I Have Been One Acquainted With The Night

So it's 1:00AM. Earlier than many nights I get the blogging bug, I was out driving on the streets on a Monday night/Tuesday morning and was thinking about why I find myself out about that time so oft in the early morning hours. I'm not sure I can accurately articulate the reasoning for the desire, though I have my theories, I can at least start with an explanation of the feelings these late nights arouse.

Have you ever seen the first scene of Vanilla Sky? I don't remember the whole gist of whats going on, if I remember right, he's dreaming but doesn't realize it until later. He gets in his car on the way to work in Manhattan and he doesn't see anyone on the streets. Long story short, he drives around a bit, even to Time Square and the streets are empty at 9 or 10am. It creates this feeling of surrealism that indicates some underlying reality of the main character of feeling alone but alive, living but without human connection, which if we think about it is at the root of why we live, for the connections with others in this life.

I've always loved that feeling. I can't quite explain why but there is something validating about driving the streets late at night and getting gas at a station alone, without a car in the lot. When you are on the city streets, especially between 2-4am, you hardly see a soul. It's almost as if there is this vast concrete jungle for you to explore on your own. I used to go up to my college campus at 3 or 4am to study for tests. Being the idiot I am, I would often freak out all night about the coming test, not able to sleep but not studying either, and then at 2 or 3 I'd realize I need to study and drive up to campus and study at the library that was open 24 hours. Those were some of my favorite nights, studying aside. I went to a campus with 30+ thousand students, so it was big. The library was somewhat centrally located and though there was parking close by, it became teacher parking after 7am and since I often couldn't be bothered to re-park my car later, I often parked further in the normal student parking lot. I loved that walk. It was probably 400 meters to the library and there were lamp poles but they were old and gave off a ghostly light. I loved the feeling of being surrounded by the quiet shadows of still buildings, themselves sleeping off the burdens of the prior day. Occasionally, I'd even detour through the middle of campus to the library so that I could bask in this solitude even longer.

All of this brings me to one of my favorite poems. Though many of these nights are filled with different intervals on the spectrum of emotion, there is in many of them a deep loneliness, as shown through the Vanilla Sky analogy, not so much of sadness, but of a disconnect between myself and the rest of society, and more importantly with those with which I long to connect. Part of the reason I love the nights is because often it is where and when I feel most at home. There is no pressure, no one asking for my help, no need of my labor, time or emotional strength. It is just me. There is great relief and even a small internal leap of joy in these moments, where the rest of the world shuts down and I can take care of my needs alone. This is juxtaposed to the feeling of simultaneously desiring to share this relief and joy with someone, someone who cannot be there because there very presence would alter the demand on yourself.

There is a lesser known poem by the great Robert Frost called "Acquainted With The Night." Here it is:

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

And further still at an unearthly height,

One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. 

I have been one acquainted with the night.

Ahh... so delicious! Love it! That guy is a genius, and might I add Bipolar. 

So this is a complete side-note but here are my favorite writers, strictly based on their writing styles and narrative alone.:

                   Charles Dickens - Depression

                   Ernest Hemingway - Bipolar

                   Edgar Allen Poe - Bipolar

                   Robert Frost - Bipolar

                   Victor Hugo- Bipolar

                   Mark Twain- Bipolar

                   William Shakespeare- perhaps not, but had a lot of insight into the instability of the mind.

I didn't discover this until one day when I was researching Ernest Hemingway's life out of curiosity.

Back to the task at hand... acquainted with the night. It's difficult sometimes to avoid staying up when you're heart and mind seem to long for it so fully. In my mind I know tomorrow I will pay for it. That tomorrow will be a better day if I just pop some meds to sleep and lay on my pillow until it takes affect on my mind. A greater part of me longs so much more for that freedom from responsibility and duty. Yet, tomorrow will come. It always does. Then, like the detox from a drug, those midnight highs are easily forgotten under the burden that comes with the dawning day. Do I heed the thought of tomorrow or do I live in the moment of tonight? I know the smart choice. I know the right choice. I also know the choice I made tonight. It's almost 2am. I guess the alternate lesson is that it's never too late to make a new choice. I better get going to bed. I bid thee ado. (Please excuse the wording. I've been watching Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet while writing this. Love it!)

