Second Chances for Bipolar Women: Coming Out of the Dark, a Life Under Construction.

Abstract

Second Chances for Bipolar Women:Coming Out of the Dark, a Life Under Construction Imelda Caravaca Ferrer The Philippines I am from a city up North in Metro Manilawhere I was born.Shiny, mirror-like floorswhere I can see reflections of me.A kitchen full of lovely cooking smellswafting up to my nose.And a table laden with milk,sunny-side up eggs,bacon and pancakes paired with maple syrup.Hand in hand with my cute brother whoI defended on two occasions from bullies.I am from two soulswho quarrelled a lotbecause of jealousywhen I was so much younger.I am froma family that was torn apartonly to get back togetherwhen I was in my teensthis time in the province.I never talked about my father,that's what my classmatesobserved so they knew thingsweren't right in my family.I am from a wooden housewith rickety stairs.My nose tinged with sootbecause of the kerosene lampswe used at night.We dined on noodlesand dried fishwith ferocious regularityuntil the daymy mother cooked sinigangand I innocently said:"Ï thought sinigangwas only available in Manila."I am from a public high schoolwhere I could not dowhat my classmates didlike hang out,visit and dineat each other's houses,my nose stuck on romance novels,my dolls I played withuntil second year high.I am from a universityin another citytaking up a coursebecause it hadfew prerequisite math subjectswhich I hate to this dayand if my lifedepended on it,I will surely die.I am from a citywhere whenI got tired of being alone,fell in love.We ended up marrying [End Page E18] and after 7 years it ended.My gifts?Two young boyswho I love withevery breath and sinew of my bodyto the heavenly constellation and back.I am from a landwhere good menare not a-plenty(Or maybe I have yet to meet them.)I am from a land of dreams,musical chimesand poems that do not rhyme,where my words are kitesthat bob jauntilyor nose-dive sadlywhatever the mood is.And where my romantic desiresare visible to anyonewho cares enoughto really lookand my unspoken prayersare heard by my Godwho I resent at times.I am from a landwhere certain peopletalk behind my back,belittle my dreams,snigger at my beingyet I soar aboveand leave themwhere they bite and chokeon the dust of my wake.I am from a land of promise,of endless, infinite possibilitieswhere I am loved.And as sureare the plans of the Lordhas for me,though I may not see them yet,I know I will make it!May 25, 2017/Thursday/2:06 a.m In 1980, I was a freshman at University. My aunt loved me but she was also the one who stripped me of my self-esteem and self-worth because she called me "Batangaw" or "Bad breath" because we were so poor and my dental health was not given attention. I recall attending a regional seminar and I was taunted for having bad breath. I was given a bouquet of bad-smelling flowers. I was shattered, devastated. I started hearing voices. My cousin who was pregnant and nearing her term, God bless her kindness, brought me to the National Center for Mental Health. I was initially diagnosed as Schizophrenic. I didn't realize, didn't understand that I was to take meds for the rest of my life. After a summer of sleeping my depression away, and salivating because of Haloperidol, I went back to the province to resume my studies. But the voices, loud voices of men taunting me persisted. For two decades, even as a first time teacher until I was 40 or 41 ,everything came to a head. My mom died and I finally saw the psychiatrist of a friend. Fluphenazine decanoate was given to me as an injection. The...