A Journey of Faith

It’s been a long time since we last spoke. So many things have happened. I gained so much perspective. I have grown into myself. I got married and had two additional children. I also welcomed my first grandchild. In a flash twenty years have seemingly disappeared. But let me start from the beginning if you will. 

Its Friday again an ever-constant reminder of my escapades. The day that I have too chose between chaos and calm. That monthly dose of rationalism that I have come to depend on. But you see I have not always clutched my Fridays so closely. In fact, it wasn’t until recently that I even accepted them as part of my life. It is bittersweet.

There was a time before all of this. A time when my mind fluttered at its whim. A time when sleep was not necessary. A time that I felt I could concur the world. I could continue to romanticize it but that is futile. Ah but I have yet to explain to you what I am talking about. Once a month usually on Friday I obtain an injection. A mood stabilizer for people who like me have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Without this medication my life is much different.

I have been asked to describe a day in the life of mania. This is my attempt at that. We have all heard the news stories of the mentally ill person who does something drastic. Shaking our heads, we reason that could never be me. Even I do that unfortunately. The stigma carried with mental illness causes us to hide in a closet of sorts. By peeling back, the layers of my personal story I hope to empower change.

Early in life I experienced the roller-coaster effects of my illness. Long before I was diagnosed, I knew there was something different about me. I had periods of restlessness that could lead to reckless behavior. I had periods of loneliness where depression seemed to consume me. Rare were the middle moments. It was one or the other. I never talked about it. Perhaps I felt like it was normal. Maybe everyone was like me you never really know. I compensated and moved on with life.

Then one day it all changed. It was day three or four without sleep. I began to experience terrible flashbacks of previous trauma. I began to run without reason. I started to have delusions of grandeur. My past and future seemed to have collided. I began to speak frequently rambling. It was as if I had stepped out of myself, but I was still present. That day ended with a swat team at my doorstep. Out of concern my family had contacted the police who located me at a hotel. Guns drawn I was apprehended like a common criminal. Shackled and chained taken to the hospital. A place I would frequent over the next few years.

The diagnosis was administered in a callous fashion. Finally, there was a name for my differences. My hospital days have not been all bad. I have fellowshipped with strong minds, Artistic minds. Often however I have felt the gap between patient and provider. I wished early on that I could have gotten more resources and less drugs. Today I have a balance of both worlds that seems to be working. I take my monthly injection and seek supportive therapy. I have not been hospitalized in more than five years. 

I have had a few really scarry episodes of mania. They always start the same with me missing sleep. It starts with one day then another until they all blend. I get energy insane amounts of energy. My mind loses its humility. I feel desperately alone. I can talk to total strangers but seem to distance myself from family and friends. I always get horrific flashbacks of trauma that was very real in my life. It seems like it is happening again. Sometimes I can feel the spiral occur other times I am oblivious.  To be continued.........