              

Baby Steps

Bobby Wiley taught us all a lot about psychology and as I happen to refresh my memory of one of the greatest movies ever in "What About Bob", I start to see parallels with my somewhat unhealthy relationship with my own Psychiatrist. I guess I'm Bob in more than one way. That is all beside the point. What isn't is the notion that baby steps are really what progress is all about, it may be terribly cliche but it works, and I have a lots of proof to back that up.

I must interject, unrelated, that if you've never seen "The Man Who Knew Too Little" you are missing out on the greatest movie of all times. I'm pretty sure it won a few Oscars, but encase it didn't, it should have. It's 2:30am... maybe I'll pop it in right now. I'm not sure I'd like the look on my wife's face when she wakes up in the morning and I'm grinning from ear to ear watching Bill Murray doing a Russian dance with a little Russian doll. She'd probably roll her eyes at me and say I'm an idiot. I better go to bed after this.

After my coming home from my 2 year mission call to Kennewick, Washington, the self proclaimed, "land of milk and honey" (that's a shout out to my cousin) after 4 months, I realized I had to put my focus somewhere else and school was the next best bet. I went back to BYU in January and within a month, as previously described, started mentally getting so manic that the world was going super fast. It's a lot like that movie Limitless where he takes the drug and everything is so perfect and he is a genius, though unfortunately that has always been a bit elusive to me but not because of a lack of effort. But then it gets to be too much and his mind is racing so fast it is making him crazy and erratic. Obviously that is a movie and a bit dramatized, though I've heard stories of others with mania on that level, for me it was mostly a lot of maddening thoughts and voices in my head and a desire to just keep going and going. I sat through lectures for an hour and a half and it seemed like 10 minutes and didn't remember a thing that was said. It made maintaining a 3.95 GPA quite difficult, so I withdrew from the semester.

Long story short, things would get better and after about a year of working on my problems I decided to try and go back to BYU full time again. I had a academic scholarship that was only applicable if I went full time so I always felt the need to accept nothing less than a full load. More than the tuition cost, was the always growing desire within me to make up for loss time. I had a notion in my head that my illness had stymied the progress of my life plan and that as the months and years started to pass with little to no progress in my life plan, then there would come some point when I might actually literally timed out and explode or something. I don't know, it sounds a bit silly but I felt a very real internally driven pressure to push forward in life and keep up with my classmates from high school that I constantly saw progressing via the always wonderful and self-degrading social media resources of our day. Long story, still long but trying to make it shorter, I withdrew again from BYU. It turned out the stress of the environment and the heavy load just weighed me down and I fell into a lot of old habits and difficulties and eventually realized I couldn't do it, or at least I thought I couldn't. The truth was I probably could have finished the semesters, it just wouldn't have been with A's like I expected.

I went home and regrouped. Turned to the Lord and decided to take a smaller step. I got a part time job at a retail store I liked the clothes from and I worked 15-20 hours a week. It was simple retail. I either faked a smile and avoided talking to customers unless pressed to, or I worked shipment and came in early in the morning at 5am to process new arrivals. I loved that job. I learned that if I had someone I feared I'd disappoint that I could find the will power to get up and get to work, even at 5am and even on days I didn't sleep the night before. I think in the 4 months I worked there I only called in sick 4 times. There were a lot of days I looked like the most depressing person whom you'd never want to take a clothing suggestion from, I think that's why they put me in the fitting rooms and on shipment a lot. Every once in a while they'd make me the greeter. I prayed every shift I didn't have to do it. It was so simple, you just smiled and greeted everyone who came in the store. We were a mall entrance and so a lot of walk-through traffic came in our store. It was the worst. I remember just plastering a smile on and just saying hi to a million people. I'd make it a game and see how well I could over express my enthusiasm and crack an odd looking smirk from a guest. (I'm getting way off topic). The point was it got me out of the house. I faced a fear and I chose an environment I liked, with a level of pressure I was prepared to handle and a reward in clothing discounts that made it worth my effort. That was the first baby step I took.

