When a friend abandons you: in retrospect

Don’t feel like reading? Listen to the audio version here:

 

 

First of all, I apologize for accidentally posting a post without any content. I’ve been so busy that I absolutely forgot that it’s Tuesday. Sorry ’bout that… anyway, let’s get on with it. 

I’ve felt abandoned by quite a few friends in my lifetime. Friends I thought I could count on. It’s heartbreaking every time. But, as years have passed, and I look back on what happened, I feel like I can understand – or at least respect or acknowledge – their side of the story. Of course, their side of the story is what I imagine it to be, in order to make sense of it all. 

I was bullied for most of folkeskolen (primary/elementary school), so from I was around the age of 8 to 16. I was the nerd, the redhead, the weak link. I was the girl the teachers liked (most of them anyway), the one who did her homework and did well in school. I was a very easy target. On top of that, I had quite the temper (even worse than now), so teasing and bullying would always provoke a reaction from me. 

I mainly had one friend for most of my primary/elementary school life. Let’s call her Marlie, out of respect for her. We’re still in touch to this day, and we’ve put the past behind us. Now we can just laugh about it. And, of course, this is my version of what happened, and I’ve also forgotten so much. Anyway, so Marlie was pretty much my only friend in my class for many years. I had a few other friends that were older than me, who I’ve known since kindergarten (and are still friends with to this day), but not anyone else in my class. However, as there were periods of more serious bullying, or if we’d had a fight, she would go to “the dark side,” meaning leave me behind and make friends with the bullies. When it was safer to be friends with me, she’d come back. And I’d always welcome her with open arms. 

Until I finally had had enough. Here in Denmark, we’re confirmed around the age of 13-14, usually on a Saturday or Sunday. On the following Monday, we all get a day off from school. That day is called Blue Monday. It’s basically a day where we can all go spend the money we got as presents at our confirmation parties. A common thing to do is to spend the day in Tivoli (amusement park in Copenhagen) with your whole class. Now, the only reason I decided to go was because Marlie had promised me that we would seperate ourselves from the group and just run around and have fun on our own. But when the day came, she told me that her cousin (who was a year younger than us and with whom I would fight over Marlie’s attention) was coming, too. She was just gonna skip school and join us. And it didn’t take long for those two to run off by themselves. That left me alone with the rest of the class who didn’t like me. And I certaintly didn’t like them. It got very, very awkward – because everyone wanted to have a nice day, but they didn’t know how to act around me if they weren’t being mean. 

When I got home, I ate my face (the only piece of the cake that hadn’t been eaten at the party – apparently no one wanted to eat my face except me), cried my eyes out, and swore never to talk to her again. 

So, the next day, when Marlie came over to me in class and said hi, I didn’t even look at her. We didn’t speak to each other for a whole year. Then we entered our final year of school before we were all to be scattered to either high schools or tech schools or whatever, and we decided to bury the axe and be friendly and civil. 

We pretty much lost touch right after we finished school, but years and years later, we reconnected on LinkedIn. We talk once in a while, but we don’t live close, and we each have our own seperate lives. 

In retrospect, I understand how hard it must have been to basically be the only friend of this girl who was bullied by everyone else. Because, of course, they often took it out on her, too. It couldn’t have been easy, and I don’t blame her for it anymore. 

The worst case in relatively recent years was with a girl I used to study Japanese with. We bonded almost immediately (she’s older than me, is married, and now has one or two kids – so I’ve gathered from online stalking). She became like a big sister to me. We were in the same study group, would hang out outside of classes, and we just got very close. At least, that’s what I thought. And I had no idea that I’d made friends with her when I was in fact having a hypomanic episode. 

We both decided to go to Japan during our third semester, to kind of get re-inspired to continue with Japanese studies. We went to Fukuoka’s Women’s University, as I think I’ve mentioned in a previous post. I’ll definitely want to write a whole post about that experience later on. But, for now, let’s try to stay on topic. 

