By Rahla Xenopoulos
In 1992, Rahla Xenopoulos used to be clinically determined with bipolar sickness. regardless of the devastating analysis, she sought schooling on her sickness. even though she discovered an abundance of literature on quite a few psychological health problems, none of it appeared acceptable to her. this example encouraged her to jot down a publication chronicling her ongoing efforts to return to phrases with a affliction that's, in influence, a lifestyles sentence. The e-book recounts her upbringing in an eccentric, loving Jewish kin, her fight with bulimia, anorexia and self-mutilation, her makes an attempt at suicide, discovering real love and, eventually, the 'crazy, completely unpredictable event of giving start to triplets'. this can be neither a self-help ebook nor a medical consultant. interpreting this ebook won't therapy a person; bipolar sickness is a prolonged affliction. however it did support Rahla – because it will numerous others – 'to comprehend the rhythm within the cacophony of this condition'.
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Extra info for A Memoir of Love and Madness. Living with Bipolar Disorder
Example text
Then I heard the distinct sound of laughter. Ugly laughter. No one there to protect me; even my imaginary friend Tania had vanished. Funny thing that: we don’t control our imaginary friends – or our imaginary enemies. Fearfully, reluctantly, I looked up at the wisteria blossoms and saw the gnarled, gaunt face of an old man laughing at me. ’ Although the laughter came from above my little head, it seemed to inhabit my entire body, witnessing my shame. Shame about what? The laughter mocked my silly, childish games, my imaginary friend, my lack of real friends, my inability to stop sucking my thumb, my fear of Spike Milligan’s Badjelly the Witch.
Life went into spooky slow motion; my every move, placing a hand in front of my face to look at the fingers, checking, slowly, slowly, yes, each one, all five, all there. I sensed something or someone looking down on me, slurring through my consciousness. I became quite still, too afraid to look up. Then I heard the distinct sound of laughter. Ugly laughter. No one there to protect me; even my imaginary friend Tania had vanished. Funny thing that: we don’t control our imaginary friends – or our imaginary enemies.
Did Gucci make a straightjacket? m. to make the hour-and-a-half trek, barefoot and insane, all the way to our family home to see her. He’d been diagnosed schizophrenic. I’d never met anyone who was bipolar (what they used to call manic depressive) or who had obsessive–compulsive disorder or obsessive–compulsive personality disorder. At least, not that I knew of. None of my boyfriends had casually slipped the words, ‘PS. I’m certifiably insane,’ into my mouth with the first kiss. This was silly.