Małgorzata Rosiak A dripping sound could be heard in the old troll cave. At this time of year, it was a sure sign of trouble. The Arctic was melting, and the roar of snowmobiles had fallen silent. In their place, one could hear the splashing of puddles spreading across Longyearbyen. Reflected in them were the worried faces of the settlement’s tourism workers. And along with the Arctic, which is warming seven times faster than the rest of the globe, it seemed that everyone was crying. Residents, visitors, journalists. One by one, new sources came forward, shedding light on the story of a vanishing world. How can a community built on its fragile foundations be strengthened?
That day, foxes were howling on Platåfjellet. At the same time, down below, the local authorities in Longyearbyen were inviting residents to participate in consultations on a mental health prevention plan for 2026–2029. Tor Kristian Berge entered the Nybyen Spitsbergen Artists Center to speak about the suffering, love, exhaustion, and darkness experienced by people living with bipolar disorder. His life became intertwined with Svalbard twelve years ago, when silence descended upon his mind, once filled with thousands of horses galloping in all directions. What role did Svalbard play in the musician’s life, and why was it such a crucial factor in his path to recovery? This is a story about mental health in Longyearbyen, Svalbard as a place that simplifies the mental landscape of those living with bipolar disorder and highlights the deep need to connect the mind with a space that brings it peace.
Could you tell me about yourself and how long Svalbard has been on your mind?
My name is Tor Kristian. I’ve been coming here part-time for twelve years now. I’ve had a couple of companies. Enjoy experiencing life here, including the worst parts. Over the last couple of years, I’ve been seeing the beauty of Svalbard again.
Tell me more about your companies.
I was running quite a large company on the mainland, and had some of my employees working up here. I realized I had never been on Svalbard before, so I thought: why not go? I was reading the Visit Svalbard website, and what really caught my attention was the East Coast and the polar bears. I booked a trip and then I caught the Svalbard flu. I’ve always enjoyed the silence of nature.
I can imagine what you mean when you talk about silence. When I first arrived, my head was filled with dark thoughts. Then it was like magic. Everything went silent.
I remember driving through the valleys and feeling calm. At the time, in 2014, I didn’t know that I had bipolar disorder. In hindsight, I can see that my thoughts were like a thousand horses running in all directions at once. There was always a storm in my head. But when I sat on the scooter and we drove out of the valley, I found peace. I remember driving through Sassendalen. I didn’t hear the engine or anything else. I just saw the mountains, and it felt like meditation. Then we came to the East Coast. When we reached Mohnbukta, we stopped on the ice in front of the impressive glaciers. Everything calmed me down. The whole experience felt perfect. I found peace for the first time in many years. It made me want to live a little more. Life caught me on Svalbard as well and it became a dark place.
In 2019 i realized that I had lost what I once found. Had to choose between going home or end up dead somewhere on the island. I used to feel like I was on a carousel and wanted to jump off. I knew something was wrong. If you jump off a carousel when it’s going full speed, you get hurt. I realized that I either had to go home, tell the truth, and ask for help, or I would die. It was the most beautiful day I had seen in Svalbard. When I got back to town, I booked a ticket back to the mainland and went to the doctor. It was the first time I talked to my wife about it. Obviously, she knew she was living with a man who was struggling. This was my first step back to life. Where I once found peace almost killed me.
Could you tell me about it?
I was laser-focused on my goal and couldn’t see anything else. When you’re bipolar and manic, you tend to have a lot of ideas. I was very focused on setting up companies here, but I wasn’t able to do it all myself. I didn’t know anything about call centers, so I hired someone else to run it. When you depend on other people who don’t have the same drive as you, the going gets tough. The manager of the company eventually ran away. I tried to keep it alive and spent millions on it. For a long time, I was putting hundreds of thousands into the company every month. I went from being quite high to extremely low, and my only response to feeling low was to go even faster. I was exhausted. I also had the idea to buy a boat, and I found one in Sweden that used to belong to the Swedish Coast Guard. They used it to chase smugglers. I took a risk without fully realizing the danger involved. I took the boat and sailed it from Stockholm down through the Baltic Sea and up to Norway in early December. It was dark most of the time.