Long story short: I went into a deep depression, and she abandoned me. From one day to the next, she simply stopped hanging out with me and stopped talking to me altogether. She’d barely even greet me when we walked past each other. She’d found some other people to hang out with, people who were much more fun to be around. And I felt utterly miserable and alone. And betrayed. 

Somehow I’d magically made some other friends there (two swedish girls, a belgian girl, and a few others) who were there for me during that awful time. But the fact that the one person I thought I could count on just left me like that… it was so hard. 

Later on, I was told that the girl had told someone that she’d basically just found me too depressing to be around. At the time, I was pissed. Disappointed. Really? You’re only my friend when I’m happy, but not when I’m sad? What kind of shitty person are you? I guess I never meant as much to you as you did to me. I guess we weren’t that close after all. 

Years later, I realize that it’s not that simple. She was in Japan, struggling with her studies as well, and just wanted to get the best out of her stay there. I was bringing her down, big time. It’s hard for someone to handle, especially considering the fact that she met me when I was hypomanic! She probably felt hopeless and scared that I might take her down with me. So, she did the only thing she could think of: leave me behind. And we never spoke again. 

People are not always as resilient and strong as we think they are. Sometimes we expect way to much of people – I’m definitely guilty of that. Even some of my closest friends have had to distance themselves from me during depressions, which caused us to lose touch for long periods of time. Yes, I blamed them, to a certain extent. But I mainly blamed myself. After all, I was the reason they abandoned me. I was the problem. Of course they wouldn’t want to be friends with me. I don’t deserve friends. 

And so on. 

What I’m trying to work on these days is lowering my expectations, both of others, but also of myself. I try my best to be a good friend to everyone, but I also have my limits, as do everyone. It’s so important to recognize when it becomes too much, then take a step back, but in the most respectful way possible. I strongly believe that a one-sided friendship isn’t healthy; there has to be room for both. And if, for a time, that’s not possible, then perhaps it’s time to find someone else to lean on for a little while. It can be another friend, a partner, a doctor, a family member. Giving your friend a breather can sometimes be a way of preserving a healthy relationship. It’s not easy, and, as my motto goes, communication is key! Talk to them about. Ask them how they’re feeling, and ask them if everything is becoming a bit too overwhelming for them. 

I’ve cried a lot of tears when people have just stood up and walked away from me. I’ve  ben sad and confused and been through a lot of hurting. It still happens, but rarely; and when it does, I’m much better at handling it than I was 6 years ago. Better late than never, right?

Strategies to help prevent a (hypo)manic episode

Don’t feel like reading? Listen to the audio version here:

 

This is a long one, folks. Hang in there!

‘Cause I’m on top of the world, ‘ey
I’m on top of the world, ‘ey
Waiting on this for a while now
Paying my dues to the dirt
I’ve been waiting to smile, ‘ey
Been holding it in for a while, ‘ey
Take it with me if I can
Been dreaming of this since a child
I’m on top of the world

– Imagine Dragons, On Top of The World

As promised a while ago, I’ll be writing about my experiences with hypomanic episodes, including what I’ve heard from others, and what strategies I have learned and attempted to integrate in my life. Again, these strategies are helpful to me, and some may not resonate with or work for you. But I really hope that they will!

First, an introduction to what hypomania is like for me. It’s kinda long, so you can scroll down to the headline that says “My strategies to prevent a (hypo)manic episode” further down if this is a bit much for you.

It’s  important for me for you to know that I’ve had very few hypomanic episodes, especially compared to the frequency of depressions. This is why it’s a lot harder for me to recall what a hypomanic state feels like, and it’s been more difficult for me to recognize symptoms, triggers, etc.

