter which way the wind blows life is what happens when you are making other plans.    

No one ever thinks about death when they are living. It’s only when death becomes imminent do we start to wonder what’s next? What happens after you die? Well, I am not God or any Higher Power, I don’t know if heaven exists but I’d like to believe so, and therefore I can’t answer the questions that plague our minds when we are faced with our mortality or the mortality of our loved ones. I can however tell you what happens to the people that are left behind, based on my lived experience with death and subsequently grief. They say there are five stages of grief: 

• Denial: a temporary response to a loss that helps you process it. 

• Anger: a natural response to loss that can be directed to numerous sources, even the individual that has passes

• Bargaining: a process where you make deals with yourself or others to feel better

• Depression: a natural response to loss that can feel like it will last forever. This response is often situational and not an indication of mental illness

• Acceptance: a stage where you learn to live with the loss and acknowledge the reality of it. 

Though I have experienced all five stages of grief due to loss, I also know that grief is a more complex process that often doesn’t fit or neatly follow the order suggested by the above five principles. When we grieve, we cry, we become numb, we go mad, we develop addictions to cope with the loss, we are sad and stuck in a seemingly never ending loop of painful memories and poignant regrets. We are still alive but a part of us dies with our loved one. We don’t laugh as hard, we don’t smile as much and our hearts break and are never the same again. I’ve experienced two deaths in my life that left me forever changed, that rocked my foundation to the core and I will share with you how grief affected my life, my choices, my mental health and how I found peace because the thing about grief that no one tells you is that you never fully recover, you never truly heal all you can hope for is that you find peace, joy and happiness again after your loved one passes because that is the true legacy they leave you.  

My Grandmother Alvira-December 30, 2004

My grandmother Alvira was my favorite person in the world and I was hers. She was mother to nine children and grandmother and great-grandmother to over 50 children produced by her offspring. She was 82-years old when God called her home and the day she died was the day I was born, the day I turned 22-years old. I was celebrating my 22nd birthday with friends in Ottawa, ON when I walked into my apartment to prepare for a New Year’s get together and my mother was in my living room, she had travelled four hours to tell me that Gran-Gan Alvira had died in Guyana the day before, the day I turned 22-years old. The scream that came out of my mouth originated in a soul-deep place full of pain and loss that only God knew existed and then I fainted. (Denial)

That moment, the moment my person died was the catalyst that turned my life in a different direction. At the funeral my family said things like, “She lived a full and blessed life” and “She’s with God in Heaven now” or “She’s not suffering with pain anymore.” The honest truth was I didn’t care, I was mad at them and at her for leaving me (Anger). My grandmother was more a mother to me than my own mother growing up. She took care of me when my mom  had to work long hours at the hospital, she made me laugh until I cried, she let me snuggle in her arms and play with the waddle under her neck, she taught me how to sing jazz music, she danced with me, she taught me how to be a good, kind, generous and gracious woman and when I went away to university we talked on the phone daily where she would emphasize that, “no one loved her the way I did.” She was my best friend, my person, my soulmate and when she died I lost my sense of identity, I lost my fire, my fight, my will to keep living.

After I returned to Ottawa to finish my final year of my degree program I was numb to everything and cared about nothing (Depression). I had already started using substances, specifically marijuana recreationally but the escape from reality it provided was too tempting to pass us so casual use became daily dependence. Although I managed to graduate with an honours degree it didn’t feel deserved and I could not muster up any excitement for my achievements, after all Gran-Gran wouldn’t be there to see me walk the stage. With my new bad habit and a complete lack of desire to move home where memories of her lurked everywhere I decided to stay in Ottawa and work. Truthfully, I only worked to support my habit. A year passed, then two and by May 2006 my life once again would forever change.

In May 2006 I had my first Manic-Psychotic episode and was hospitalized and diagnosed with Bipolar I Disorder. What I know now that I didn’t know then was that the death of my grandmother wasn’t just the trigger that propelled me into the world of mental illness, it was the bullet and the gun. I spiralled out of control after my diagnosis, I continued to use, I had manic episode after manic episode and when I wasn’t manic I was deeply depressed. It was my cousin Kim, one of my grandmother’s other treasured granddaughters that pulled me out of the abyss. We went on daily walks by the lakeshore, she helped me find purpose again, I learned to laugh again with her, she became my greatest supporter in my mental health journey, She guided me through my grief, she reminded me all the lessons our grandmother taught us, we would dance and light a candle on my birthday to celebrate my life and Gran-Gran Alvira’s and without realizing it my heart began to heal and Kim became my person. 