I didn’t have any proper navigation equipment, but we eventually made it here by boat, and everything looked fine at first. Then someone managed to run the boat aground, which was the beginning of the end for that company. That was around the time I realized I was sick. We had a company manager, who suddenly stopped picking up guests, which was insane. I tried to take responsibility, but I couldn’t. I was lying in bed, shivering, not knowing what to do. My name was used in the newspaper, which was quite difficult. They published a lot of things that weren’t true. It was hard for me to take responsibility for something I was only a co-owner of. I did a lot of things before I realized I was sick. Buying a dog yard was also insane. I don’t know anything about dogs. I just thought it would be good to have a place up here as a base for guiding. We bought it in May 2019 and were waiting for the winter season. As everyone knows, 2020 happened.
I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in early 2020, and the psychiatrist asked me if I wanted to go to a place that was almost like a retreat. It was a resort with a lot of professionals from different fields who analyze and help people get back on track and gain a different perspective on life. I was there for six weeks, and the business was, of course, in a bad state. There was no income, no guests, and nothing happening. I cannot blame the disorder for everything. I was the one who did all these crazy things. The problem with mental disorders is that people don’t see them. They just see the maniac, the idiot, the crazy guy. Mental illness can be as deadly as a physical illness, but people don’t always understand that. Cancer can be deadly, but everyone supports someone who is diagnosed with cancer because they want them to survive. They don’t always realize that a mentally ill person is also struggling and fighting for their life. And that was the case for me.
You were diagnosed at forty-one. What happens to a person when they have bipolar disorder?
Bipolar disorder is often described as manic depression, with different levels of mania and depression. There is hypomania and mania, which is why we talk about bipolar I and bipolar II. I have the manic type of the disorder. I used to say I had the rock and roll version of it. It can feel extremely exciting to be bipolar, because you do a lot of things. I appreciate many of the things I’ve done, but at the same time, it almost killed me. I think it’s very individual, but for me it felt like a roller coaster. When you’re at the top of the roller coaster, that’s the fun part, you’re high, everything feels intense and fast. And then it drops at full speed. Falling can be quite frightening. Somewhere between mania and depression, there is a more normal state. It’s like a flat line in the middle. Everyone has ups and downs, but for someone with bipolar disorder, it is much more intense. You go both deeper and higher.
Being bipolar is extremely exhausting. You have to take responsibility for your actions when you’re manic and that is one of the hardest parts of it. It is not widely recognized, even though there are around 160,000 people in Norway who live with bipolar disorder to some degree. I worked in a mental hospital for a few years. I worked with people with schizophrenia, paranoia, borderline personality disorder, and psychosis. I met them all. I have never been to court, but if someone commits a crime, the healthcare system takes care of them. They go to hospital, where they receive therapy and medication if necessary, as well as access to psychologists and psychiatrists. In my case, I was left alone. I went to my doctor and said that I need help. And he said that within three months, I will get help. Basically, I was told to help myself. Living with bipolar disorder is challenging. If you break a bone, you go to the hospital and receive whatever treatment is necessary to fix it. But when you have a mental disorder, it can often feel like it is not taken as seriously. I have been asking for a psychologist for six years, but I still haven’t gotten one. I think the most important thing when you have a disorder is to understand it. If you don’t understand it, how can you manage it? I’m lucky to have my family and friends. I’ve been writing music, poems, and lyrics. I also wrote a book with different stories, reflections, and feelings, and it helped me a lot.
What was the diagnosis like, and what happened next?
The doctor said he could refer me to a psychologist and sent a request. A couple of weeks later, I received an email saying they didn’t have the capacity to see me. I decided to be open about my bipolar disorder, so I wrote about it on Facebook. It was interesting because I got a lot of different reactions. Many people left, and I haven’t seen them since. The only real help I got was rehab, which was amazing. I remember the moment I realized I had found some peace. I was walking from my room, heading down for dinner, and I suddenly stopped and thought that this is what it feels like to have a vacation. I received a letter from an institution called Sunnas Sykehus, informing me that I could get rehab in February. When I got that letter, I realized how much life had changed in a direction I never wanted. I just collapsed on the couch and started crying. My wife came over, and I felt like a child falling into her arms. That moment was not necessarily a turning point, but it was very important in my life, because I realized I had really good people around me and the best of them all was my wife. It felt like a confirmation of the promises you make when you get married. I can’t imagine it any other way.
