In December 2004, I was a senior in high school who was taking college level classes. I took an amazing philosophy class which I found extremely interesting. After learning so much about the opinions of other philosophers, I began learning formal logic. I loved logic so much that I began to practice it as much as possible outside of class. I practiced logic by writing detailed essays for and against certain ideas, like abortion. As a result, I began writing more, I became more persuasive, learning new things became much easier, and for the first time, I began feeling confident on my writing and speaking skills. I completely restructured my thought processes in a very systematic way.
For a while, I got a positive response from friends and family. They began to enjoy having conversations with me, complimenting my “mature” views on certain topics. Mentally, I started to lose control after I systematically convinced myself that nothing can be known, “I can’t know whether things exist,” etc. It was as if I were completely empathizing with the philosophers who I had read about. I became scared and amazed at the same time. My thoughts went from “I can’t know anything,” to “The more I don’t know, the more potential I have to learn,” to “I can learn anything because I don’t know anything.” After convincing myself that “nothing can be known,” I started to spend more time alone in my room and sort of consciously put myself in a trance or in a state of meditation as I played with the piano that I had recently received for Christmas.
With no prior piano instruction, I completely learned Beethoven’s “Fur Elise” bagatelle in 2 weeks! I would sit there and stare at the notes not thinking about anything else but associating patterns, making mental connections, and applying logic to learning the piece. I was “in the zone,” so to say, and it was a state of mind that I could consciously put myself in. When I put myself in my “zone,” I was my most intelligent, most creative, I felt most relaxed, and very confident. For example, I used to have insomnia, and wake up at the slightest noise. But when I was in my zone, I could let go and relax at will. I began getting sleep.
That, for me, was an amazing discovery, which I wanted to share with everyone who I thought deserved to know, a mistake that I’ll never make again. One evening, while in my “zone,” my parents decided to take me to the ER when I let them in on my epiphany. The doctors there thought I was on drugs. After doing several drug tests, which all came negative, the doctors decided to send me to a psychiatric hospital. Looking back on the situation, I wish I had been on drugs.
But, before going to the psych hospital, when I went to the ER, I was extremely scared. I knew that I was not behaving normally and I was scared of what they were going to do to me. I tried desperately to convince my parents and doctors that I was very well, completely harmless, and completely sane. Disappointingly, the more I tried to persuade them, the more “nuts” I seemed. I felt trapped. My “zone” self was overpowering my normal self. My normal self knew very well that my behavior was that of an unstable person. My “zone” self was trying desperately to protect me from doctors by means of persuasion. I was talking a lot. I can remember my mother crying, “He knows something is wrong,” speaking of me as if I were a sick puppy at the veterinarian’s office who couldn’t communicate.
At this point, my instincts would not let me snap out of it. I was in a state of panic.
Moral of the story: I was diagnosed and treated for bipolar disorder, a diagnosis that I’ve always disagreed with, then and now. I was put on a nearly lethal concoction of Depakote, Trileptal, and Seroquel. Four months after taking meds, in May 2005, I decided to not take them anymore. I could barely function. I hate drugs. A year later, my psychotherapist didn’t believe me when I told him that I hadn’t been taking meds for the past year. Now, I’ve been without medicine for three and a half years and I’ve been absolutely fine, other than the fact that I think about my trip to the ER and psych ward as if it were yesterday. It was a devastating event in my life. That was the first and only time I’ve ever been committed to a psychiatric hospital. My friends don’t even believe me when I tell them my story. I just want to forget about it. I regret ever having gone.
Recently I started having concerns about my future as I’m coming closer to graduating. Will my health insurance cost more because of this event? Do I have the right to ask that my diagnosis be re-evaluated, or what? What are the negative consequences of my diagnosis and what can I do about it? I feel like my life would be so much better had I not gone to the ER that day. It’s embarrassing.
Any advice is appreciated. Thanks for reading!