It was shortly after that success that I met my now wife, Teana (that's pronounced Tiana, for the record, or Teena really, but that's another story). Once we started getting serious, I knew I needed to get back on track with school. I always wanted to be a lawyer so there was never a question in my mind about getting an undergrad degree, it was really only a consideration of what graduate level study I would pursue. When my parents came home from Australia I started back at community college locally in Texas. I honestly felt embarrassed at the time. The classes were not the most intellectually stimulating and I barely had to study to get through them. I remember thinking I was way too proud to go to community college. So I went to community college and took a full load, remember because I'm way behind my peers and need to catch up. So what happened? I ended up withdrawing because it got to be overwhelming and I realized it's really hard to succeed in school if you can't create enough consistency to get out of bed and actually show up for class. (I'm a really slow learner.) I did succeed in taking a few classes but then it came time for marriage.

Teana lived in Australia and I lived in the U.S. and it became increasingly difficult to always be saving money and traveling so far on flights that are a couple thousand dollars each time so we got to a point where we knew we loved each other and had to either get married or move on. I promise it wasn't a 50/50 coin flip. We were in love, it was just a matter of how to get it all figured out. We were married in Australia and I came back to go to school a semester (remember I thought I was in a race against time to graduate) while she stayed in Australia. That semester I took 3 classes and only attended about half of the time. Luckily the teachers were really lenient and loved me and gave me good grades even though I never went to class, I crammed well for tests, a perk of insomnia.

I moved back to Australia and the urge to go back to the BYU, after she received her visa, came over me again. So we went back to Utah and what did I do? That's right, I decided to take a full load of classes to make up for all the lost time, especially now that I had a spouse to support. This was so stressful and the environment so full of past traumas and memories of dark times that it really drove me to the edge. I made an impulsive decision that put me in the hospital and we had to stop and re-evaluate everything.

This is when I first started believing in "baby steps." It was a humbling experience. It took me 4 attempts, a lot of money (of my parents) and a my wife emotionally falling apart to realize that just trying to smash and hammer the square peg into the round hole wasn't going to happen.

We moved back in with my parents in Texas and I gave up my dreams of graduating from BYU's prestigious Accounting program. I went back to community college. The first semester I think I took two classes, and then three the next, and then eventually 12 hours at community college. The last semester I added a part time job to that and realized my capacity was slowly, step by baby step, increasing.

I finally made the jump to a commuter school in Dallas, that growing up I swore I'd never go to, and I realized after one semester I couldn't do work and the higher level of school. I dropped back my hours and I did the same thing I did at community college at UNT. I took first, 1 class in the summer, then 2 in the fall and then 3 in the spring and so on. The final year both semesters I took 12 hours each. I always wanted to load that 15th credit hour to prove I was really going full-time but I knew in the back of my head four classes was enough and it wouldn't change the time table of my graduation.

I graduated early from high school in Dec of 2002 and walked across the stage in cap and gown in May of 2012 with a BBA in Finance. It took me nearly 10 years to finish an undergraduate degree. I had all the financial, emotional and physical resources I needed and it still took me 10 years. If you would of told me it'd take me 10 years those first few years, I'd of probably quit. But I didn't. I wanted it and I learned from all of it that with my illness progress is slow. When we start comparing to others, as my Dad would say, "it's a slippery slope." I didn't go to my dream school by any means but I finished the task and I learned that as I became more patient with myself along the way and took baby steps, one class at a time, one semester at a time, I achieved my goal. I had a great internship offer even though I was way older than most other kids and the Lord blessed me. Now when I got to the work place that was a whole new mountain to climb.

I'm now back at the foot of the work mountain. Currently I'm not working but have an opportunity for part time work lined up. I thought graduation would be the Everest and I would plant my flag and the confidence and experience it gave me would end the difficulties and I would get back to the plan of flourishing. That hasn't been the case. The time commitment and stress of a full time job in business has been a lot more than expected. Intellectually I have the capacity but anxiety and pressure cause a lot of instability in my moods and thoughts. It's an odd and frustrating feeling to sit in a cubicle working at the task at hand while dealing with all sorts of random thoughts and feelings from extreme agitation to the feeling that your boss is going to come over any moment and fire you. Needless to say, I take a lot of "smoke breaks." It's where I go outside and walk around a bit and clear my mind of all the smoky thoughts that keep me from thinking clearly. When your mind and illness feel as if you're labeled defective it's hard to overcome that self-perception. That's why I choose to be so open about my diagnoses. I find that most people have the opposite reaction I would think, they are sympathetic or admire me or even can't believe it's true because nothing in my behavior seems to reinforce that to them.