After being diagnosed, talking to friends and family that have been close to me during those periods has really helped me, because they have a much stronger sense of the shift in my behavior. It’s been more extreme for them to experience how I changed almost from one day to the other. However, no one really talked to me about it as it was happening, as they were just happy to see me happy after long periods of depressive behavior. It was only later that friends told me how they had been surprised back then at how I suddenly started drinking and partying more, starting all sorts of projects, acting more flirtatious, and so on. They thought it was weird, but not necessarily a bad thing.

But for every hypomanic episode, they get worse. I started really losing control, and did things that I would normally never, ever do. Something that I should definitely stay away from is any kind of dating app or dating site. That can very easily get out of control, and you often end up hurting people, because you cannot see the consequences of your actions. Seeing beyond the current moment is not possible. And you don’t realize what you’re doing until it’s too late.

Spending more money is another thing; it’s like the ability to think rationally about purchases goes away. Looking back on my summer holiday 2011, when my brother and I went on a 4-week trip to Japan, I ended up spending around 15000dkk (around 2300 USD). In four weeks. And I had no idea where all that money had gone. It took me a very long time to truly realize that that was incredibly abnormal and worrying behavior for me, as I’ve always been careful with money, bordering frugal. I was always the sensible one concerning money compared to my siblings (sorry Christina and Kenneth, but you know it to be true). Spending 15000dkk on a summer holiday was just… crazy. I’d just graduated from high school, and was about to start university! What the hell was I thinking?

The answer is simple: I wasn’t.

During the same holiday, I went to this place called Mickey House almost every night, a regular café somewhere in Tokyo that was used as a language café after 6pm. I was super out-going, talking to everyone, loudly, in my strong American accent (the only accent I can do in English). Everyone was drawn to me. A 19-year-old girl who’s never had that many friends and was bullied for most of her school life, who had a hard time talking to guys and initiating conversations, was suddenly the center of attention – basking in the limelight, while at the same time not fully realizing it was happening.

I went out to dinner with a Japanese man that was almost old enough to be my dad. I was 19 (still not allowed to drink alcohol under Japanese law), and he must have been at least 35-40. In a hypomanic state, I’m super charming, and, as mentioned, a lot more flirtatious without noticing at all. So I probably sent a lot of wrong signals; I let him buy me strong drinks, and thus I got drunk with a complete stranger, not even knowing exactly where I was in the city anymore.

He brought me back to my hotel around 1am (mind you, I was leaving for Ōsaka with my brother early the next day), and he tried to kiss me. Luckily, I managed to force him off of me, ran into my hotel, and just kinda laughed it off.

I have more stories like these. Thinking back on it, it absolutely terrifies me. I’ve put myself in so many dangerous situations.

So, what have I learned from all of this? First of all, I do not miss hypomanic episodes at all. I truly wish that I’ll never be in that state ever again. Plus, it’s always, always, always followed by a depression, almost immediately. Many people with bipolar miss their highs. They feel numbed by medication, and some decide to stop taking their meds just to experience mania again, not caring about the inevitable depressions. That’s not me at all.

Long introduction. Phew. Hope you got through it alright! Now to the main part of this post:

My strategies to prevent a (hypo)manic episode

The reason why I’ve put ‘hypo’ in parenthesis is because many, if not all, of the strategies I’ll mention can help when dealing with both hypomania and full mania. Of course, I’ve never had a full mania before, but I’ve learned about most of these strategies when in treatment at the hospital, and they were all recommended for both.

I’m going to build upon my previous post, Strategies to help prevent a depressive episode, as a point of reference here, so please go read that, if you haven’t already!

The headlines in that post are:

1: Keep track 

2: Get to know your symptoms

3. Make a plan

In order to make this less repetitive, I’ll first talk about something called The Cognitive Diamond, and then go on to list symptoms, triggers, and my plan of action for hypomania.