Was the diagnosis at that age a relief or the opposite?
What I realized was that I now have a kind of toolbox for handling life. I know I’m taking my medication, and I’m not going to stop because it works. I also know that it helps to do things I really enjoy, like playing and writing music, hunting, and staying physically active. I enjoy Svalbard again. I don’t have a lot of companies. The only company I have is the one up here, which I genuinely enjoy working with.
When I got my first dose of medication, I was afraid that my creativity would disappear and that I wouldn’t be able to write anything. Do you have similar thoughts?
I didn’t think about it because I was so tired that I didn’t care. I remember realizing that I was sick on April 9, 2019. I was going home from Svalbard.
Today marks exactly seven years.
I was extremely tired. When I got better, I started writing again and reflecting on my life, how it had been and how I had behaved. I’ve been rude to people, and that’s something I have to own. I remember getting a phone call from a guy here in Longyearbyen. I can’t remember what I said, because there are some big black holes in my memory. From around November 2017 until April 2019, my memory is very fragmented. It feels like driving through heavy fog, there are large gaps I simply can’t recall. I think healing also means understanding that it’s not only about what you’ve done to others, but also what you’ve done to yourself. I’ve had this disorder since birth, it’s not something you get, it’s something you have. Of course, it can be triggered by how you live. When I came to understand my diagnosis, I became a bit bitter at first and blamed others for not understanding me. But why should they? It’s not their fault. I did those things, not them. They don’t know me, so why should they excuse my behavior because of my condition? I’ve realized that I owe some people an apology.
On the poster, under your band’s name Camp Abby, it says Spitsbergen Blues. Do you play blues, or is that a play on words?
Spitsbergen Blues is a slightly different song from what we usually play. It’s not blues at all. It describes how I felt on the day I realized I was sick. I write about the fact that I don’t feel anything anymore. I was flat. I couldn’t see the beautiful landscape I was talking about. I had some guests, and I was telling them how beautiful everything was, big view, the blue sky, but at the same time I realized I couldn’t actually see it. I just knew the words I was supposed to say as a guide. I wrote this song, but I wasn’t sure if I could call it Spitsbergen Blues. In Norwegian, it was originally called „finner ingen ro”, which means you can’t find peace. Then I realized the whole song is about Spitsbergen and that blue, empty feeling, about losing everything in a place where I once found peace. That’s why I called it Spitsbergen Blues. The whole album has the same title. I wrote many of the songs here, and I actually recorded my first album here in 2017, during polar night. Many of these songs were born here.
On the first of May, you will be playing a concert at the Artist Center. What will it be about?
A few years ago, I decided I wasn’t going to play music anymore, and I definitely wasn’t going to play in Svalbard. But then Domi asked if we wanted to play here, and I thought, okay, that’s a challenge. Maybe that’s something I need to do. So I decided, okay, fuck it, let’s do it. I spoke to the band, and they said, why not? Of course, the new album includes a lot of reflections on my disorder, and it’s also a kind of soul searching. There are a couple of songs, Spitsbergen Blues and another one called Kevlar. It’s about this roller coaster feeling, like you’re flying through space, with bombs and grenades. There’s also a song called Idiot, where I reflect on what I’ve done and what it’s like to be bipolar. You’re up and down, you scream and shout, that’s the bottom line.
So this is actually the journey you took?
