Warriors Unite

I’m Carla Mouton, I have schizoaffective bipolar mood disorder ii, ADD and anxiety. So what? I drink my medicine prescribed by my psychiatrist every day and I live a most-of-the-time normal life. I don’t even know what counts as normal? It’s probably like that very plain burger you buy when you’re running out of money, a piece of overcooked meat in a hamburger bun and maybe a pickle. Anyway, I see a psychologist weekly and sometimes life isn’t a fairytale, but who’s is?

But because I have a mental illness and sometimes acts differently because of it; I’m seen by most people as a weirdo, freak or attention whore; like so many others.

There is a stigma surrounding mental illness, and it needs to stop. People should know that people with mental health problems don’t suddenly turn into a werewolf and eat their families. We’re Warriors, we battle our unseen enemies every day, just like a diabetics  need their insulin daily.

We need to end the stigma surrounding mental illnesses by talking about it. Sometimes these types of emotional bullying can lead to bad relapses, skipping or not taking prescribed medicine and even suicide. If more people talk about something it becomes less strange. Remember the Game Of Thrones series premiere? Oh, a series about winter and a lot of people dying that you learn to love? That sounds boring. And then some people watched the premiere and now everybody is a GOT zombie. We should at least get it to Fifty Shades of Grey level of okay to talk about.

And who other than the people fighting their demons every day to start it. Not be ashamed of their mental illness, not define ourselves as freaks, looking after ourselves, saying no and why you can’t drink or stay out too late or being afraid to take pills in front of people. If we are not ashamed, so will society see we’re not werewolves.

So let’s unite Warriors and fight not only to go on in our daily lives but also to change society’s perception.

The Diary of a Warrior: What Mania Really Feels Like

After the post about how depression feels like, I got loads of requests to write something about mania. First of all, manic episodes can be pleasant as well as really unpleasant. Have you ever regretted what you did after you were so drunk you cleaned your hands with a fridge magnet? Well, that is how mania feels like. You act and feel like you are absolutely over your limit drunk or high on Coke, and not the good kind.

Not everybody experiences mania in the same way or  extremity. Mania usually goes with being impulsive, promiscuity, talking way too much, you laugh and you kind of act like the Joker in Batman. Except your hair doesn’t suddenly turn green and you don’t get a kickass evil laugh or become a psychopath. Your mood is elevated and you have an amazing self-esteem, you feel like Beyoncé and act like one of the Kardashians. Also, you can still be enthusiastic with none or very little sleep and feel great and energetic. You’re also very goal-oriented and productive, so remember when you wanted to do that DIY-thing you saw on Pinterest? Well, go take some flats and glue two dinosaurs to the soles and make yourself some high heels.


Yes, it’s a thing.


And then there’s the bad part, you have the constant need to take part in pleasurable activities, activities that can lead to pretty bad consequences. Activities like swiping your credit card until you can smell burnt plastic, making stupid investments and doing things you don’t think through. Things like sexual indiscretions, where your manic episode leads to hypersexuality. Hypersexuality is pretty much what it sounds like, a sudden increase in sexual urges or sexual activity. Another symptom is extreme impulsivity, for example getting weird tattoos and piercings or coming out of a salon looking like My Little Pony.

But, like everything that has to do with mood disorders or mental health in general, it always differs. Even mania itself differs, you get hypomania and mania. Hypomania is the lesser of two evils and the symptoms of the manic episode aren’t that extreme. But, you still do stupid stuff, like getting a weird or hideous tattoo.

I remember the day well, I went with a friend who thought long and hard about her tattoo, and while holding her hand I decided I’m getting a tattoo as well. No, not my cool Project Semicolon tattoo that gets me through the day. No, moi got a Batman tattoo on her side-boob, and although I still love my BatTat, I can’t help wondering how weird it’s going to look like when I’m old – a raisin version of the Bat signal? Also, I was so anxious that Ben Affleck was going to mess this choice up for me.

So yes, you know the movie The Hangover? It’s pretty much like that, and you do wake up with a tattoo of Zach Galifianakis. When it comes to a manic episode you have unrealistic beliefs in your abilities and you feel indestructible. Some people even get agitated, furious and aggressive. Apparently, it’s a huge party in your head, like being on MDMA or VERY drunk.

But how does every out-of-control-party end? With regrets and a headache. And so does mania, after a manic or even hypomanic episode, you crash. You fall into that hole I’ve spoken so many times of before in my previous post, a depression episode. It can be days, months or even a year or more. Every person’s depression or manic state differs in length.

The relapses I have, like the one I’m experiencing at the moment, can be awful. I blacked out because my brain was trying to compensate for the state I was in. That’s how important those hormones are for a person to function. Side-effects can be awful, but at least you can sort of function normally.

So, I guess you can say I drink my meds to keep the party in my head low-key and stormless. Just the way I like my social festivities.

Please feel free to comment with your opinion or story. This post was originally written on 18 September 2016.

The Diary Of A Warrior: What Depression Really Feels Like

We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think.

“What does depression feel like?” I’ve heard that single question a hundred times before. And every time I’m asked that question, I use a different way to describe it, because every time it feels different. It’s sort of like a paper cut because that never feels the same either. Sometimes it’s on your finger, other times on your hand and even sometimes you don’t even know how the hell you got a paper cut somewhere. It even varies in depth and size. So you see what I mean if I say depression has the same characteristics, but it can feel different every time. Surprising you, just like that innocent piece of paper that’s now making you bleed.

