By Jacob Aqua
My story starts at the end of freshman year at Emory University. After going home for summer break, I fell into a pretty substantial depression. At the time, I didn’t realize I was depressed. I knew something was off—I felt disconnected, lonely, out of sync—but didn’t understand the symptoms. Thinking it would go away, I didn’t tell a soul. Looking back, it was silly not to tell my parents; they are nurturing and intelligent doctors.
My depression continued for a few weeks into the fall semester, but then I started to feel better. I was very social and had a lot of friends, which helped me get back to a better day-to-day mood. I was really coming into my own and enjoying the good life of a “fratty,” fun, loving person. I was living in a fraternity house, enjoying the (probably too) social atmosphere, and smoking a lot of weed. I had a pretty crazy, party-filled year and actually got mono. Despite my poor physical health, I felt like I was in a stable mental space. I also dropped pre-med during that time, and for the spring semester, I looked to improve my academics and thrive.
But about six weeks in, I started acting very strangely. I have always been a very goofy, outgoing, social person, but some of the things I was saying were just absurd. I announced to my friends and even some professors that I was “purely enlightened,” I had “reached nirvana,” I was a “prophet.” Little did I know at the time that I was having a manic episode. I felt intense happiness and excitement, but these feelings were stemming from an unnatural source (the imbalance of chemicals in my brain). Typically, this much energy is followed by a crash, and sure enough, I spiraled into depression. This rapid instability often plagues those with bipolar disorder.
I needed medical attention, and I’m thankful one of my professors notified the school’s student health center. In the next few days, I met with a caseworker who set me up with a school psychiatrist who helped me discuss the situation with my parents. She was prescribed an antipsychotic medicine, which led to an eventual “come-down.” After several weeks of intense highs, I experienced a terrifying crash. I felt deeply depressed.
Unable to study or take tests, I came home before spring break to recuperate and planned to return to school as fast as I could. Unfortunately, I wasn’t stabilized in such a short time and decided to spend the rest of the spring semester at home in Florida, where my parents connected me with a therapist and psychiatrist. I’m lucky my entire family supported me from the beginning of this arduous time.
The next two months took me on an emotional rollercoaster. For about two weeks, I felt great—like I was beginning to understand the ways in which you can transform suffering into deep peace. I began reading The Power of
Now, which eventually would shape my entire spiritual foundation and transform my daily existence. But that peace was short-lasting. My depression worsened significantly, and I even lost the desire to read the book.
Shortly before leaving school, I had begun a relationship with a girl and fallen in love very quickly. We continued to speak frequently while I was home, but it was hard for her to feel the same way about me after being together for not even three weeks. I hoped she would develop those feelings over time, but it really wasn’t a healthy relationship. At a certain point, she was a crutch for me. I was using my desire for us to be together as a qualification for healthier days.
She ended things a few months after I got home, saying she just wanted to be friends. Blinded by love, I imagined we’d have a great friendship, and when I was better, we’d simply pick up where we left off. The idea that she actually ended things hit me like a truck about a week later. I felt a sickening, rotting darkness at my core. I almost threw up. This darkness was heavier and more serious than anything I had ever experienced, as I was now feeling loss and utter heartbreak as well. I’m an emotional person. I give myself to people fully and love very deeply. This pain shattered me. I felt cut off from the personal self I once identified with. In my mind, I was no longer the fun-loving Jacob everyone knew and adored. Now, without my presumed ‘soul-mate,’ I felt like I was absolutely nothing.
I can describe the next three months as a downward spiral of emotions. But it’s hard to explain the extent of the despair, hopelessness, sadness, and loneliness I felt. FINALLY, at the end of three months of my most intense depression, something miraculous happened. I’ll never forget the day. After a morning of my typical mental barrage of negative thoughts, I was exercising on the elliptical machine and watching the movie Ray on TV. At the end of the workout, I started to feel something clear up, and I texted my friend Jasmine. Like a madman, I started venting my heart out, just outpouring emotions of my experience and how tough the past five months had been. Since the heartbreak, I rarely talked to anyone in person or through text. This was tough because I am a very social person. Depression really isolates you. But something in me shifted that day. Maybe it was the medicine I was taking. Maybe I began healing from the heartbreak. Maybe I needed to hit rock bottom before I could really rise from the ashes. The quote “sometimes you have to be at your lowest point before you are most ready for change” is very fitting. Whatever it was, I felt an unending sense of gratitude, as I had a new chance to live a bright life filled with joy, love, and peace.
For the first time in a very long while, I felt mental clarity. The weight of the world was off my shoulders, and there was a deep instinct inside me to continue my spiritual journey. My first step was to reread The Power of Now.
Its words rang with truth and resonated fiercely within my heart. I had lost track of so much during my college experience, but now I felt I was learning to identify with my deepest essence. I realized that during my depressive episode, I identified too strongly with the toxic thoughts in my head. Now I was beginning to feel in tune with the underlying source of existence. With a fresh start, I could learn to transcend any mental chatter with mindfulness and meditation. I realized my thoughts were constantly wandering to the past or future, when there truly is only the present moment—the Now.
At this point, it was July, and to return to Emory in the fall, I would need medical clearance a month before the semester. Unfortunately, I missed the deadline. This ended up being a great blessing, though, as I could use the extended period to learn to live a fuller life one day at a time. I had five months before I could go back to school in the spring—time I used to read books about Buddhism, Hinduism, religion, spirituality, meditation, mindfulness, and more. I developed a meditation practice, which helped deepen the inner peace I felt. When I returned to school, I became an interdisciplinary studies major, where you pick a topic and then approach it from different disciplines. I focused on how individuals share holistic wellness techniques like meditation and mindfulness via technology.
That semester, I was officially diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I had been experiencing fatigue and exhaustion from time to time, but even during depressive and hypomanic (not quite fully manic) cycles, my overall health, mood, energy, and happiness levels were much more consistent. I became more effective at managing school and extracurricular activities, many of which focused on helping individuals going through similar struggles learn how to transform their experience into peace, joy, and liberation.
I graduated in May 2018, and while I have come a long way, I continue to have ups and downs. I’m very open about my experiences with bipolar disorder. Moving away from a career in medicine but toward one in overall health, I am a life coach helping people on their spiritual and wellness journeys incorporate meditation and mindfulness into their lives. In addition to working one-on-one with clients, I have spoken to a variety of audiences at companies like Coca-Cola and Delta as well as at Emory.
My conscious perception of the world changes often because of my mood, but it gives me the strength and the skills to find balance. When I have a depressive episode, I know it’s temporary, and I have worked to find meaning after each one. My instability has almost been my superpower. It has forced me to master balance.