Nina Simone and I Have a Lot in Common

I would like to start this post by introducing myself. My name is Jenna, I have bipolar type 1 with psychosis, and I do humanitarian aid work in Africa.

I would like to start this post by introducing myself. My name is Jenna, I have bipolar type 1 with psychosis, and I do humanitarian aid work in Africa. I have lived in 5 countries, and been severely mentally ill in 3 additional ones. I try to write about my experiences from my heart, because Past Me would have really benefited from reading about Current Me. This article and those I plan to write after it are letters to my depressed self, Depressed Me, and to all the people who have just been diagnosed with this illness. I want my memories to serve a purpose. 

Having experienced a six-month psychotic manic episode, I have lots of memories that feel like dreams. There is another, Dream Jenna, who lived in Prague, didn’t have bipolar disorder, and had certain special people in her life. Dream Jenna was a real woman, who really did live in Prague and somewhat unbelievably, literally didn’t know what bipolar disorder was. But like everything from that part of my life, it feels like a dream now. 

One of those dreamy memories is from the first week of my manic episode, when I impulsively and abruptly left my romantic relationship and entered into a different one that transcended time and space - my relationship with Nina Simone. 

After moving out of the flat where my partner and I had lived for three years, I rented a place on airbnb that had a big balcony overlooking Sekaninova street. I would spend what felt like all day - and what really was most of the night, because I didn’t sleep - chain smoking on this balcony, having delusional “realizations” and “remembering” events that never happened. It was here that I discovered Nina. I know, I was late to the party. 

Nina and I have a lot in common, as it turns out. We share a serious mental illness, and both watched it destroy many relationships in our lives. We both self-medicated with substances, and would both later go on to struggle with side effects of prescribed medication. We can both turn on the charm and fill a room with joyous energy - on a good day. We are also both deeply political. I learned all this because on the third sleepless night of my manic episode, around 1:00 AM, I watched a documentary about her life, called “What Happened, Miss Simone?” I would watch and learn what did happen to her, but in a stroke of truly incredible irony, I had no idea at that moment the same thing was happening to me. God is the most poetic screenwriter of all. 

One of the most impactful things in my recovery has been finding role models - people who did not let bipolar disorder stop them from excelling at something. Some of these role models I am privileged to now call friends after working through support groups together. I have met and read about medical researchers, actresses, musicians, basketball coaches, executives, and other “fully functioning” adults. 

Because that was my biggest fear upon diagnosis - that I would never be a fully functioning adult again. At my partial hospitalization program, an older woman who had bipolar disorder since she was 16 pulled me aside upon learning my diagnosis and started explaining how to get disability benefits. I was horrified. I know she meant well, but she assumed I would accept a life of reliance on others. She wasn’t the only one who gave me this message: the stories I read online all seemed to be about people who had to shrink their dreams.

I would instead stay with parents for a year, get a job as a cashier at a pharmacy, and dip one toe at a time back into adult life. I know there’s nothing wrong with relying on a social safety net when you need it, but I had heard so many stories of people living smaller, less ambitious, “less stressful” lives after their diagnosis, that it felt like giving something up. 

I had an 8-year career as a humanitarian aid worker prior to my onset of symptoms. I was determined to return, and I am proud to say I did a year later. It was the hardest year of my life, but it has not defined my life. There are certain things I know I cannot do - mainly I cannot accept a job in a remote location where I won’t be able to get my medications. And serving in a post like that was one of my dreams, so there was a process of letting go of this. I also would no longer pass the medical clearance for the Peace Corps, or the US Foreign Service. But I still manage to see the world and watch how my hard work benefits people. 

I still listen to Nina every time I am on a long flight or alone in a hotel. While I was psychotic, I didn’t believe I was sick, but now that I know what happened, I feel my voice in hers. When she sings “please don’t let me be misunderstood” I am begging with her - begging the new people in my life to be open-minded, and the ones I lost to be understanding. Her deep voice and commanding presence give me confidence. She was wildly talented, politically impactful, and a rebel among her own generation. And bipolar disorder had nothing to do with this. 

She was not one of the tragic statistics who took her own life as a result of depression. She lived to be 70 years old, spending her old age in a beautiful town in the south of France. I can’t wait to reach those golden years, too. Perhaps in France, or in Maine. Or in Albania. Or in Lebanon. Or Slovenia. Or Switzerland…

TL;DR - Find role models and never shrink your dreams.