This First Person column is written by Keith de Silvia-Legault, who lives in Ottawa. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
WARNING: This column discusses suicidal ideation.
The Alexandra Bridge is one of the most historic bridges in Ottawa, and connects the city to Gatineau, Que.
But while for many it’s been a quick way to get across the river, this bridge symbolizes a defining moment for me.
It’s a reminder of the darkest period of my life — when I’d look over its railing and picture my lifeless body laying in the river below.
A biochemical imbalance
A few years earlier, I was a determined kid with ambitious career goals and the valedictorian of my high school year. But that changed when I turned 18.
It felt like a fuse was lit in my mind, and by the end of my first semester of university, my illness had ignited. I lost control over my mood. My life became defined by bursts of larger-than-life mania and bottomless pits of tormented depression.
It was either Keith the showman or Keith the recluse.
After wrestling with this unpredictability for more than a year, I went to see my family doctor, who diagnosed me with bipolar II disorder.
After leaving his office, I immediately began to research this illness. I saw my future play out in a series of statistics, like how my life expectancy is estimated to be eight to 12 years shorter due to my condition and how up to 56 per cent of people with my same diagnosis will abuse substances.
Just like that, it felt like all my previous conceptions of what my adult life would look like vanished.
A difficult choice
I went through two years of medication and therapy, but my symptoms didn’t improve. At that point, I saw two options to end my suffering: to get immediate treatment or to die.
Which is why over two years ago, at age 21, instead of jumping off the Alexandra Bridge, I admitted myself into a psychiatric ward.
A psychiatric stay
First, I went through a grueling stay in the ER, retelling my story to many different medical professionals before I was finally admitted to a psych ward.
In the centre of the ward, there was a recreational room with a TV, a foosball table and a dreary mural that, to me, looked like a visual representation of depression. The room was mostly occupied by elderly patients who didn’t say much.
Leif Gregersen once made a video about Alberta Hospital, a place where “it’s like time has forgotten you.” He speaks from experience. The former patient now teaches creative writing classes at the hospital, sharing his lived experience with schizoaffective disorder and anxiety. Read more of Leif’s story at www.cbc.ca/1.6491424
Seeing these older patients made me confront a hard truth: my condition is lifelong.
It helped me realize if I wanted to live a full life, then I was going to have to learn how to roll with the punches and try to understand and work with my mental illness. I had to face the fact that my bipolar II disorder is a part of me.
Three days in the psych ward wasn’t enough time to help me learn to better deal with my diagnosis.
But I left with an increased dosage of medication and the realization that I needed to start exploring my own coping strategies.
A future ahead of me
I began daily walks, got more active in my university’s community, organized fundraisers to fight local food insecurity and started writing for local newspapers.
I can’t explain in scientific terms why this alleviates my symptoms and helps me regulate my condition, but I’ve noticed it’s helped me collect my thoughts and process my emotions.
I learned to avoid stagnation by not allowing the depressive thoughts to seep in and shackle me to my bed. In particular, keeping active keeps me from falling into these negative patterns.
I don’t want people to think that this means dealing with bipolar II disorder is simple or easy or would work the same for others.
Even for me, figuring out these coping skills doesn’t mean my struggles are all behind me. I can assure you they are not. It’s very likely that some of my toughest battles are still ahead of me. After all, I’m still young.
But for now, I’m good. Nowadays when I go to the Alexandra Bridge, it’s to go visit my best friend Andrew’s apartment on the other side of the river.
I’m proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish. I don’t let my mental illness define who I am.
But I’m still bipolar. My mood may very likely become uncontrollable again. If that day comes, I wonder, what happens if I’m not able to regain control on my own?
Do you have a compelling personal story that can bring understanding or help others? We want to hear from you. Write to us at ottawafirstperson@cbc.ca.
If you or someone you know is struggling, here’s where to get help: