By Rahla Xenopoulos
In 1992, Rahla Xenopoulos used to be clinically determined with bipolar disease. regardless of the devastating analysis, she sought schooling on her disorder. even if she stumbled on an abundance of literature on a variety of psychological health problems, none of it appeared acceptable to her. this example encouraged her to put in writing a booklet chronicling her ongoing efforts to return to phrases with a illness that's, in impact, 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 adventure of giving start to triplets'. this is often neither a self-help ebook nor a medical consultant. examining this publication won't medication an individual; bipolar sickness is a prolonged disorder. however it did aid Rahla – because it will numerous others – 'to comprehend the rhythm within the cacophony of this condition'.
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Additional info for A Memoir of Love and Madness. Living with Bipolar Disorder
One day, when I was five, my nursery school teacher, Rosa Woolf, transcribed a conversation she had had with me about Tania. It went like this: Rahla: When Tania and me were playing, we were pretending we heard an animal and we really did hear an animal and they were dogs. And when we were playing we asked our mom if we could dress up in her clothes because we wanted to do a play for my mother; we did Fair Rosy. Rosa: Where does Tania live? Rahla: She lives in the same world as us but on the other side.
On his crowded desk was a prescription pad and jars of pens and pencils, and paperweights advertising drug companies. I nervously leant over, picking up a Montblanc pen. It didn’t work. As if from far away, I heard his words. They fell out of his mouth with random matter-of-factness. ‘You’re bipolar and you have obsessive–compulsive tendencies. ’ I baulked. Obviously the man was mad. Who did he think he was, flippantly announcing such a dramatic diagnosis? I wanted a CAT scan. I wanted proof, pictures.
He probably calls all of his patients bipolar! ’ I was beside myself with rage and in total denial. I insisted that my father complain on my behalf. The doctor was too modern, too chemical, not holistic, really not a legitimate psychiatrist at all; in fact, more of a carpenter. He treated me like a block of wood to be chopped up or carved into pieces; he should be struck off the medical roll. My voice rose in indignation. This wasn’t the way I wanted my life to go. I was in love and I wanted my boyfriend Jason to marry me.