Words that Speak, Grip, and Command Introspection: A Review of Bassey Ikpi’s I’m Telling the Truth, but I’m Lying

By Ilerioluwa Olatunde

I have always had this book on my shelf, and I wonder why it took me so long to read it. Now that I finally have, a part of me questions whether I should be writing a review since it was published in 2019. However, the thoughts and emotions stirred by Bassey Ikpi’s honest revelation of her battle with bipolar disorder are too powerful not to share. I'm Telling the Truth, but I'm Lying is a profound reflection on mental health that remains as relevant today as ever. 

Bassey’s debut essay collection is a raw and heart-rendering memoir that explores the complexities of living with bipolar disorder. The author’s honest and compelling narrative takes readers on a journey through the highs and lows of her mental health struggles, revealing the often hidden and misunderstood realities of her condition. She offers profound insight into her life, detailing the events that contributed to episodes of depression and anxiety and the eventual diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Bassey also explores how these experiences impacted her life, including her actions, finances, job, and relationships with loved ones.

One of the standout features of Bassey’s debut essay collection is its bold and eye-catching design, which perfectly mirrors her book's deep introspection and honesty. I recall my friend's puzzled reaction to the book's title and cover design. She asked, "Why is it so complicated?" The title, which can be read up and down and in reverse, aptly reflects Bassey’s often muddled memories, as the author acknowledges that she might have fragmented and sometimes false recollections of certain life events that make up the collection. Additionally, the structure of this memoir is unconventional, as Bassey alternates between different periods of her life to account for the experiences that shaped her. This non-chronological approach, which jumps around different times in her life, also mirrors the fragmentation of her memories and her attempts to recall them. 

 I NEED TO PROVE TO you that I didn’t enter the world broken. I need to prove that I existed before. That I was created by people who loved me and had experiences that turned me into these fragmented sentences, but that I was, at one point, whole. That I didn’t just show up as a life already destroyed. (pg. 1)

In her first essay, This First Essay Is to Prove to You That I Had a Childhood, Bassey writes, “The problem is that I don’t remember much about my childhood and have only fragments of everything else” (pg. 1). Despite this, she acknowledges that these fragments are charged with strong emotions. The mere mention of names causes her heart to spin and duck, indicating the significant emotional impact of these fragmented or obscured memories. This reminds me of moments when I have the uncanny sensation of déjà vu or when a name feels familiar as if my brain has chosen to hold onto a fragment of a deeper memory. Bassey also reflects on the protective nature of her brain, noting its tendency to shield her from dangerous memories while retaining recollections of minor pains and extreme joy. 

The following few essays describe her upbringing in Nigeria with her grandmother and aunties, her limited interactions with her parents, and her complicated relationship with her mother, who would often appear and disappear at will. She also recounts her first experience meeting her father and her eventual migration to the United States with her parents. The author addresses diverse themes that come together to form the whole of her book. She reflects on the impact of watching the Challenger Space Shuttle disaster unfold on live TV as an eight-year-old and how the words, there are no survivors, lived like an echo in her head long after she heard it. She also explores identity and the lasting impact of trauma, offering a raw and unfiltered perspective on the struggles and triumphs inherent in navigating complex family dynamics.  

I’ve seen photos of my mother as a young woman: black-and-white shots of her laughing with her friends in minidresses and leather, high-heeled platform shoes. The woman in the photos loved to laugh, it seems…That is the mother I wanted. The woman I got, though she still flashed with beauty and kindness, seemed angry all the time. (pg. 35)

In The Hands that Held Me and Yaka, Bassey paints an emotional picture of her relationship with her mother, set against a backdrop of intergenerational trauma. Raised in a home where her father spoke highly of his family, while her mother gave an undesirable picture of her upbringing, Bassey navigated a childhood marked by her mother's unexplained anger and her father's attempts to justify it, such as “she wasn’t treated well; worries that these things will run out. She doesn’t like her things being taken” (pg. 41).

Bassey also hints that her mother likely experienced abuse and trauma during her upbringing, suggesting that these experiences may have influenced her mother’s turbulent behaviour. She provides a glimpse into her mother’s flawed relationship with her grandmother, highlighting the complexities of their mother-daughter dynamic. We see the same pattern between Bassey and her mother.

I’VE HEARD STORIES OF her past. She offers rose-colored memories, but the truth is hidden somewhere in between her stories and my father’s excuses. My mother’s unhappiness seeps through her pores… I wonder how much of that is a pain she can’t reveal. (pg. 41)

Bassey also documents her mother’s favouritism towards her siblings, mainly because, unlike her younger siblings, she had to drop out of college due to anxiety and depression. In the essay, Yaka, she writes about the abuse and hurtful words she endured from her mother, a painful reality that she only briefly acknowledges in her memoir despite its profound impact on her mental health. This scenario sheds light on a sobering reality: the prevalence of abuse within families and the societal tendency to overlook or justify such behaviour when it originates from those closest to us. 

I learned how to take the truth and bend it like light through a prism. I learned to lie beautifully. Completely. Technicolor and detailed and so clear that by the end of the sentence, I believe it to be true as well. (pg. 50)

In Becoming a Liar, the author speaks about the art of fabrication she mastered early on to navigate her family's expectations. She describes how she learned to craft narratives that satisfied others while concealing her pain, writing, “By far, the lie I tell the most is “I’m okay" (pg. 49). She reassures readers that her parents did not encourage her to lie, but she developed this habit “to avoid punishments and to secure rewards" by telling them what they wanted to hear instead of the truth (pg. 49). Bassey embodied these falsehoods so convincingly that her family either could not recognise her distress or chose to ignore it.