Life for any of us is about making small improvements that over time amount to larger ones. With Mental Illness, especially, any step can seem so daunting that it is often important to think about what we want to do and create a step short of that to bridge the gap. I look back now at my community college experience and am so grateful that a resources such as that exists for people of all sorts. Very few people question where people started their progress unless it's to find out how they ended up where they are today. There is no step to small to not be noted as progress.

To some, the thought of school being something to build towards is silly, for others they may be thinking that the thought of school is even too stressful to make a reality. I wanted to get an education for me so that I could do the best job possible at supporting my family. It's turning out I may not even be able to do that without my wife's help now but I know that it was worth it for me. It may not be school for you. It may be finding the courage to socialize a little more and isolate a little less. To choose to listen to a song that uplifts you rather than reaffirms your emotional difficulties. Everyday there are hundreds of choices and everyday is a new day.

Recently I talked to my Dad about some of my problems and wanted his counsel. I want to be so much more than I am but I feel so incredibly limited by my illness. I believe literally in the faith of men in the scriptures and in the miracles performed by many. I asked him what he thought the Lord expected of me and what I needed to do better. Now my Dad is probably one of the wisest people I know and has had a lot of life experience and counseled people with lots of issues, so I hold his counsel close to my heart. He said to me, "It's pretty simple. On the days you feel good, act on it. Do something to build yourself up and lift your spirits. Go exercise or be a better husband or father. Do what you feel you should for others and yourself for your long-term improvement. On the bad days, weather the storm. Don't expect more of yourself than anyone else with a flare up of an illness. Take care of yourself and try not to destroy the progress you've already made." That was maybe not an exact quote, rather an interpretation but you get the gist.

We can't expect to always be moving forward. Sometimes it's two steps forward, three steps back, but overall if we stay with the course we know that we can find progress.

Along the way I always told my therapist I couldn't do it anymore and I'd never graduate. I look back now and realize it wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be and I did make it through, despite a lot of difficulty. Now I tell him I can't do work and I don't know if I can support my family. Do you know what he says? One day you'll look back and you'll see that you did it, you know how? Baby steps...

My Peace I Give Unto You

My desire has always been to write this blog as open dialogue to any who might need strength and support regardless of their background. The truth is most who read this will be those who love me or who have heard from those that love me. Regardless, I feel I have to write as if to those who need it.

I often remember the conversations I had and the people I met in my two hospital stays. The first stay there was a lady that was sort of a mother figure to me. I was a young scared 19 year old who had just spent two or three days on a closed unit, an experience I would wish upon no person and fills my heart with sadness for those with so much greater difficulty than myself. I was on an adult unit with various levels or privilege, as I was fresh from the closed unit, I was not allowed to go down stairs for meals or recreation and was somewhat more closely monitored.

I think Debby (I will call her Debby for confidentiality), saw that I was afraid and not exactly mentally stable, not just from the attempted suicide and the 3 days in a closed unit, but also from the shock of recognizing there was something more permanently wrong with me. She took me under her wing and always looked out for me. She was there for a lot longer than me for ECT therapy. This affected her moods and at times after the therapy was not to be found. Overall though, she looked out for me. We talked a lot. We ate together and sat together at group therapies. She told me much of her life story. I saw the loving, nurturing person she was but what she told me was of someone very different. She was an excessive alcoholic and had lost pretty much everything that she loved. It had cost her her job, her church, and most of all, her relationship with her two daughters. She showed me scars on her arms from dark nights of self hate and loneliness. It was hard for me to comprehend how someone so loving and nurturing as this woman, who had once been a school teacher and an organist in her church, could really be the same as the person she told me about. The reason I've never turned to alcohol to cope is because of her. Yes, my religious upbringing instilled a contempt for alcohol, but in those dark days I didn't much remember my religious upbringing, I just wanted relief. I couldn't ever get out of my head though that Debby looked me in the eyes one day and grabbing my arm firmly said, "Promise me you will never try alcohol. Promise me. It has ruined my life. It has taken everything I love and have worked for in life." I was so startled by the firmness of her voice that it still sends chills through my body. When it was finally time for me to go she sent me on my way with a picture of her and her dog. I loved that lady. I never knew her last name so I have no way of knowing where or how she is today. That was 10 or so years ago. I thank God everyday though, for putting her in my path.