My grandmother was not going to live forever (Acceptance). I grew to understand and accept that however, I will always be left to wonder if I didn’t have a substance use disorder, if I had managed my mental health better, If I didn’t isolate myself from the world, If I practiced self-care and gave myself grace, If I had more tools in my toolkit would I have been better equipped to handle the inevitable trigger of death, could I stop mania from consuming my brain, from drastically altering my mood, from wreaking pure havoc like it’s done in the past? If I were better equipped would my journey through madness have a different conclusion? 

Present Day

On November 20, 2024 my dearest cousin Kim, my big sister, my person died of Endometrial Cancer. She fought relentlessly and unapologetically, staying true to her Naturalist values and never allowing anyone, doctors, family or friends to dictate her course of treatment. She was positive until the very end and she truly believed God had a plan for her and every life she touched. The last time I saw her she was in her hospital bed and she was surrounded by love and prayers. She was watchful and quiet and serene with a glow on her face that made her look younger than her 55-years. I was told my Gran-Gran Alvira had that same glow, it was like a glow of peace, a glow of knowing that the time had come to go home to heaven and that is exactly where Kim was going to end up. Kim's kindness, generosity and grace had an effect on everyone who knew her. She was a mother, a sister, a granddaughter, an aunt, a cousin and a great friend to so many. She was my person and whether she knew it or not over the years of our sisterly-bond she prepared me for the inevitable moment she would no longer be able to walk my journey with me. 

I was asked to speak at her funeral nine days after she passed. That week and a half after Kim’s death I experienced a myriad of emotions from sorrow to anger to pain and regret and many tearfilled sleepless nights. Although I knew her death was imminent she had an unwavering belief that she would live, that God would give her her miracle as long as she kept fighting. I believed it too because I was simply unable to imagine a world without my big sister, my person, my best friend in it. So for my final goodbye I decided to recreate the world where we found comfort in each other, solace by the water and where I found healing because of her steadfast faith in me.

 Kim was a determined woman and she was determined to not give-up on me, she was determined to help her lost baby cousin whose potential shone through all the wreckage I often left in my wake. Her determination is the reason I stopped lying in my bed for days, weeks and months at a time when the depression over my deteriorating mental health became unbearable. Kim would gently insist we walk the Ajax lakeshore, taking in the fresh air and feeling the sun kiss our faces reminding me I was alive, all would be well in time, giving me hope and a never-ending feeling of gratitude.

When we finished our restorative walks by the waterfront, Kim would take me home and we would start the process of making vegan pancakes and apple preserves. I would chop the apples into thin slices while Kim would mix the magic that would create the most delicious pancakes I’ve ever tasted. We would listen to 90’s music and dance and sing around her kitchen. I’ve had several homes over the years and Kim always showed up with ingredients in hand ready to christen my kitchen with our signature dish.

When she was diagnosed in March 2024 with stage 4 cancer and made the decision not to participate in Western treatment methods like chemotherapy, radical surgery or radiation I was terrified for her. I knew very little about cancer or the various treatment options but I knew Kim and I knew she was determined to honour her body and the natural journey she had embarked on from childhood. I think it was in those early days that I began to grieve for my cousin. I experienced denial because of her age and how healthy she had always been. I was angry with God and Kim for putting me in a situation where I felt helpless. I simply could not comprehend her circumstances or control the outcome. I prayed every minute trying to bargain with God for her life and better health. When Kim was checked into the hospital for what would be the last time I fell into a deep depression and was unable to see or call her only communicating through short text messages (I feel regret over this low period). Acceptance came when I finally saw her for the last time and we looked at each other like we were memorizing our respective features, Kim smiled eyes wide and knowing, my eyes were filled with tears. I held her close and told her I loved her and that we would both be okay.

Final Thought

Unlike with my grandmother’s passing 20 years prior, I now have the tools, knowledge and understanding of myself  to prepare for grieving the loss of my dear cousin. I take my medication daily, when you read this entry I will be a year-plus sober from substances, I have built a structure, routine and habits that I live by, I practice self-care, I practice daily prayer and meditation, I exercise, I journal to self-reflect, I set boundaries that help me maintain mental wellness, I give myself space and grace to mourn, process and honour the people I’ve lost and I have a treasured level of self-awareness that I continue to develop when triggers like the tragedy of a loved one’s death become a part of my reality. I am still on my journey to wellness and better mental health but I know my cousin Kim, my biggest supporter, my greatest advocate, my big sister, my best friend and my forever person would be proud of the progress I’ve made.  

