That time I was almost admitted to the psychiatric ward

On Friday 15th March 2024 I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder 1 at the Eric Williams Medical Sciences Complex in Mt. Hope. This diagnosis was given because I was having a manic episode, where my mood was elevated to a degree that my loved ones knew was not my normal behaviour. I was more talkative and loud than usual, had higher levels of productivity where I was constantly working towards completion of my goals, had racing thoughts and a seemingly unlimited supply of ideas, and had not been sleeping properly for at least six weeks prior. There are a number of factors that act as triggers of Bipolar disorder including stressful events such as the death of a loved one. This is my story of how I got there...

This picture was taken a few days before
I went to the hospital

This year didn't begin on a very happy note for me. A close friend lost her father early in January. Another friend's father was very sick with cancer. Someone who I adopted as a father when my father died in 2021 was hospitalized with a serious health challenge, and surgery was not an option for him because of his age (94). I started reflecting on my life because this year was my 45th birthday, and I really don't have a desire to live until I get to be 100, so I figured my life was halfway done. I started to think about what I wanted to do with the other half of my life and the ideas just started pouring in. It was around this time that I started having difficulty sleeping at nights. I would go to bed but only sleep for 2 or 3 hours at a time. During this time of sleepless nights is when I developed the ideas for this blog that I shared on my 45th birthday 45 experiences over 45 years

I assumed that my insomnia was linked to the deaths earlier this year, because I had the same experience when Daddy died. I figured that since it was part of the grieving process, it would eventually go away. My medical doctor told me I sounded stressed and that I needed to slow down and pace myself. I slowed down as much as I could in the midst of planning Ekklesia camp, and after camp was over I took some beach therapy with my family. The beach is my happy place, and I found out that it is scientifically proven to help with relaxation, from the salt in the water and the air to the sound and movement of the waves.

Beach and sunset - what could be better?

The following week I joined ISCF for their school tours. We visited schools that either had an ISCF group, or were planning to start an ISCF group, and put on a program that included songs, drama, dance and testimonies. At the end of the program, the gospel would be shared, and the names of those who responded to the salvation call would be passed on to the ISCF clubs in the schools for follow up. After one of these presentations, a student from one of the schools shared some personal information with me, and I was advised that I needed to make a police report about it. I was traumatized by that experience, both by the treatment I received when the report was made, but also because felt like I was betraying the student's confidence, since they had confided in me. It was at this point that the symptoms of the manic episode became out of control.

When I could not sleep at night, I would get up and 
start writing my thoughts to get them out my head

I started calling people to tell them what had happened, going into details, but also jumping from story to story, so each phone call would last an average of two hours long. I was also very emotional, and would easily break down in tears. I would send a barrage of WhatsApp messages or long voice notes to my friends. I became loud and demanding. I said hurtful things to those closest to me. They tried to tell me that something was wrong with me, but I was convinced that they were just trying to stop me from the work God had called me to do. Everyone who was close to me was concerned about me, and no one knew what to do. But God did.

With Mother Dearest and her daughter Sadie after church

Sadie is a medical doctor who is furthering her medical studies in England. Long before I started experiencing any symptoms of bipolar disorder, Sadie booked her ticket to come to Trinidad to visit her family and friends, and it was the same week when my symptoms got out of control. Five minutes after meeting me she told her mother that I was having a manic episode, and needed to be taken to the hospital. Because of her experience working on the psychiatric ward, she recognized the symptoms right away and knew what needed to be done. For that entire week she listened and said nothing while I rambled on and on, and at the end of the week she said I needed to go to the hospital and I went without a fuss.

They put me on medication to calm me down so I could sleep

My friends and family really rallied around me during this time. Joey took me the hospital and Sadie explained to the doctors what was going on. Joey and Mother and stayed with me until Mummy could come up to be with me. My spirit sister and her husband drove all the way from Point Fortin and spent all night in the carpark waiting until they knew what was happening. The doctors did a CT scan and ran some blood tests before making the diagnosis. The doctors wanted to admit me to the psychiatric ward for observation, but I begged to be allowed to go home, and promised I would rest and take the medication if I was discharged. They were concerned about if Mummy would be able to handle the burden of taking care of me in my condition, but when she showed them how much support we had, they reluctantly agreed to let me go home.

In my own bed the day after my diagnosis instead
of having to be warded in a mental institution

Mummy was due to travel to the States the following week, but she pushed back her flight to ensure that I was in a stable place. I started having sessions with my psychologist to talk through the triggers that lead to my manic episode, and also to deal with unresolved issues I had from the past. She advised me to slow down on my ministry activities until my brain had a chance to rest and heal. I had regular visits with my psychiatrist to ensure that my body was responding well to the medication. When Mummy eventually had to leave, my sister Kathy came from England to stay with me until she returned.

We got to spend three glorious days in Tobago

I am so grateful to God for sparing me the additional trauma of being placed on a psychiatric ward, even though I had been diagnosed with a mental illness. I was able to be loved on and cared for by my immediate and extended family, and friends who are family. I was able to have the freedom to come and go as I pleased, without being restricted by hospital regulations. I was able to make regular visits to the beach, which has now become not just my happy place, but also my place of healing. I am also grateful to those who prayed me through when they found out about my diagnosis, and those who would check in with me on a regular basis. 

My little sister also supported even though she 
wasn't physically here

I am doing much better now; I am no longer on the antipsychotic medication, only on a low dosage of mood stabilizers. My speech and behaviour are back to normal, and my thoughts no longer keep me up at nights. I am believing God for a full and complete recovery. I have learnt a lot of lessons along this journey, which I will share in a subsequent blog post. I shared this verse to encapsulate what 2023 meant for me, but it is still very relevant to my experiences this year:

Psalm 71:20

Though you have made me see troubles,

    many and bitter,

    you will restore my life again;

from the depths of the earth

    you will again bring me up.