by Rohan Sharma
Because one believes in oneself, one doesn’t try to convince others. Because one is content with oneself, one doesn’t need others’ approval. Because one accepts oneself, the whole world accepts him or her.
― Lao Tzu
The twenty-three months I spent at PICC forced me to grow in many ways. Many of the lessons I learned came not just from reading a multitude of self-help books, but actually interacting with other inmates. Being forced out of my element taught me how to deal with certain fears, as well as how to overcome the various challenges life can throw your way. It was by no means easy, but I came to terms with what I had done in my psychotic state and used what I had learned at my first job out of jail: becoming a spokesperson for NAMI. There, I became a young adult speaker for the “Ending the Silence” program where my team and I went into middle and high schools to speak to students about the importance of mental health.
Sharing my story with kids was therapeutic, and it also gave me a platform for which to share some of the wisdom I acquired in jail. I spoke about how important it was to express yourself and find an outlet for your negative emotions, rather than keeping them bottled up like I had done for years. By using my story as an example of what can happen when you remain silent about your issues, I felt like I was making a real difference for the first time in my life.
One of the most important lessons I learned on my path of self-growth came after I was released: how to accept yourself. Prior to being released, I had many periods in my life which I wished I could do over again such as the reckless behavior I displayed just before my manic episode, and the many occasions where I didn’t speak up about the emotional pain I was going through until it was too late. But something occurred to me once I was freed from jail:
By regretting some of the poor decisions I made when I was younger, I was invalidating what I had been through. In other words, I was negating the path I had taken, as if it were a series of mistakes. Nonetheless, all these “blunders” were the same stepping stones I needed to become the person I am today; someone I can honestly say I am proud of. By invalidating my path, I was saying I wasn’t accepting a part of myself.
Furthermore, by regretting bits and pieces of my past, as well as undermining the various challenges life had put before me, I was making it more probable I would do the same for future events as well. It was only when I began accepting myself as a whole that I truly began to love myself. Putting things in perspective and seeing the bigger picture, I began to see everything that came up in my life (good or bad) as more steppingstones to becoming the person I wanted to be. This included a brief period where I relapsed and started taking Xanax again.
My second year speaking to students as part of the “Ending the Silence” program became more difficult than the first. My confidence was down after a brief bout with depression I faced the previous summer, and to say I got off to a shaky start that school year would be an understatement. I struggled to get through the same presentation I had done a thousand times, as my fear of public speaking became obvious to all who watched. A particular speech I gave had me more rattled than usual, and even though I had my PowerPoint to refer back to, I just couldn’t exude the same confidence I had so easily done the year prior. It was a tough crowd, and even though it was only a small group of students, the sound of laughter could be heard as I clicked through various slides. The next day, my team and I had to go back to the same school, and I couldn’t face the fact I might get laughed at again. I caved into fear and stole a Xanax from a family member’s prescription bottle before leaving the house.
I could feel the familiar rush of the benzodiazepine running through my system as I stood tall before the audience and delivered my speech. I had fun this time and it appeared the students enjoyed it as well, two of them coming up to me after and even asking for my autograph. I felt like a fraud, however, and was too ashamed to tell my supervisor what had caused the sudden improvement in my speaking.
Desperate to get my own supply, I asked my psychiatrist to write me a prescription of my own. She declined, as she knew my prior history of substance abuse. Determined to get my hands on more, I went behind her back and asked my general physician to write me a script, saying my anxiety was interfering with my work. He obliged, saying he would write me a script for thirty pills. When I went to pick up the script, however, there were sixty – along with a refill. With a hundred and twenty pills now at my disposal, it wasn’t long before I began sliding back into my old patterns. I finished forty of them within the first two weeks, using them for even the mildest anxiety-provoking situation.
The effect on my self-esteem was different this time around, though. I began remembering what I had learned about invalidating myself through negatively judging my decisions, and instead of getting down on myself for relapsing, chose to define this as yet another steppingstone. Not only did this allow me to face myself in the mirror, but it gave me a chance to see how far I had come. I wasn’t the same addict I was all those years ago. After coming to terms with my decision to refill my script, I found it a lot easier to use them responsibly. I also began rereading a book on overcoming stage fright, knowing that my prescription would soon run out and I needed a more permanent solution. Because I chose to define my actions as asking for help when I needed it, the effect I received back became exactly that. It was for this reason I would tell the students I presented in front of that I didn’t regret anything that happened, and I was grateful for everything I had been through.
Editor’s Note: This piece will appear in the upcoming memoir A Very Thin Line, from Rhythm & Bones Press. Many thanks to Rohan and the Rhythm & Bones team for allowing us to showcase it here.
About the Book: One in five people living with bipolar die by suicide. Forty percent of people with bipolar have a run in with the law at some point in their lives. This is a story not often talked about but necessary to be told. In A Very Thin Line, Rohan Sharma takes the reader on a confessional and genuine journey through his bipolar episode that left him incarcerated and serving time in jail. He does not shy away from the darkness that exists in this reality and encourages others living with mental illness to seek the help they need so they, too, do not end up in unfathomable situations such as he found himself in. Despite the darkness he faces, he finds a way to focus on the light and the positive, and while incarcerated makes the biggest discovery of all: his self and who he wants to be.
Rohan Sharma is a national speaker and rapper who goes by the stage name “Rx Mundi”. He became an avid mental health advocate subsequent to serving a twenty-three month jail sentence after pleading guilty to an armed robbery that took place in the fall of 2011. At the time, Rohan was a medical student at Drexel University. However, due to his mental illness being misdiagnosed, he was given the wrong medication which induced a psychotic episode.
He mainly speaks at high schools and college campuses as part of NAMI’s “Ending the Silence” program, demonstrating the power of positive thinking to students as well as how he was able to create order in his life. His story has been featured by “This Is My Brave” ― an organization dedicated to telling the stories of those afflicted with mental illness. In addition to this, he is being showcased in an upcoming documentary by academy award winning director Ken Burns. Follow him online @RxMundiWorld.