There were others. A mom who with tears in her eyes explained that her kids had been taken away because in a moment of absolute mental fallout she had sat in her car with the engine on in the garage and the kids in the back seat. You could see she loved her kids more than anything. You could also see that she felt like it was the best option for her, at the time. Let me quickly explain that the point isn't that she shouldn't have looked for help sooner or done something else, but rather that someone who loved someone so precious as her children more than anything in the world. That she could be in so much pain in her head that ending their life along with her own seemed not only like a good idea but the right idea. This is how people feel in moments of crisis. It is difficult to reason at that point, and often times one's reasoning has been persuaded to align with the emotional mind, that just wants relief. I met another man with a similar upbringing to my own who had a back injury and started a pain pill addiction. He told me how much his life had been torn apart by choices he had made and how he yearned to right things with his young wife and his little daughter.

There are lots of stories and lots of people I think about. I wonder how they are doing and I wonder if they found the strength to continue. I often wondered what I would say to them now that I couldn't say to them then. How could I lend them support and strength from the life I've now lived? I've always had what I call a martyrdom complex. My favorite pioneer story, even as a kid was of the young men who carried all the people across the ice cold river to safety. I've always wanted to lend my support to others, even at the expense of my own strength. It's not really anything I try to do, it's just who I am, and so I yearn and ache often for those I see in distress and need.

What do you say to those people?

I've said a lot in previous posts about holding on and leaning on the support of others, but what I've failed to acknowledge to this point is the most important crutch on which we all lean, mentally ill or not. That is our Savior Jesus Christ.

I've wrestled with how to approach this subject. I am the first to explain that when I felt like I was getting little back from God early on in my illness, after desperately trying to do all I felt I should to be worthy of His support, I turned my back on my Savior. Since then it's been a slow road back. Fortunately, the Lord doesn't just leave it to me to find Him. I would like to tell you of a few of the ways He has found me:

A brother who picked me up at the airport on a lay-over after coming home sick from my mission and brought PF Changs and talk by Elder Holland.

An Aunt and Uncle who gave me shelter, physically and emotionally, when my parents were unable.

Old friends who reached out from high school and supported me in times of need.

A single Aunt who opened her door to a distressed young man barely hanging on with a bloody arm.

Parents who called often and prayed more often even when they were on the other side of the world.

An Uncle who asked me to help coach 6th graders in basketball, not knowing the distraction kept my mind from much darker places.

The sister who opened a knock at the front door early in the morning, on more than one occasion, to find a brother had driven through the night to her house.

Various friends in Australia, that got me out of the house when it would have been so easy to isolate.

A priesthood leader who denied my refusals for a Priesthood blessing and gave me one anyways despite my protests of a lack of faith.

That same man who called me the next day and told me the most sacred thing that I can't repeat but that hit me so hard, I knew that Jesus Christ really did know me and my suffering.

A doctor that was filling in for the one I was scheduled to meet with but then became one of my closest friends and allies in this battle.

A brother who related his dealings with the loss of a spouse to cancer and how to deal with affliction.

A woman on a flight to Australia who talked about her son with bipolar disorder for 3 plus hours and I was able to comfort her.

An Aunt who asked if I could help a friend of hers through a difficult time with her son and his own battle with mental illness.

The fact that in two attempts on my own life, the Lord spared me, and the second time was definitely divine intervention.

A lady that on a chance sit down visit, I could see the same mental anguish that had driven me over the edge and after a candid conversation broke down to me with the pain in her heart and soul.

A wife who not only married me but deals with some crazy crap.

The son that I used to go in and hold and rock on suicidal nights when I had a hard time remembering what I wanted to live for. I couldn't forget what I was holding there in my hands.

There are a lot more of these experiences and people. I've lost some of them because they weren't recorded but the point is that, especially in hindsight, I see how my Savior was there for me all along the way. Most of the time he provided someone for me and at the deepest darkest time of my life he sent someone specifically to tell and remind me of His love. You can choose to believe or see this or not. It can be a lot of coincidence or it can be divine direction.