Yes, it is. Sometimes when I write, a single sentence just comes into my mind and I think, okay, that’s crazy, let’s turn it into a song. It can be pure creativity and has nothing to do with my bipolar disorder. Other songs are different. There is one song called Sick Sak. I was sitting in a restaurant in a town in the south of Norway. I was sober, while my friends were drinking. I couldn’t join them because I was exhausted. I was just observing the people around me. I remember seeing some women sitting there. They came into the restaurant or bar looking like dolls, completely perfect. Then around two o’clock at night I noticed the facade starting to break down. Everything changes over time. It became a reflection on people.
If I ask you to paint a picture with the thoughts and emotions of a person with bipolar disorder what would be on the page?
It’s like chaos, someone running around like crazy, scared, like a clown, candy, explosions, different planets. Another one is about someone who has lost their fuel. That’s how it can feel sometimes when you’re in a dark place. It’s all different emotions and feelings put into pictures.
Could Svalbard simplify these drawings?
I worked in a mental hospital for three years. It was a place where people with very severe mental health issues were treated some of them had also committed serious crimes. Our job was still to treat everyone with respect and dignity, regardless of their background. Sometimes, when a patient became too unwell or a situation became unsafe, we had to use a special room. It was a white, very minimal space with a bed, designed to reduce stimulation and help calm things down. In some cases, physical restraints were used for safety, so the person could be monitored and protected in a controlled environment. What I realized later is that Svalbard felt similar to me in a way. It was like a large, quiet room, almost like emptiness. Ice, snow, silence. That lack of stimulation gave me a kind of peace I couldn’t find anywhere else.
That also connects to my lyrics in Spitsbergen Blues, where I write about a place where I once found peace but can no longer find it in the same way. Svalbard used to be a place where I could calm my thoughts and emotions, just to relax and reset. I felt like I lost that connection for a while, but last year was the first time I really enjoyed being there again.
Is there a psychologist or psychiatrist working in Longyearbyen?
I find it strange that they don’t have any kind of mental health services here. Of course, there is an emergency hospital, but there seems to be a lack of ongoing support for people who become mentally ill. That can happen very suddenly. If you look at the history here, my landlord a couple of years ago shot himself. We know stories like a young kid who committed suicide, and another girl or mother who ended her life up here, which could have been avoided if there had been some kind of safety net. But it feels like there isn’t really a system like that in place. At the same time, I’m glad there is now more focus on mental health support, both here and elsewhere. One of the reasons I try to be open about mental health is because it’s real and it’s present in people’s lives. If we talk about it, maybe others can understand it better. I’ve been through periods where I was unwell, but I’m much more than just my diagnosis. I’m a normal person, and maybe if people look beyond the behavior, they can start to understand what’s underneath it. Instead of just seeing something that looks like „stupidity,” they might ask: why is this happening? Absolutely there should be some kind of psychologist up here to prevent suicides. Suicide is one thing but if you lose control over yourself you can do a lot of that harm other people. They say that Svalbard or Longyearbyen is warm and they are including, taking care of each other and that’s true to a certain point. But when you move here and you make yourself heard they are not that including anymore. But of course they don’t know. That’s a question of whose fault is it?
We have a few people here in town who are great examples of warmth, inclusion, and caring for others. I remember one moment in March 2019. It meant more to me than you can imagine. I was walking out of the old cafe Rabalder when I met him on the street. It was Martin from Longyear 78. He came up to me and simply gave me a hug. You can’t imagine what it meant. It made me feel like I would get through the next week. His father, Kai, people call him Plumber Kai, and now he’s a bus driver, is the same kind of person. One of my biggest challenges after I got the diagnosis was going to the grocery store. Being around so many people and exposing myself like that just to buy food was overwhelming. Simply walking into the shop felt like a huge step. I remember one time I went in and just stood there, scared, not knowing what to do. Then Kai came in and said, „Hey, how are you?” He came over to me and gave me a hug. Because of that, I managed to buy my things, pay, and leave the store with a much better feeling. We have a few people like that in this town, people who are incredibly warm. We need more people like them. If you notice someone starting to behave differently, what you might call abnormally, instead of judging them right away, try asking a simple question. Give them a hug. Ask how they are doing, how they are feeling, if they are okay? Those kinds of questions can make a real difference. The bottom line is that mental health in Svalbard is extremely important. As a community, we need to raise awareness and make sure people have somewhere to go, someone they can talk to who understands mental health challenges and knows how to help or guide them to support. That’s why it’s important to have access to a psychologist here.