If you have experienced loss this year or ever, my heart and deepest condolences go out to you and your loved ones. Grief is a complex and winding road that will have you experiencing a gambit of up and down emotions. As I said earlier, you never truly heal from great loss, it's like trying to put a broken vase back together. Even when all the pieces are present, even if the final product you put together turns out to be beauty born of tragedy, the tragedy still exists and it’s imprinted on your heart and your mind. Once the passing of a loved one happens you are forever changed but you do not have to remain forever broken. One day, you find yourself smiling, then laughing and then moving forward into a better place where loss and pain no longer dictate your future. You make a choice to lean into the legacy of peace, love, joy and happiness your loved one has left for you and you find your way back from the darkness of grief to the light of hope.

Understanding Bipolar Disorder and Its Impact on Homelessness

Bipolar disorder, characterized by mood swings that include emotional highs (mania or hypomania) and lows (depression), can significantly impact a person's stability and daily functioning. My journey with Bipolar I disorder began at 16, when I first noticed the creeping anxiety and depression that would eventually shape my life. These mood fluctuations can lead to impulsive decisions, financial instability, and strained relationships, all of which can contribute to homelessness.

Overview of Bipolar Disorder: Symptoms and Types

Understanding the symptoms of Bipolar I disorder is crucial. Symptoms can include:

• Manic episodes: Heightened mood, increased energy, and risk-taking behaviors.
• Depressive episodes: Feelings of hopelessness, fatigue, and loss of interest in daily activities.

How Bipolar Disorder Can Lead to Homelessness

In my case, homelessness did not always mean living in a cardboard box on the street. It often involved being in a state of displacement, living in between places, and feeling vulnerable. The connection between bipolar disorder and homelessness can manifest in various ways, including:

• Family Dynamics: During my manic and psychotic episodes, I faced evictions from my parents' home and various rental spaces, often leading to precarious living situations.
• Financial Instability: Hyper-spending during manic phases left me with debts that jeopardized my housing situation. This was a common thread in my life, exacerbating the instability I faced.

Statistics on Homelessness Among Women with Bipolar Disorder

Women with mental health challenges face significant barriers to stable housing. Statistics indicate that women experiencing homelessness are more likely to have a mental health diagnosis, with Bipolar disorder being prevalent.

The Unique Challenges Faced by Women with Bipolar Disorder

Navigating homelessness with Bipolar I disorder introduces a unique set of challenges.

Safety and Vulnerability: Risks of Violence and Exploitation

Women experiencing homelessness often face a heightened risk of violence and exploitation. I have encountered situations where I felt physically unsafe and vulnerable. The fear of harassment or violence is a constant concern, making it essential to seek safe spaces and supportive communities.

The Stigma Surrounding Mental Health and Homelessness

The stigma attached to mental health issues complicates the journey toward stability. When I found myself homeless, the fear of being judged for my mental health struggles often overshadowed my situation. It was not uncommon for people to view homelessness as a personal failing rather than a complex intersection of circumstances, including mental health challenges.

Lack of Access to Gender-Sensitive Mental Health Services

Accessing appropriate mental health services can be an uphill battle. Many women with Bipolar I disorder lack access to gender-sensitive care that acknowledges their unique experiences. For example, I’ve often found that support services do not adequately consider the specific needs of women, especially those facing homelessness.

Coping Strategies for Women Experiencing Homelessness

While the challenges can feel overwhelming, there are coping strategies that can help.

Building a Support Network: Community Resources and Shelters

Having a solid support network is vital. Organizations such as the YWCA and local shelters provide essential resources for women in crisis. In my darkest moments, I relied on my mental health mentor to advocate for housing and support. Connecting with peer support groups also allowed me to share my experiences and gain insights from others facing similar struggles.

Developing Self-Care Routines: Managing Bipolar Symptoms

Creating a self-care routine is essential in managing Bipolar I disorder. During my periods of stability, I focused on structuring my days around healthy habits. This included:

• Establishing regular sleep patterns, which is crucial for mood stabilization.
• Eating nutritious meals, though sometimes limited by my financial situation.
• Engaging in creative outlets, such as journaling and poetry, which have been therapeutic for me.

Utilizing Therapy and Counseling Services

Access to therapy can be life-changing. During my experiences with homelessness, I learned that therapy is not only a space to discuss my mental health but also a way to process my trauma and build resilience. Finding therapists who understood the intersection of mental health and homelessness was crucial to my recovery.