Peace I leave with you, my ^bpeace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be ^ctroubled, neither let it be afraid. - John 14:27

This scripture has helped me a lot in dark times. It's one I think most people just know off the top of their head. The previous verse talks about the Holy Spirit but I think just looking at this individually, I've felt the Lord tell me that it's not just the spirit I'll give you, because ironically with mental illness sometimes it's next to impossible to feel the spirit no matter how hard you try. I feel like the Lord told me through this that I will be there to lift you up and support you. When I can't be there I will send someone in my stead. If they fail to listen and come, I will be there.

I feel like Peace is such an appropriate word because it is really what you seek so desperately when you struggle with mental illness. The barrage of emotional distress is incessant, at times and all the things you do are for relief. The relief that I keep referring to is really an assemblance of peace. When I read that verse I hear the Lord saying, this isn't going to be an easy fix. The world would say there is a pill that will fix it but this isn't going to be that easy, but I will give you relief. It may be just enough to put down the knife or gun. It may be just enough to call someone you love instead of act impulsively, but if you will come to me, I will give you a fraction of peace, but you have to believe it. You have to believe that I can ease your troubles better than the resolutions of your own mind.

In the moments of darkness it is always hard to make the right decision. Perhaps a post for another day, but that's why I think we can never judge anyone who hasn't been able to find that hope when in the darkness. If you have ever known the emotional state or fragility of someone who takes that step, you would know that they are not cowards. They are not selfish and the Lord will be there to embrace them and help them be who they need to be for Him. There are very few people who needs the Lord's embrace more than them. There suffering is one that should never be judged, except by The Lord. 

The Lord is the most important support anyone can have in dealing with any difficulty. If it's hard to see Him there with us when we are in the crucible, then perhaps we can have the strength to recollect when we have seen Him in our life in the past. He is our Savior, and He is bound to us. He is perfect and will not waiver. It is up to us to find the strength amidst the affliction to find Him. I assure you, it doesn't take much to find Him. We just have to look.

I spent the better part of my first 3 years not looking to the Lord for support. I've spent the better part of last 8 looking to Him for strength. I sometimes lean on my own understanding and strength at times and then I find it isn't enough and come back to the Lord. If you can learn to be smarter than me and always look with eye single to the Lord than He will support you. He will lift you up. Don't get me wrong, He's still going to expect you to carry your own weight, and with mental illness that's a heavy sack, but you can "let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

Try it a few years and then look back. I think you'll be astonished, humbled and filled with gratitude by the results. I know I am everyday.

You Can't Do It Alone

I can't write too many entries without acknowledging the need for support when dealing with Mental Illness. Many of them are literally the reason I'm still alive today. Many have cried for me, prayed for me and even a few have held my hand down through the hellish abyss that is my illness. There are two that I feel the need to expound upon and along with my parents who have always been supportive.

Initial Diagnosis
            I could probably write a whole entry about this alone but I feel the need to mention a few important things. Those first few days, weeks, months and even years are the hardest. It is difficult to wake up one day and have your capacity diminished to a level that you can't even find the energy to groom yourself, or eat a whole meal. 
            There was a period very early on where I suffered long bouts of deep, deep depression. This was not right at the first but within the first year or so. I had been so depressed for so long that my clothes had piled up over the whole of my room. I would change everyday and just drop my close where they were because I couldn't be bothered to put them in the bin or even separate the underwear from the pants/shorts. I didn't go out much except for a drive-through meal occasionally so I had little need to wear anything presentable. It created a full wardrobe of options, and since I probably only changed once every three days, to cover my floor with clothes meant I probably had gone close to two months without doing my wash. I say all this to explain that one day I woke up feeling slightly better with the resolve to wash all my clothes. I remember being so determined, like this was tryouts for the high school basketball team or the big interview for my dream job. I thought, surely this is something I can easily succeed at. Long story short, I remember I gathered and separated all the clothes and then put a load of whites in the wash (my mom taught me right, to separate my darks and whites). After what was probably 20 minutes of work, I remember going back into my bed hiding under the sheets and just bawling my eyes out. That simple effort had exhausted what little resources I had to the degree that I felt like I had ran a marathon. This coming from a kid that was an overachiever in everything he did prior to his illness.
             The point of that example is that early on it can be very difficult. That's just one of many examples, and I wont even get into some of the scarier manic times when I had little self control. I did find a good drive from Dallas to Louisiana or Houston and back through the night did wonders though. I digress, for loved ones it can be difficult to understand how something can cause someone to change so dramatically. There is often a tendency to want to nudge or push them forward, to light a fire under them and get them back functioning. I assure you that if they have a mental illness, that will be anything but helpful and often cause further isolation or acting out, depending on the problem. What is needed by loved ones is support, encouragement, love and support for getting help. That's not always easy and most sufferers are in denial for quite sometime that they need help on a psychiatric or psychological level. If someone wont get help finding someone that has there same difficulties to talk to can often be helpful. When someone doesn't feel so alone or that just because these feelings and thoughts are foreign to them, they are not foreign to others and can even be understood and explained it will sometimes give them the nudge they need. All in all the truth is that, just like anything else, the person has to want to get help for any help to work.