I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you have already been introduced to this little fella. This is great for creating a sort of visual understanding of how your thoughts, behavior, feelings, and physical experiences all affect and influence each other. Negative thoughts affects behavior, which affects your feelings, which affects your physical experience, or the other way around. Here’s an example:

If you have more energy, increased libido, and feeling as if you’re high, your thoughts will start reflecting that. So will your behavior, and so will your feelings. As shown by the arrows, the cycle can start anywhere, and only spirals until you get control over it again. This is what happens when someone is manic. It spirals out of control.

 

STRATEGY NUMBER ONE: Recognize and write down your symptoms and triggers.

Classic symptoms of hypomania and mania
(Symptoms of hypomania are basically just milder versions of those for mania.)

Both a manic and a hypomanic episode include three or more of these symptoms:

• Abnormally upbeat, jumpy or wired
• Increased activity, energy or agitation
• Exaggerated sense of well-being and self-confidence (euphoria)
• Decreased need for sleep
• Unusual talkativeness
• Racing thoughts
• Distractibility
• Poor decision-making — for example, going on buying sprees, taking sexual risks or making foolish investments

(Source: “Bipolar disorder: symptoms and causes”)

The list above actually pretty much sums up my own symptoms of hypomania. Added to those are 1) increased libido, 2) several new interests or hobbies that I start pursuing at the same time, 3) impatience (a tendency to interrupt other people in conversations, because obviously my thoughts are more important than everyone else’s), etc.

Other more severe symptoms of mania and signs of manic psychosis that I’ve heard cases of:

• Believing that you can see and talk to angels
• Hallucinations
• Believing that your child is the next messias
• Convinced that you can fly (and maybe attempt to do so)
• Believing that you can taste colors
• Seeing colors very intensely

Etc.

Triggers for hypomania and mania

• Falling in love
• Using psychodelic drugs (speed, cocain, extacy, etc.) and substance abuse in general (weed, alcohol, etc.), as well as cigarettes
• Starting a big, creative project
• Periods with high personal growth
• Partying all night
• Going on holiday
• Listening to loud music
• Spring
• Energy drinks
• Antidepressants
• Sugar
• Caffeine
• Changes in routines
• Chaotic situations
• Jetlag

Etc.

Of course, everyone has their own personal triggers. Mine include:

• Drinking alcohol and partying
• Slightly increased energy
• Starting more than one passion project at the same time
• Falling in love
• Dating
• Changes in medication

And probably others. As previously mentioned, I’ve had very few hypomanic episodes, and it’s difficult for me to recall what triggers an episode for me. But I’m pretty sure that the few I’ve just mentioned have assisted in triggering episodes for me. Of course, they also fall under the category of symptoms.

 

STRATEGY NUMBER 2: Make a plan of action.

More Danish! Fun, right?!

Anyway. So, my plan of action goes something like this:

1. Contact psychiatrist, GP, dad, close friends
2. Cut down on social activities
3. Regain control over finances
4. Take long walks/bike rides
5. Write down the racing thoughts
6. Drop all the to-do lists
7. Go away for a bit
8. Stay away from places where I can spend money, e.g. shopping malls, Strøget (shopping street in Copenhagen), etc. STAY AWAY FROM SHOPPING.
9. Stay away from alcohol
10. Spend days alone by myself
11. Do meditation and yoga
12. And a very important one: Get. Enough. SLEEP. At least 7-8 hours of sleep every night.

As well as 13: consider changes in medication.

The one strategy that all of my physicians always emphasize is SLEEP. SLEEP IS KEY. As well as staying far, far away from any kinds of drugs and stimulants. And taking the right medication, of course.

Just a small tip: when doing yoga, try to mainly do exercises where you bend downwards and inwards, and not so many where you bend upwards or backwards. The yoga instructor in the exercise group I took part in at the hospital told us that. It’s supposed to be more calming and introverting, I guess? Don’t take my word for it, though!

 

Phew… this turned out a lot longer than I anticipated. Probably because of all the lists, haha. But I really hope that this might help some of you out there, and maybe even give people who don’t know much about bipolar a better understanding of what happens when someone is manic, and what may trigger it.
I hope you made it through to the end. Otherwise, I hope you’ll just read it bit by bit, over a few days, perhaps. And I really, really hope that what I’ve written makes sense to you all. I tried my best!

