Everything happened so fast. The thoughts racing through my head at a hundred miles an hour. Suicidal thoughts that would not seem to leave me alone. This was not me. I grew up in a good family, I’m in a band, I’ve got a great girlfriend. Why am I suddenly sleeping all day and having these suicidal images in my brain? I decided to run away from all of it. I packed my bag with a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a bible and hit the road. I didn’t have a destination. I didn’t even have a good taste in my mouth about my friends, or family, or what was going to happen to me. Thoughts were rubbery and inconsistent. One minute I was thinking about jumping off a cliff, the next minute I would laugh at myself for having such a thought.
After about a week on the road, I woke up one morning very affected by my surroundings. I was cold, hungry, alone in the woods. My mind felt like scrambled eggs and I decided it was time to connect with someone. I showed up at my cousin’s house and explained to him that I had found God. His face told me that he thought I was joking. But the more I said, the more concerned he got, and the next thing I knew my mom was there to pick me up. After many worried hugs and shoulder shakes, I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with manic depression.
Living Bipolar is no joke. I’m on a ton of medicines that make me feel fuzzy and tired even though my thoughts have cleaned up for the most part and I sort of feel like me again. I’m still in a band, but my band mates are always concerned about how I’m feeling or whether or not I’m going to run away again. My family members aren’t quite sure how to deal with bipolar living either. The medication is costing them money, and they keep searching for miracle cure. If I forget to take my medication, I start to say things about the world in my mind and people around me get a little scared because I become unpredictable. I’ve started going to church twice a week because I want to ask God for a cure. I wish bipolar living didn’t entail a bunch of pills that take me out of myself. But then again I’m not myself when I don’t take the medicine either. It’s hard!
I just have to take it one day at a time. My family and I have supper together every evening and talk about normal family things. Like how our day was. How work was. How is the band doing? Do we have a new drummer yet or any gigs coming up? But in the back of my mind there is a constant inner dialogue telling me that everyone is judging me for being a freak. I wonder if they’re scared of me. They think I could snap at any moment. And the sad thing is that I could.
Adjusting to bipolar living is a difficult thing to do after leading a semi-normal life for eighteen years. But like Father Welsh tells me, “Living bipolar is Gods way of teaching me to overcome weakness.” So I try to be understanding and compassionate. I work real hard every day to get over my sour feelings of not fitting in. My music is getting better and my drive is getting stronger. With the help of my friends and family, this bipolar living will ultimately fuel me on the path to a successful life.
