“We’ll take you to the best mental hospital in town.”
I heard these words from two policemen who were in my living room.I had covered both arms with blood. I was just trying to commit suicide and my friend had called the police. I cut myself 150 times on each arm with a knife. I listened to heavy metal music. I was very angry and sad about life. I’ve seen bloody videos. I saw real people beheaded. I smoked cigars and cigarettes. I ate junk food every day. I didn’t train. I didn’t pay attention to my body.
All this began in 2011.After two years of academic success, I suffered from mania and psychosis. That changed everything for me. In the beginning, I had hope. I told myself it was not a life-threatening condition. Over the years, I had only heard the following words from my GP:
“We need to find the right drugs.”
It’s been 7 years and nothing has worked so far.
When I graduated in medicine in 2012 after postponing my admission by a year, I compared myself to other medical students.We have conducted PBL (problem-based learning) in small groups. I thought I was inferior to others. I quickly deteriorated myself and lost all hope of becoming good. I went to the hospital and thought it would take 2 weeks. I left after a month and a half. I was suicidal the whole time.
After about 4 months there, one morning I told a nurse:
“Why don’t you kill me?I have no purpose I am worth nothing “
Not long after, 10 people accompanied me to the maximum security facility in the hospital.It was the medical-legal psychiatric department. I had a security guard who watched me around the clock. I couldn’t go to the toilet alone. There was a video camera in the room I was in. I had a special sheet that I couldn’t put together, and my hospital coat consisted of a special handkerchief that I couldn’t put together.
I thought at the time that I was in a worse situation.That I have reached as low a background as possible. Then I started behaving differently and telling the staff that I felt better. I started writing. It was a suggestion from the assistant doctor who looked after me. My only condition was that the social worker should read everything. In the beginning I wrote 1 page. Then we went on with 5 pages. Then 10 pages, 20 pages, 50 pages and finally more than 100 pages. She has read everything. This is where my passion for writing began.
Writing was a therapy for me.It healed my wounds. I found salvation through words, sentences, and paragraphs. With words I managed to fight all my inner demons. It has given me the strength to carry on. Every day I would write as much as I could. I started writing on Quora in 2015. Three years later, I received more than 2.6 million views. It’s a success for me. It means I can influence people.
What is most important at the moment is the influence I have on other people.I want to live a productive life. I want to touch other people. My only way out from depression is a meaningful life. I want to feel valued. I want to feel welcome in a community. I would like to receive compliments and praise from others. I want to be recognized by something. I made it through Quora and am very proud. I thank all the people who have supported me over the years.