This personal account is shared by Miguel Pommainville-Cléroux, a senior policy analyst living with bipolar disorder in Ottawa. For more stories like this from CBC’s First Person series, visit the FAQ section.
On Victoria Day last year, I made the decision to resign from my job by submitting my resignation letter.
Over the long weekend, I carefully crafted the letter to step down from a position I cherished but had come to believe was no longer suitable for me. It felt more like a public service act rather than simply quitting by the time Monday arrived.
Unbeknownst to me then, a storm was brewing within me. It later became clear that I was dealing with bipolar I disorder, a severe mental condition characterized by intense mood fluctuations ranging from manic highs to depressive lows, and in my case, accompanied by psychotic symptoms.
During my manic episodes, it felt like my thoughts were racing at high speeds, connecting everything in a rapid sequence. I spent sleepless nights composing essays on various topics such as politics, ethics, and national unity.
I became convinced that I had unearthed a critical flaw within the organization where I served as a senior policy analyst. In my mind, there was only one truth, and I believed I was the lone individual capable of perceiving it accurately. Everyone else seemed to distort the reality. I penned the letter as if I had been tasked with safeguarding the truth itself. The moment I sent it, I felt a sense of pride and righteousness.
I envisioned the impact of my letter extending far beyond the confines of my workplace, with government officials being briefed and parliamentary discussions being influenced by it. I made the letter public on my website and disseminated it widely among friends, colleagues, and superiors.
However, after eagerly checking the news, nothing transpired.
At home, the situation deteriorated as the intensity of my mania escalated. Sleep became elusive, routines collapsed, and concerns started to emerge among those around me.
The repercussions extended throughout my life. Following a break from reality due to psychosis, my access to parenting time with my two children was restricted, limited to supervised visits.
While I justified it to myself as a temporary and procedural measure, in reality, legal discussions were already underway regarding my parental responsibilities. While I was engrossed in lofty discussions on national sovereignty, others were handling the fallout.
My fiancé attempted to intervene, urging me to rest, seek medical help, and pause. However, I misconstrued her actions as obstacles rather than displays of love. This misunderstanding led to the end of our relationship and the cancellation of our wedding plans.
My friendships grew distant, group conversations ceased, and some of my messages were forwarded to clinicians and lawyers.
Although I perceived these actions as betrayals, they stemmed from fear of the person I was becoming and the potential consequences of my actions.
Three days after dispatching the letter, the police arrived at my doorstep and escorted me to a psychiatric facility. This marked my fourth involuntary hospitalization within four months.</