Advocating for Change: Supporting Women with Bipolar Disorder

The Role of Advocacy Organizations in Addressing Homelessness

Advocacy organizations play a pivotal role in supporting women with Bipolar I disorder who experience homelessness. They offer resources, support, and a voice for those often overlooked. I encourage individuals facing similar challenges to connect with these organizations. They can provide the necessary tools and support to navigate the complex landscape of homelessness and mental health.

Policies That Can Help Reduce Homelessness Among Women with Mental Health Challenges

Systemic change is essential to address homelessness effectively. Policies that promote affordable housing, mental health services, and gender-sensitive care can significantly impact the lives of women facing these challenges. By advocating for these changes, we can create a more supportive environment for those experiencing homelessness.

Encouraging Community Involvement and Awareness

Raising awareness within communities about the unique struggles faced by women with Bipolar I disorder and homelessness is crucial. Engaging in community outreach can foster understanding and compassion, ultimately leading to more effective support systems.

Final Thoughts

Coping with homelessness while managing Bipolar I disorder presents unique and daunting challenges for women. However, by understanding these struggles and implementing effective coping strategies, we can foster resilience and provide much-needed support. It’s essential for communities to come together to advocate for systemic changes that address both homelessness and mental health.

If you or someone you know is struggling, remember that you are not alone. Reach out for support and connect with resources available to you. Together, we can work towards a future where no woman has to face these challenges alone.

For more insights on managing Bipolar disorder, check out my post How to Start Managing Bipolar Disorder: A Comprehensive Guide. If you’re seeking additional resources, the article Best Tools and Resources for Managing Bipolar Disorder in 2024 offers valuable tools that can help.

In this post, I aim to share my journey, illustrating the extremes of a manic episode and the profound effects it had on my life. My hope is that by sharing my story, others might find understanding, connection, and perhaps the courage to seek help.

Understanding Manic Episodes

A manic episode can be described as an extreme and uncontrollable elevation of mood, often accompanied by feelings of excitement or euphoria. For me, the initial surge of energy felt like a spark igniting a fire. I was flooded with ideas, racing thoughts, and an inflated sense of self-esteem. I felt invincible, believing I could accomplish anything. However, as thrilling as it was, I was unaware of the shadows lurking just beneath the surface.

The symptoms of mania are multifaceted. They can manifest as:

• Rapid speech: I found myself talking a mile a minute, unable to slow down or catch my breath.

• Disorganized thoughts: My mind raced, bouncing from one idea to another, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything.

• Delusions of grandeur: I believed I had extraordinary abilities and a purpose that I was destined to fulfill.

• Impulsivity: Financial decisions became reckless, and relationships strained under my new-found bravado.

• Paranoia: I felt as though everyone was watching me, judging my every move.

As my episode progressed, these symptoms intensified, leading to hallucinations and even violent outbursts. It’s a stark reminder that, if left untreated, Mania can escalate into Manic-psychosis, where the boundaries of reality blur dangerously.

Men vs. Women: A Distinct Divide

Research shows that the onset of Mania typically occurs earlier for men, often in adolescence or around 4-5 years before women. Men may experience more intense and frequent manic episodes, while women often grapple with depressive episodes more frequently. For men, aggressive behaviors can surface during Mania, whereas women may experience rapid-cycling or seasonal episodes, leading to a different emotional landscape.

For me, this gendered experience of Bipolar disorder added layers to my understanding of my condition. I often felt caught between the heightened emotions of Mania and the stark reality of Depression, wondering how my experience compared to that of my male counterparts. After experiencing 13 episodes in my lifetime I can classify my Mania as rapid-cycling or seasonal episodes followed directly by severe depressive episodes.

The Triggering Events: A Perfect Storm

My manic episode was precipitated by a series of stressors that I couldn’t have anticipated. On my 22nd birthday, my grandmother passed away, a loss that shattered my emotional foundation. Just eight months later, I lost my other grandmother, compounding my grief and leaving me feeling adrift.

In an attempt to cope, I turned to substances like marijuana, seeking relief from the overwhelming sorrow. But rather than finding solace, I only intensified the storm brewing inside me. I struggled to focus on my final year in university, plagued by insomnia and a deteriorating relationship with my then-boyfriend. It was a perfect storm of emotional upheaval and loss that I didn’t see coming.