You always feel yourself sinking into that same darkness that whispers depression in your ear, but it always feels different. Sometimes it feels like heartache – I always say I would rather be stabbed by a gentleman than get my heart broken by one. You know what I’m talking about, that sting, that dreadful pain sucking the life out of you. Like that scene in Indiana Jones where that terrifying dude rips the heart from a boys’ chest. Quite literally, but you feel the same as if your heart was also ripped out of your chest,  leaving you only with complete and utter sadness. But the thing is, nobody broke your heart, so why do you feel this way?

Other times it feels like you’re drowning – you feel your lungs rise with water and you try to fight the ocean current with everything you’ve got, you try to go up for a single breath – but you start to feel so tired, you just want to let go and give up, let the water drag your body without any refusal.  And to think an hour ago you were fine, having fun on the beach, and now you’re drowning.  It’s like hearing that it’s a beautiful day outside but you can’t see anything in this windowless room you’re trapped in. Sometimes depression feels like you’re walking in a scary alley and you’re too busy looking around you that you step into wet cement – you try to get out, but you’re stuck. And everyone is walking past the alley and you cry out for help: just like the boy in Indiana Jones, the person thrown into a windowless room, like the poor soul who’s drowning and now as someone who feels like she’s going to be stuck in that horrid place forever.

Later on, it feels like you’ve been living for ages, decades even. And you’ve felt and witnessed tragedy day after day. You’ve seen war, poverty and people dying. You’ve loved and lost, you’ve seen the things no one wants to see or feel. And you are so angry, and you treat the people you love with irritation and aggravation. Not because you feel irritated by them, but because you’re just so angry and tired of feeling this way. And you want to be left alone, but you don’t want to be alone – and you know that doesn’t even make sense – but that’s what you want. And the worst part is that you don’t even know why you feel this way. Then one day you realise you’ve never been more alone because you’re scaring away the only people left that care for you. So you try to pull yourself together, you sob in the shower but smile in public, because you think that if you act alright you’ll be alright. Then one day it breaks, it tumbles; you see your life shatter into a thousand pieces. And you know that you did it to yourself, you hid it away, pushed it back like Dr Jekyll – but Hyde always found a way to escape. And now you’re more alone than ever, and your life is in pieces. You heard that you’re cruel and heartless and too aggravated, but that was you fighting to be normal, and you wish you never fought, you wish that you just took that blade you stared at for such a long time once, and you stabbed yourself, broke your own heart. Cut yourself with the piece of paper. So you can finally find peace, like the boy in Indiana Jones.

And if not, you feel yourself sinking even deeper in the hissing darkness and it feels like it’s eating you from the inside, until there is nothing left, until you don’t care about anything anymore and the sparkle that used to be in your eyes are long gone. You’re a ghost of the person you used to be, just an empty shell.

And that is what depression feels like.

The Diary Of A Warrior: Four Sixteen



As I’m writing this I’m sitting in a multi-care unit for the mentally ill. Some people call it mental hospitals, some looney bins and others see it as the last roof they will stare at whilst laying in a tiny white sheeted bed. I see a bunch of warriors catching their breath.

In here we see each other as “normal”, in other words, people that just need some medication to function and sometimes have a bit of a relapse, because that’s how illnesses work. But once we step outside we’re seen as abnormal, because we need tablets to function day-to-day, because sometimes we act differently and because sometimes we have relapses and end up back in the so-called looney bin.

I’m not a jar, but a person – so there is no need for a label. I have bipolar disorder; sometimes I also see, hear and feel things that are not there and I have extreme anxiety. On my meds, I am fine, but to get the right combination of meds to work in sync is where the problem comes in. You start out on a few pills and you wait for your body to adjust. Usually, it’s a waiting period of three weeks for your body to get used to the side-effects. And about three months to see if the new combo of pills works for you; it differs from person to person. The side-effects are unbearable; nausea, vomiting, vertigo, dizziness, impaired speech, insomnia and the list goes on and on. If it doesn’t work, the process starts again from the beginning. But we can take it, and after a few years, you get used to it.

Being depressed is like being thrown into a very deep well. You try to get out, of course you do, but you have this pain feeding off you, and when you finally build up the strength, the walls are too slippery, and you realise there’s no way out. There is nobody around to hear you. The pain keeps feeding off’ you and you can see yourself disappearing until you just want to disappear once and for all. And the voices tell you to sink into the darkness and just let go.

Mania, when it comes around is like euphoria; you fly out of that deep dark well. It feels like everyone’s tiny ants and you love your life. You are impulsive, you wear your heart on your sleeve, you don’t think twice before buying that gorgeous expensive red pumps and you do whatever your brain thinks of first. You get a lot done, you’re creative and you act like you’re drunk all the time. And people don’t understand how that sad person they saw yesterday can talk so much today. And then you crash. And you’re thrown back in the hole again.

Tomorrow, 16 April – is International Semicolon Day, a day dedicated to people with mental illness. Project Semicolon is based on one single message:

“A semicolon represents a sentence the author could have ended but chose not to. That author is you and the sentence is your life.”

So, you’ve probably seen people with semicolon tattoos, and wondered if these people just really love grammar? Maybe, but most of the people inked their skin because they struggle with depression, anxiety, self-harm, schizophrenia or any other form of mental illness. So mark yourself tomorrow with a semicolon to show that you support the warriors or even yourself.

Me with my semicolon tattoo – I added cat ears to mine, because since I was a little girl, a cat has always been a light in my dark well.

I will not be the one who decides when or how my story ends. I will keep on fighting, along with fellow warriors.