 Back to My Support
             I was lucky enough to have parents who have always been supportive. Just like anyone else they had to learn and understand the illness better because at first there was a butting of heads and difficulty in communication between my needs and their desire to help. It's natural for confusion and misunderstanding to take place when someone you have known a long time starts acting very erratic and in ways you've never seem them act. It's important for loved ones, parents or spouses to seek out books and support groups or friends with similar situations for better understanding of how to help and the road ahead. NAMI has local chapters throughout the country that have meet up groups specifically for family members of those who suffer. I'd recommend them as an early resource, as they are designed by professionals with vast experience.
Here is a link to NAMI: https://www.nami.org/Template.cfm?Section=Family-to-Family&lstid=605
             Beyond parental support is professional support. I remember back in high school, a couple years before an official diagnosis, I was having some minor depression but was expressing suicidal feelings. My parents asked me if I wanted to see a psychologist about it. I remember thinking, I don't want to go because if I go and they say nothing is wrong with me I feel like an idiot for not being able to manage my emotions better. If I go and they say I have a problem, well then I'm messed up. That thought has always stuck with me. I look back and chuckle a little at that notion now. Therapy has been one of the most crucial elements of my progress. I may be a bit different than many because I sought it out early on because I was hearing voices in my head that were very vividly and specifically plotting my self-destruction. These were not your every day, "I'm not good enough" thoughts but rather full blown self-enmity that had separated itself in my mind to be something I found almost impossible to control. I thought I was going crazy, and to a degree, I was. My mind was racing so fast in a way I had never experienced. I would go days without sleeping and drive for 6-8 hours through the night. It was at this time I sought psychological support.
               In my mind it's always a good idea to see a psychologist/therapist first. They may or may not have the credentials to diagnosis an illness but they can get a good idea of whether you need to seek further psychiatric help and get on medications. Once again, if you have a severe mental illness and it is impairing your normal life performance, please see a psychiatrist, not just a family doctor. Something I didn't realize also, is that finding a psychologist that is a good fit for you may be difficult. It took me close to 4 years and 8 or so psychologists to find one that I've stuck with for years now. I'd say always give them 3-4 sessions before you find someone else but don't worry about their feelings if it doesn't work. They are used to it.
              I have a bit of a unique situation because the man who was my initial psychiatrist and who helped me get on meds that made a world of difference, after almost 2 years of trial and error. Trust me, when it comes to psychiatry, patience is a virtue. That doctor has become one of my greatest supports and did so much to change my life, not just with the meds but also his friendship, that my son Ezekiel Rich is named after him. We have a unique situation and most doctors are just that, doctors with which you will have a professional relationship. A good psychiatrist will not only know the meds but listen and be able to explain your problems to you, when there is a problem, with you saying very little. That means he/she has seen it before and that can give you confidence that they can help you. Just like a psychologist, you may need to try a few psychiatrists to find one that works with your personality. You need be honest and open up to them  for them to be able to give you the help you need.

