Marcia
In 1979, I meet a 23 year old man who had recently been diagnosed with bipolar disorder; his name was James. I did not learn of his diagnosis for 17 years however. He and I became best friends in a short amount of time and that friendship has lasted to this day. Although we have lived far from one another, we have remained in contact through the years.

After not seeing James for six years, he came to California for a visit in 1996. I was so excited. It was at this time James shared with me his diagnoses of bipolar disorder. Having never heard of the illness, I asked him to define bipolar disorder. His explanation was as follows, “Not a big deal. I get a little depressed sometimes, but I just lay down for a while and it passes. I also have insomnia, so I drink some to help me sleep. It’s not really a problem.” Talk about a gross understatement! As I write this, I have to chuckle. He had given me no reason not to trust his explanation. Over the time of our friendship, to that point, I had not noticed anything that would contradict this statement. Most of our contact has been over the phone. I knew that he had a problem with relationships, but I figured that it was a result of his dysfunctional behavior, which I might add is a common mistake.

It did not take long for problems to arise in our relationship. His, “Drink some to sleep.” turned into full-blown alcoholism. It was true that he got “a little depressed sometimes”, but what he neglected to say was that he is manic all the time. At this time, I did not know it was mania, because I did not know anything about bipolar disorder. When I looked at my best friend James, I saw a kind, gentle, loving man, who had been beaten down. I saw a confused man, just trying to make sense out of his own life. He shared with me, what he knew about bipolar disorder. He claimed not to be an alcoholic, but rather, used alcohol with his medication (Ativan) to help him sleep. At the time, he was also taking Tegratal to manage his moods. He had no knowledge of any other medication, nor did he know about mania and how it affected his life. Bipolar Disorder became his excuse for everything. For my own survival, I knew I had to learn all I could about bipolar disorder. I began searching the Internet. In addition, I read every book I could find on the subject and I shared all of my newly acquired knowledge with James. I found him responsive to some of the material, but boldly rejected the rest. He said, “You have no idea what it feels like to have bipolar disorder. “ He was right, but he had no idea what it was like to live with someone with bipolar disorder.

James decided to start a support group solely for those diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which excluded me and I did not fully understand why. I questioned his motives since he had struggled with the information I had shared with him. I also did not realize that his plan was the result of mania- grandiose ideas. His lack of information did not cross his mind. He passing out flyers and found three other people diagnosed with bipolar disorder. The excitement began to mount, as the date grows closer. It was great that people with bipolar disorder were going to come together looking for answers. The only problem was that James had no answers. One month after the first meeting, James went out to buy books never to return. Three days later, he phoned to say he was in Florida, but was not sure how he got there. He suggested mania had played a part in it, but to be honest, the excuse did not make me feel better, nor did it help me understand his behavior.

The evening of the support group, I was left with the task of telling the individuals who attended that James was gone and the support group was cancelled. As I shared this information with them, I saw the disappointment and fear in their eyes. I found myself saying to them, “I will facilitate the group, but I am not bipolar (this was before I understood you are not bipolar but rather you have bipolar).” I could actually see their excitement. “That’s alright, yes please,” they said. So beginning the next week I became the facilitator. What was I thinking! I had facilitated groups before, as well as attending many myself (that’s another story), but I had no idea what to say or how to handle a mental illness support group. I was afraid I would say or do something wrong. So for the next month I was panicked. I sat and listened to the group laugh together as they exchanged stories about when they where in mania, express how they hated the system, all doctors, hospitals, family, and any one else that did not understand how hard it is to have bipolar disorder. One evening after the meeting, I walked to my car, got in, held the steering wheel, and began to bang my head against it. After three hits, I leaned back in my seat, looked up at the stars, and said out loud, “Why do they have the right to use bipolar disorder as a excuse for their lives, I was not allowed to have a excuse” (remember those support group I attended). They laughed at what they did while in mania but, I did not think it was funny when James disappeared. I sat up staring into the darkness, “Time for a change.”

The next week I continued my research about bipolar disorder and with knowledge in hand, I went to our next meeting and stated: “You are not bipolar, you have bipolar. You are not defined by bipolar disorder. You have worth. You have hope. Your lives can be managed. From this moment on, you will be responsible and accountable for yourselves. You will not blame or excuse your behavior; and my promise to you, is that I will walk this journey with you as we learn together how to accomplish this. Bipolar Disorder is not an excuse, it is only an explanation.”

We are now in our eighth year and still learning. This is called life.

Now, may I introduce James, in his own words.                   Read on --->
 

James
As a child, my life was filled with loneliness I was not part of a family unit where I was loved and accepted. I felt alone and “different”, not understanding the cause. The dysfunction in my life, as well as feeling different kept me separated from my peers.

I acquired survival skills to dull the pain. One was learning that running away, avoided the pain. I did not let anyone get close. I moved from town to town running from something inside me. At 12 years old, I was introduced to street drugs and found an escape from the torture that haunted me and from this unknown turmoil inside me. It took me 10 years, to recognize the futility of using drugs and that the drugs were just a symptom of the pain and illness that raged on inside me.

I married at 23 hoping that a stable family life would help me cope. After less than two years of marriage and a child, I had a complete breakdown. My wife was told I might never recover; I was diagnosed with manic depression now known as bipolar disorder. At that time, medication was “one for all” and no information was available. It took two years before I was able to return to work. I felt so good; I decided I didn’t need medication any longer. For the next seven years, I lived the up and down life of a bipolar that is not informed enough to realize their moods could be controlled.

While in a deep depression, I interpreted all my problems as being everyone else’s fault and began a journey. I left by wife and son behind and began a relationship with alcohol. I remained drunk for the next 10 years, trying desperately to kill the pain and confusion.

During this period of time I went from one relationship to another, looking for the external to fix the internal. Finally seeking help in 1986, I went to a psychiatrist and I was put on Tegretal to balance my moods. Unfortunately, I also continued to drink. It did not take long for despair and hopelessness to set in and on a dark lonely night, I put a gun to my heart and fired. I survived, only to try again a year later. Once again I survived, nothing seemed to stop this pain.

In 1996 I went to visit my best friend, Marcia, in California. Little did I know, I was beginning another journey, filled with knowledge, healing, hope, and responsibility. My first lesson was that there is more to bipolar disorder than I understood. Bipolar disorder is not an excuse and alcohol and medication do not go together; so I quit drinking. Before I learned any of this truth, I had to walk a very hard road, which included hurting and damaging the trust of my best friend.

I returned to my psychiatrist and got properly medicated. I began to be responsible for my own care. When I feel well, it’s the medication that is affording me this privilege, not an opportunity to stop my medication. The loneliness and feelings of not being accepted are co-partners with the lack of a family and love as a child, as well as bipolar disorder. Both can be managed.

The bipolar disorder, along with my dysfunctional life explains why I have felt as I do, but it does not justify or excuse my behavior. When I started Bipolar Insights, it gave me a sense of belonging to something bigger than this illness. I now work the illness, instead of the letting it work me. There is hope for me and to all who read this. I survived by the grace of God. That same God is available for us all. God bless.
 

It is the mission of Bipolar Insights, to educate the public, as well as those affected by the disorder. We accomplish this through instruction, literature, and support. We provide service for those who are diagnosed with bipolar disorder, their friends, family, and the community.