I’ve been deep in school mode for six weeks, beginning an associate’s degree program in Human Services. I’m taking Intro to Psychology, and it’s made me think a lot about mental health and mental health education.

When I went through my first episode of mania three years ago, I knew little about the world of mental illness or bipolar disorder. My lack of awareness made my crisis all the more distressing because I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t know that mania could have psychotic features, for instance. This meant that as I was experiencing the charge of energy typically associated with mania, my mind was also swept away by delusional thinking and paranoia.

We just finished a chapter on mental disorders and reading about some, like depression, was easier. Psychosis was harder. Reading about it brought up a lot of emotion. It’s one thing to academically study psychosis and its symptoms. It’s another to have actually experienced what it feels like: a complete loss of touch with reality and one’s capacity for reason. Throw in the panic and fear of paranoia, and you have a dangerous combination.

My hours, days, and weeks experiencing mania with psychosis contain the worst moments of my life. Fleeing from place to place without knowing why, feeling persecuted, following the waterfall of delusional thoughts to illogical and impossible ends, and believing I needed to take my own life, twice.

It all added up to a harrowing and dangerous period of my life that not only affected me, but rippled out to my family, friends, coworkers, and perfect strangers. Just reading about it in a textbook creates feelings of stress and anxiety as I’m reminded of times when I lacked control of my basic faculties to think and make sound decisions.

My life has changed dramatically since then. I’m on a lifesaving medication that has allowed me to put together a new life for myself, and I’m in the strange, almost split-screen position of reading about myself in a textbook. The authors probably don’t know what psychosis feels like, but then, I don’t know what other mental disorders that I haven’t experienced feel like. It’s impossible to know unless you’ve been through it or someone close to you has.

I can’t help but think if I had known then what I know now, my crisis could have been averted. If I had known about hypomania, for instance, I could have identified my symptoms months before they developed into full-blown mania with psychosis. (Hypomania is a mild form of mania in bipolar disorder.) If I had been more aware of bipolar disorder and its warning signs, I could have communicated them to a clinician and gotten help early.

That didn’t happen. It did devolve into a life-threatening situation. The only way I did learn all this was by going through it. Without my crisis, I wouldn’t have all the knowledge, skills, and wisdom I have now. In that light, I see it as part of my mission to share what I’ve been through, to educate and raise awareness of things still too often kept in the shadows.

There’s no doubt we need more mental health education, and I believe it starts with ourselves. Through recovery, I’ve learned to confront my own stigma, biases, and beliefs about mental illness, medication, bipolar and other disorders, and the people who live with them. In releasing my shame, I can now share my story with others in the hope that it will inspire a shift in mind or heart and ultimately create more acceptance for mental health issues.

If you’ve never taken an introductory psychology class, I recommend it. I’ve learned so much in six weeks and I’ve been able to connect a lot of it to my own life. The memories of my worst moments will always be hard to revisit, but they’re also a reminder of how far I’ve come and what I’m making of my life. I couldn’t have done it without medication, therapy, and a strong support system. I hope that all who need it get the same level of care.