What is life like with a mental health disorder in isolated Svalbard, in a small community without access to a psychologist? Is it like a bumpy road ridden by scooters to Adventdalen?
When you move up here, you’re isolated. It’s a small community, and the housing situation can actually be harmful to mental health. Some people live in conditions that are far from adequate, especially guides and seasonal workers. I know people who have been living in what is essentially a closet, clearing out clothes just to fit in a small bed. Others end up couch surfing, moving from place to place. That’s not how people should have to live. Living in such conditions takes a toll on your mental health, and it’s something that needs attention. When people move here, they contribute to the community, especially guides, since tourism is one of the main industries. Without them, the local economy wouldn’t function the same way. And yet many accept very poor living conditions while paying high rent. That situation can be extremely harmful. It can trigger depression and other serious emotional struggles. It’s something that should be taken seriously when discussing mental health here. We need to start treating everyone as a real part of the community. The government hasn’t handled this well, but ultimately it comes down to political decisions. These are problems that could be addressed if there were the will to do so. For example, guides often work 10-12 hours a day. They are responsible for the safety of groups of people throughout the entire day. After that, they return to shared apartments that are often overcrowded, and some end up sleeping on couches. They don’t get the rest or sleep they need. When you work that much and don’t get proper recovery, it becomes a serious risk factor for mental health. Sleep and routines are essential, probably one of the most important foundations for mental well-being.
You are a guide on Svalbard. Have you ever had to say no to tourists?
All the time. Even if it’s 99% safe, that 1% chance of something going wrong is enough for me not to do it. This year I’ve already had two groups I was supposed to go with to the East Coast. But the conditions were terrible, so I said, „No, we’re not going there. We’ll do something else instead”. And that was completely fine with everyone, because if you explain that, for safety reasons, something can’t be done, people usually understand. As a guide, that’s also part of my responsibility and, in a way, my privilege, I get to make those decisions. When you’re responsible for many people, you have to constantly consider what could go wrong. I actually had an incident this weekend involving a polar bear encounter. We had established camp, or we were just about to, on the east coast quite far from the shoreline when suddenly two polar bears showed up, walking straight toward us. I told the group, that we need to prepare to evacuate. Get on your snowmobiles, take the sleds off, and start the engines.
Do you feel like you are witnessing a disappearing world?
I’m a little bit concerned. I also work with green technology, capturing CO₂ and producing green methanol from emissions. It’s technology aimed at slowing down or stopping global warming. At the same time, I’m up here working as a guide, and I see the changes directly. And then I go to Norway, Italy, or the Middle East to commercialize this technology. But the willingness just isn’t really there, it often stays at the level of words. So it’s quite worrying what you see up here. This season, for example, there’s almost no snow. Today it’s around plus two degrees, and rain. I actually asked some politicians from the Conservative Party before last year’s election what their plans were regarding global warming. And the answer was mostly vague, lots of talk, but no concrete policy, no real plan. It feels like they don’t really act on it in practice. It’s mostly discussion. I’m currently working with a Polish colleague on this green technology.
Could you please tell me more about it?
We are commercializing and introducing a new technology. And it’s quite striking, because everyone talks about how important it is to stop global warming, and there are COP meetings and all of that. COP27, COP28, those big gatherings where countries meet to talk about climate change, emissions, and targets. But in our view, it often feels like it stays at the level of discussion. China is taking large-scale action and investment, even if the motivations are mixed or not purely environmental. We are blaming them for a lot of emissions, and of course that is true, but at the same time they are the country that does the most for global technologies and the fight against global warming. We are working on two projects. One in Minnesota and one in Illinois.
They are actually paying a bit of attention to it, and it will be interesting to see how things develop. However, the willingness to fight global warming, which we are already experiencing here, especially its effects, is still lacking. I think everyone should come to Svalbard and see what is happening here. It is concerning, and we should appreciate it while we still can.