What the Episode Looked Like

As I spiraled into my first manic episode, I experienced a barrage of symptoms that became increasingly difficult to manage. Rapid speech turned into disorganized thoughts, and my once coherent conversations devolved into chaotic rants filled with delusions of grandeur. I believed I could change the world, that I had a mission that no one else could comprehend.

In the throes of Mania, my emotions felt like a pendulum swinging wildly. I laughed uncontrollably one moment, only to erupt into tears or anger the next. I remember feeling detached from reality, caught in a dissociative state where nothing felt tangible or grounded. My parents, concerned for my well-being, noticed the drastic changes in my behavior and knew they needed to intervene.

How My Parents Got Involved

My mother was just five minutes away from leaving for her 12-hour nursing shift when my boyfriend at the time reached out to her, desperately conveying how out of control I had become. That call prompted a frantic drive of four hours to Ottawa, where I was living at the time. I was hallucinating, lost in a world that felt all too real yet completely fabricated.

During the drive home, I tried several times to jump out of the moving vehicle, a clear indication of my disorientation and desperation. My mother, a nurse, assessed the gravity of the situation and recognized that I was experiencing a serious psychotic episode. She made the decision to take me to Scarborough General Hospital for psychiatric treatment.

The Hospital Experience

Arriving at the hospital was surreal. I was so far removed from reality that I couldn’t comprehend the seriousness of my condition. The staff deemed me a danger to myself and others, and I was restrained to a bed to prevent any further outbursts or attempts to escape. It was a terrifying experience to be chained to a bed, sedated into a haze of confusion due to the intense psychosis and my prolonged lack of sleep—I hadn’t slept for 52 hours.

When I finally regained consciousness, I found myself in an isolation room, disoriented and frightened. It was here that a psychiatrist diagnosed me with Bipolar I disorder, attributing my episode to substance use. He explained that I was essentially allergic to marijuana, and its use had triggered this manic episode.

Post-Episode: The Depths of Depression

After my manic episode, the reality of Bipolar disorder set in. I faced an extreme and prolonged Depression that left me feeling hollow and isolated. Sleep became my only refuge, and I would often stay in bed for hours, neglecting personal hygiene and losing interest in everything I once loved. I experienced a significant loss of appetite, leading to dramatic weight changes as I transitioned from manic energy to profound lethargy.

Social activities became daunting, and I withdrew from friends and family, fearing their judgment. Suicidal ideations crept in, an ever-present reminder of the darkness that enveloped me. This cycle of Mania followed by crushing Depression left me grappling with the reality of my condition.

The Stigma of Support

Navigating the stigma surrounding mental health proved to be one of the most challenging aspects of my experience. While I knew I was sick and needed help, the thought of entering the mental health system filled me with dread. I didn’t want to be labeled as someone with a mental disability, fearing the societal repercussions.

In the job market, having a mental health condition can feel like a scarlet letter, making it harder to find employment. Insurance applications often discriminate against those with invisible disabilities. When I was well, I felt invisible; but when I became unwell, it was as if my struggles were on display for all to see.

Many people choose to suffer in silence rather than risk the vulnerability that comes with seeking help. The fear of being treated as a second-class citizen in society can be paralyzing, and it often leads individuals to avoid the support they desperately need.

Managing Symptoms and Stressors

I learned that managing my symptoms equated to managing my stress. Self-awareness became crucial; I had to recognize what stressed me out and have the courage to walk away from toxic relationships or situations, whether they involved family, friendships, or even jobs.

I took small steps toward understanding my triggers and incorporating healthy coping mechanisms. Mindfulness practices, journaling, and regular exercise helped ground me. Surrounding myself with understanding friends who offered support without judgment was essential in my journey toward stability.

The Journey Toward Acceptance

Over time, I learned to accept my condition as part of my identity, rather than allowing it to define me. Seeking therapy and engaging in medication management became vital components of my routine. I learned to communicate openly with my loved ones about my struggles and sought to educate them about my condition.

Embracing my journey and sharing my experiences became therapeutic. I realized that breaking the stigma surrounding mental health starts with conversation. I found strength in vulnerability, and it empowered me to advocate for myself and others navigating similar paths.

Final Thoughts

Reflecting on my first manic episode, I realize it was a wake-up call—a moment that reshaped my understanding of myself and my mental health. The experience was both harrowing and enlightening, revealing the importance of community, understanding, and acceptance.

If you find yourself grappling with similar experiences, remember that you are not alone. It takes courage to seek help, to share your story, and to confront the stigma surrounding mental health. Together, we can foster a community of support and understanding, ensuring that no one has to navigate these turbulent waters alone.