The other section of the book details the author’s struggles with her mental health and navigating life before and after she was diagnosed with Bipolar. Bassey vividly describes the highs and lows of mania and severe depression episodes, intensified by her inability to understand what exactly was happening to her, yet knowing that something was wrong. This vivid description allows readers to gain a deeper understanding of the reality of living with Bipolar II, fostering empathy. The author’s descriptive writing style enhances this effect, making her narrative more impactful and relatable. 

Nothing is fast enough. Not the pacing. Nothing. Only the words dancing circles inside my head. The thoughts running and racing faster and faster. Until I’m begging for my skin to slide quickly off my bones. I spin around a few times, searching for something that will make this top. Maybe I’ll tire myself out. I’ll have no choice but to collapse from exhaustion. Maybe my heart will explode from beating so fast. Maybe this time I won’t wake up. (pg. 130)

Bassey writes in great detail about life before the diagnosis, detailing openly the symptoms she experienced and the toll they took on her - anxiety attacks, severe depression, sleep and appetite disturbances, frustration, frequent sobbing, paranoia, mood swings, confusion, and impulsive spending. She also talks about her use of drugs to cope with her situation and her struggles with suicidal thoughts. At this point, her writing style made me feel the emotion in every word. I found myself invested in her well-being, especially as she bravely discussed her battle with suicidal thoughts. 

One powerful theme in this book is the stigma surrounding mental illness and depression, which often silences those affected from speaking out. In This is What Happens, Bassey writes, “I need to tell someone about this. But who? What? What is this? How can I tell someone when I don’t even know what this is? How could I possibly explain this to anyone? They’ll only tell me to try and sleep and try and eat. As if it’s that simple. As if that’s the real problem” (pg. 126-127). This passage illustrates the daunting challenges individuals face when contemplating opening up about their mental health struggles. It reflects the harsh reality of societal attitudes that often minimise or dismiss the complexities of mental illness, leaving many feeling isolated and misunderstood.

Additionally, in Young Girls They Do Get Weary, Bassey reveals her shock upon learning years after her maternal grandmother’s death that her grandmother had dementia.  Her parents had kept this information hidden due to the stigma and misconception surrounding mental health struggles in Nigeria. This secrecy continues to be a pervasive issue in many societies. Yet, books like I’m Telling the Truth, but I’m Lying, are crucial for enlightening people on these critical topics and sparking meaningful conversations.

Following a mental breakdown that resulted in hospitalisation, Bassey discovered that there was a name for her “broken brain.” She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder II. In the essay, It Has a Name, she initially rejects her diagnosis, as she has never heard of any Black person with bipolar disorder and has only known of extreme portrayals of the condition. When she asks her psychiatrist how long it will take to be “cured,” she is devastated to learn she will probably be on medication for the rest of her life to manage the condition, as bipolar disorder is a lifelong condition. 

But this thing had a name. Bipolar II. I have never heard of it. Never heard of any Black people with it, so unless I was the first there had to be some mistake. (pg. 171)

Even after her diagnosis, Bassey's treatment journey is far from smooth, as she chronicles in Side Effects May Include. She deals with the side effects of her medication, including sleeping for 20 hours straight and experiencing agitation, confusion, and nervousness. Frequent changes in her medication were necessary to find what worked. In the essay Life Sentence, she expresses her yearning for normalcy—living without relying on medication. She also recounts several unsuccessful attempts to discontinue her medication, highlighting the ongoing struggle and impact of living with bipolar disorder.

She wanted something to work. She was tired of being someone who couldn’t be fixed by medicine. She just wanted to find the cure so she could return to her old life. She tried the new dosage. She made sure to check that the clock on her nightstand was synced with her cell phone and her watch and the ticking clock in the living room. She didn’t want to be confused again when she woke up. (pg. 177)

Bassey's writing style is authentic, poetic, and utterly engrossing. Her deliberate use of language skillfully draws readers into her struggles and experiences, evoking genuine sympathy. I felt the frustration, confusion, and every emotion depicted in this book, which makes this powerful prose linger long after the final page. While her narratives delve into heavy themes, Bassey’s wit adds a layer of humour to the heart-rending essay. I’m Telling the Truth, but I’m Lying transcends being a well-crafted essay collection; it stands as a testament to Bassey Ikpi’s remarkable talent as a writer and her resilience as a human being. It presents a heartbreaking, courageous and necessary portrayal of mental health. Bassey tells her story in a raw and riveting way that resonates deeply, offering solace and insight to anyone who has encountered similar challenges or knows someone who has. Ultimately, I’m Telling the Truth, but I’m Lying is a compelling call for empathy, resilience, and greater awareness of mental health issues.

Biography
Ilerioluwa Olatunde is a creative writer and book reviewer interested in fiction, creative nonfiction, and performance poetry. She recently tried her hands at business writing and finds it amusing. She is a fellow of Sprinng and Speakin' Fingers Academy. Her work, which focuses on book reviews, lifestyle, and the human condition, has been published on platforms such as Sprinng and Shuzia. She draws inspiration from the books she reads, societal and economic issues, her personal life, and her relationship with God.

She is also an Economic Research Analyst and enjoys volunteering. When she is not writing, she reads, listens to music, has fun in her head, or does research.