 

Next Tuesday: “When a friend abandons you – in retrospect.”

How Deep Is Your Pain

Don’t feel like reading? Listen to the audio version here:

(Sorry for the weird intro. I just wanted to make sure everyone got the song reference. Hehe. “How Deep Is Your Love” by the Bee Gees. Amazing song. Love it. Anyway, let’s get on with it.)

 

The answer? Pretty deep.

So, I’ve been suffering from physical pains for about 6-7 years now. It’s hard for me to believe that it’s been going on for that long.

It started in the Summer of 2012, when I was working at Bakken, an amusement park in Denmark, as a summer job. I had to quit after 3 months, because I’d started having massive migraines after work that would last for two-three days. My neck and shoulders were in pain almost every day. The work took such a toll on me, and I just had to quit.

I thought the pain would go away after I stopped working there. But it didn’t. I didn’t know it at the time, but the pain had come to stay.

I started going to physiotherapy regularly. I was referred to a neurologist because my migraines were just getting worse and more frequent. He told me that I just had to work out and strengthen my neck- and back muscles. Problem was, when I did work out, it would make the pain worse. Thus, it was difficult for me to go to the gym on a regular basis.

At least the neurologist prescribed some pain killers for migraines. Before that, I’d just be in terrible agony for three days. I had just wanted to die. But the medicine helped, at least for a day. Then I had to take another one the next day, because it would continue to return for those three days at a time.

This was back in 2013.

In Fall, 2012, I was on exchange in Japan through my university. I went to Fukuoka’s Women’s University (I do not recommend going there) with a full scholarship. This was basically my last try at finding my passion for Japanese studies again. Instead, I fell into the deepest depression I’d experienced up until that time. And the pain got even worse. I had headaches almost every day. The staff got so worried that they took me to the hospital to have x-rays. They couldn’t see anything, so they concluded that it was muscle tensions, and some massage therapy and pain killers would do the trick.

It did not.

The massage felt amazing, though. When in Japan, get a massage. This was specialized, though; it was obvious that it was for people like me, suffering from some sort of lasting pain.

At first, I just went once a week. Then twice. Then three times a week. Wasn’t getting better. Meds didn’t work. We were all at a loss.

By the end of November, I came to the following conclusion: either I was gonna jump off a bridge, or I would go home, drop out, and start over. Luckily, I still had the ability to think logically, and I thought going home would probably be the most logical decision. After all, my boyfriend, friends, and family would probably be sad if I jumped to my death. So, I booked a plane ticket, dropped out of the program, notified the head of department back in Copenhagen (who fully supported me in my decision), and only then did I tell my parents. I knew my mom would try to lecture me and try to force me to do what she thought was best, which was “stay in school” and “finish what I started” and “not just quit when thinks got hard.” And she did, indeed, try. But then I told them that I’d already bought the plane ticket, and that was that.

So, I went home. Started physiotherapy. Moved in with my older brother. Got a job. Hated it – had the kind of boss who works too much and bullies his employees. All the while, the pain only got worse.

I started going to therapy to try and figure out what the hell was happening in my brain. I did suspect that it might be recurring depressions. Little did I (or my first three therapists) know that three years later, I’d be diagnosed with bipolar.

I started English studies in Fall of 2013. Soon after, I quit my job, because it was killing me, and I was getting SU. (SU – The Danish students’ Grants and Loans Scheme. Every Dane over the age of 18 is entitled to public support for his or her further education – regardless of social standing (www.su.dk/english)).

I continued to go in and out of depressions. Nothing was really helping.

Even after I started treatment for bipolar, and started going to this sort of exercise group at the hospital where we would stretch, do some aerobics, yoga, and meditation, and continued with physiotherapy, the pain would. Not. Go. Away.

And so, the pain is still here. As bad as ever. Not just neck and shoulders and upper back and head; it’s spread to my lower back, and I’m basically sore everywhere if I press down on my body, especially on my shins, my backbone, and my lower back.

On the 1st of March of this year, I went to a rheumatologist on the recommendation of a doctor from my rehabilitation team (part of my current treatment program). The rheumatologist told me that it’s chronic pain that I will probably live with for the rest of my life. He didn’t want to give me any more medication, as the stuff I take for bipolar also kind of works as pain killers – they just don’t work on me. More meds would just have more side effects, and then I’d get pills for the side effects and pills for their side effects and so on. All I can do, according to him, is make sure I get regular exercise. That’s it.

I’m hoping to get a more specific diagnosis than just chronic pain. It’s a bit too vague for me. Going to see my GP tomorrow and ask her what other specialists I can talk to.

 

This post turned out a bit messy, I think. I apologize for that. Timelines are very difficult for me.

I’m just… just so fucking tired of being in pain every day. Some days are worse than others, but I feel it every single damn day. Sometimes it really gets to me, especially if I’m feeling low already. It’s a vicious cycle. If only one or the other had a cure… either bipolar or the pain. If only I could get rid of one of the fuckers. But they are both there, enforcing each other, making life harder for me.

As you can tell, I’m not feeling super great these days. Hopefully that will change soon. I’m working on it.

 

Hope you enjoyed reading the dark short story I posted the other day. I kinda liked it. I like creepy stuff, always have. What did you think of it? I wrote most of it a long time ago, and just decided to write on it a little bit more. Maybe I’ll work on it some more in the future.

 

Stay tuned for next Tuesday, when I’ll be sharing my strategies to prevent a (hypo)manic episode.

 

A story

It was 6 in the morning. She sat by the window, looking out at the water. There was barely any wind, she could tell, as the sea was quiet. No waves.
She opened the window and lit a cigarette, then thought better of it. She chucked it out the window instead, knowing that she would go out and pick it up later, because it would bother her to leave it there. She despised littering.
She took a deep breath, feeling a little better as the salty smell of the sea seeped into her, filling her with calm. At least for a little while.
It was still dark outside; Fall was slowly turning into Winter. She didn’t mind the cold though – she liked the feeling of numbness in her body after spending all day outside in the snow.
The house didn’t have any radiators. It barely had electricity. It was an old house, a beach house really, not meant for anyone to live their all year round. It had a furnace, for cold nights occurred even in the Summer. Plus, she had added a few gas heaters – one in the kitchen, and a small one in the bathroom. It would get freezing out there without a heater.
Sometimes she would miss having a radiator. The ease of controlling the temperature, the ability to hang clothes on there so they could dry faster, in case she wanted to wear that particular outfit on that particular day. But that really wasn’t necessary out here…  not at all. Outfits didn’t matter. She barely saw anyone at this time of year. Only the mail man, that would stop by one a week, maybe, with one of the few luxuries she allowed herself from the outside world: glossy magazines with pretty models and popular fashion and stupid quizzes on What Color Represents Your Personality and so on. And then, when she’d go to the grocery store, once or twice a week, she’d buy a pack of cigarettes she wouldn’t smoke anyway, and a few necessities, such as peanut butter. If someone asked her what her favorite kind of food was, she’d instantly reply, without hesitation: peanut butter. But that’s not food, they’d argue. Such ignorant people.
She was glad to be rid of them.
Of course, she’d need bread as well, and jam, for peanut butter-jelly sandwiches. To balance it out, her diet consisted mainly of vegetables and beans. This time of year it would mainly be frozen vegetables though, as the store didn’t order as many groceries since it was off-season. Those were the people she would see, no one else. And they really didn’t care if she wore those skinny jeans and that sweater or that shirt with that skirt. It made everyday life so much simpler.

There wasn’t much to do out there, and she liked that. She liked the quiet. Sick of the noise, sick of all the voices, she had to get out. She knew it wasn’t the best thing, to run from your problems, not dealing with the mistakes you’ve made, just running from the mess and leaving it behind. But she just didn’t have it in her, it had gotten out of control, and so she ran. No one would think to look for her here. She hoped.

In the quiet, no one could interrupt her thoughts. No one looking at her strangely when she would talk to herself out loud. Some thoughts were just better expressed with sound. She wrote a lot more songs out here, at least one every other day, which was a relief. She thought she’d lost that forever.

The sun was slowly rising, and she imagined how the heat of the sun must feel, all the way up there in the sky. What it would smell like. How it would taste. Yeah, she wondered what the sun tasted like.

She was spacing out when she heard a knock. She waited. Double knock. Waited. Triple knock. She sighed. They obviously weren’t going to go away.

It was a young woman, smiling, holding flyers with crosses on them. The woman asked if she could talk to her about God.

“No.”

The woman’s smile faltered a little. “How about a cup of tea? It’s a bit chilly…”

“No.”

This woman wouldn’t go away.

Then, her facial expression changed. She put the flyers back in her shoulder bag.

“I really need you to let me inside.”

She would not entertain this strange lady any more and closed the door right in her face. Returned to the living room to perhaps light another cigarette. She jumped when she saw the woman standing outside her patio door, with the same strange expression on her face.

“You need to let me in.”

“I don’t need to do anything. Get the fuck off my property.”

The woman didn’t move an inch. Something in the air changed.

“This is not how I wanted this to go,” she said.

“What the fuck do you want?”

And then the woman disappeared.

 

She was contemplating calling the police but thought better of it. She didn’t want any unnecessary attention. She was just going to wait and see if the freak would return. Staying inside for the next few days with the curtains drawn seemed like as good a plan as any.

 

She spent the day reading, doing yoga, meditating, writing. At least, she attempted to do all those things. But her mind was occupied with that stupid woman. She had some peanut butter sandwiches and went to bed early.

 

She woke up in the middle of the night, screaming, covered in sweat, tears running down her cheeks, heaving for breath. It was as if something heavy had been sitting on her chest, and it had felt like her bones were breaking. She tried to calm herself down and tried to remember what the hell she’d been dreaming about, but it was just black. Nothing there at all. It was pitch black in her room, and she stumbled out of bed to turn on the light.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw something move. She turned, and instantly wished that she hadn’t.

The woman was standing right next to the bed. She was bleeding from her wrists and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“I told you to let me in.”

My attempt at starting my own business and why I had to stop. Part II

Don’t feel like reading? Listen to the audio version here:

 

My business card. The e-mail- and web address no longer work.

In May last year, I went on sick leave. The reason? Early signs of depression.

So, I had been stable for a year around that time. I don’t remember the last time I was stable for that long; for the last maybe 6-7 years, I’ve had steady interruptions of depressions, and a few hypomanic episodes. So that year means a lot to me. I was able to really focus on my treatment, and I finally managed to finish my BA. I felt happy. I met someone very special, whom I love so, so much. I tended to my friendships, and I worked really hard on not working too hard. I used the strategies I’d learned, and continued to learn new ones. I had a steady place to live. The fact that I was in a good place was truly proven when someone very close to my heart died suddenly. I was heartbroken, and scared that I might fall into depression again. But I didn’t. With the help of those who love me, especially my boyfriend, as well as my psychiatrist, I got through it. It was awful, sad, and devastating – but I got through it.

When I finished my BA in January, I celebrated by taking a little trip to Skopje, Macedonia. I’d never been there before, and it was cheap, so I decided to go. I had such a wonderful time – can definitely recommend for a short holiday. Then, reality kicked back in. I had 4 and a half months left before I had to move out of my student apartment. I had to start applying for jobs to keep my dagpenge from a-kassen (see previous post). But I was super excited to start my own business, and couldn’t wait to get started.

In the beginning of April, I started the Start-Up programme through my a-kasse. It was so cool, and made me feel professional and important. We were 50 participants, each with their own idea for their own business. There were start-ups for video game companies, sustainable clothing, sustainable furniture, plenty of different consultant companies… even this super cool guy who wanted to make actual pianos, not just keyboards, in a small, practical size, so they would even fit in small apartments! Great ideas all around. And they all really liked my idea, as well.

It was going great. Until I began noticing certain behavioral changes.

It got more and more difficult for me to get up in the morning. I started having more migraines. Negative thoughts were seeping in, and my self-confidence and self-worth started going down a bit. Some social anxiety was brewing. So, I sat down and wrote all those symptoms in a notebook. Then, I got out my notes from my treatment at the hospital, including my ‘plan of action.’ I compared the two lists of symptoms, and there it was: a complete match.

Fuck.

Well, all I could do then was to follow my plan of action.

Following the plan

At that time, I’d already finished the programme at the hospital. But due to long waiting lists, my first appointment with my new psychiatrist was three months away. And I needed help asap. I’d been considering going to the psych emergency room (where I’d almost admitted myself back in February 2017), to try and get some help there. I told my GP about it, and she told me to go straight there when I left her clinic. I’d been in that situation before, as I wrote about in an earlier post, Why group therapy is amazing. Once again, I was assigned a therapist for home-visits, a doctor, and a psychologist. I was mainly in contact with Espen, my therapist, who played a big part in my recovery. He got me a mentor, who would soon become one of my most trusted allies to help me navigate the system. I’m sure I’ll write more about her in the future.

I did what the plan said: I applied for sick leave; spoke to my doctor; got temporary treatment through psych E.R.; talked and consulted with my dad about everything; reached out to friends for support; and, most importantly, took the situation seriously.

Going on sick leave isn’t easy, though. I could go on and on and try to explain the system here, but I’ll save that for another post. Let’s just say it’s complicated and draining.

What about Maria’s Private Tutoring?

I might have made it sound like quitting the programme and going on sick leave was an easy choice. It definitely was not. It’s always hard to admit when you need to pull the breaks, and realize that you’re incapable of continuing with something you’re really passionate about. I put my heart and soul in it, and having to put that back on a shelf was very, very hard. The final hit was when my website renewed, and it was expensive, and I had to decide whether or not to keep the website running and lose money. I decided to contact customer service, and ended up cancelling the renewal, got my money back, and my website was gone. Boom. Just like that.

I did what I could; saved all of the content, and took screenshots of all the pages, so that if I ever wanted to start it again, I could remember what it looked like.

I felt like a failure. Now I had to tell everyone that I wasn’t starting my company after all, which created a lot of confusion. Everyone had been so impressed by me, and how I was going to be an independent business woman. They all believed I could do it, and all expected me to excel and succeed. I expected myself to excel and succeed. But having to tell everyone that I gave up made me feel like… well, like I had given up. Failed.

Changing the focus from failing to start my own company to succeeding in preventing a depressive episode became the next step. Getting praise from practitionors on how I had picked up on my warning signals and actually acted on them really helped. They were all impressed with the fact that I had accomplished something that many people in my situation are not able to do. Something I hadn’t been able to do before. The more I talked about it and thought about it, I realized that it was actually a massive win for me. I successfully prevented going into a deep depression.

Of course, the symptoms didn’t just go away. I’ve been going to treatments ever since. Still am. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m doing pretty well; I’m working to get myself back on my feet, and I’ve been stable for about a month and a half. On Tuesday, I start my 13-week internship at Depressionsforeningen (the association for depression and bipolar). Super damn excited! Two days a week, three hours per day. A good place to start.

Maybe one day Maria’s Private Tutoring will be revived. But not within the foreseeable future. My life demands other priorities at this time. And I’m okay with that.