Teana Gets Her Own Title
              Many of you may think you have the greatest wife/spouse in the world but you are incorrect. They may be a perfect fit for you, but I'm pretty sure there are very few people on this whole planet that when they meet my wife don't love her. She is one of the most selfless, caring people I've ever met. She has a soft outer shell and a interior of resilience that has withstood difficulties that I can't imagine dealing with. Her prior life made her able to go with the flow even when that flow was over a cliff and through the deep thicket. We joke that my parents were sent on a mission to Australia so that I could meet her and we could get married. Dealing with my difficulties is a roller coaster for any primary care-giver/supporter. It runs its course on you and beats you up. There are a lot of days it's like being a single parent. There are days there is little emotional support and even emotional abuse from the one you need the support from. There is a lot of listening to talk of suicide and a fear that one day it will become a reality. There is need to push forward when everything feels like it's stuck in mud. My wife deals with a lot. I can't even get into how hard her life can be. A friend of hers during a recent episode of mine was made more aware of the extent of our difficulties and she said to Teana, "I am so surprised because I never hear you complain." That is my wife. I love her dearly. I'm not always sure why she sticks around and why she puts up with my self-destructive behaviors, but I thank God everyday that she does.
                Before I met Teana I was very unstable. The previous 4 or 5 months before we met were the best I'd had in the close to 3 years I'd struggled. I was optimistic that things were changing and Bipolar was going to be a part of my past. We always joke that she hasn't since seen me quite as charming and bubbly as I was on our first date. I always tell her I was hypomanic and that was all the energy I had. Sadly, I think she thought that was how I was most of the time. She loved me even when she saw the other sides. I was always open with her from the beginning about my illness. Initially she thought it was like having diabetes or something else where you just do a little bit for it and no worries. Anyways... we eventually got married and have had a lot of terrible times and a lot of great times since. She is the most important support to me. She gave me hope and reminded me of the Savior's love for me through her own. I had forgotten that love and she brought me back, slowly but surely.
                 Every time I get through a bad spell I think about my wife and my son and the strength they give me. It was no easy decision to have a kid with my circumstance, and financial stability has been somewhat allusive, but it was the right choice for us. It gives me something to live for, not just today, but forever. He is a light to me. I don't want to just see him today and next week but I want to have the strength to live for his baptism, his prom, mission and wedding. I want to see the choices he makes in life and the man he becomes. There is no greater support than knowing there is a little kid at home that unconditionally loves you no matter how unstable you are and all he wants is his Dad. That is support.

Emotional Compulsion

As always I'll start with a disclaimer that these are just my thoughts and nothing more:

In my years of analysis I've come to realize that a large percentage of our actions are compelled by the emotions we feel, the majority to which we are mostly unaware. It makes basic sense when we think about it. Feelings of gratitude often push us toward selfless service toward others or a desire to express that gratitude to someone. A highly emotional movie or card about loss often leads us to actions of going out of our way to express the understated love we have for others. Neurologists say that the memories we remember most readily are those that also stimulate the emotional part of our brain. If you think about it you'll probably find it to be true, especially the further back in life you go. We can easily see this in the ease by which we remember lyrics to songs but so quickly forget the material we poured over for hours in college. Music evokes emotion and thus makes the memory more easily imprinted in our minds.

These are self evident but it goes beyond that to the more extreme actions in our life. Trauma, major or minor, creates strong emotional stimulus in our minds and our natural reaction is toward compulsion of sorts to ease the chemical stressors on our brain. Think of it in relation to the reaction you might have to having a face to face encounter with a tiger with little means of defense. The natural rush of adrenaline alone will create a surge of energy that tells your body to act, run, hide, or show aggression. The reaction might be different for everyone, but most are compelled to act in some way when that adrenaline hits. Our brain is filled with all sorts of other chemical reactions to stress, trauma of loss, pain, and others and we all find a way, healthy or not, of how to react to those chemical and emotional reactions.

Bipolar at its heart is mislabeled when termed to be a "Mental Illness." In today's society that implies a connotation that it is strictly a psychological problem of the mind. Bipolar Disorder is actually a neurological disorder. It is the over stimulation of the brain with chemicals that drive certain emotional responses, sometimes heightened responses to what would be normal emotional stresses. For example, one might feel down after watching a sad movie, while someone with bipolar disorder might be overstimulated by that emotional appeal and fall into a deep depression. For me that is actually true, for others that might be a bit of a stretch. Every person is triggered by different things and different emotions are harder to bare. The other side of bipolar is that sometimes you have abnormal reactions to certain emotional stimulus. Something that would make a normal person sad might actually cause a silly giddiness in another or they might even be unaffected by other emotional stimuli.

I say all this to make the point that I've recognized one of the harder things for any person, bipolar or not, to do in life is learn to recognize when they are being emotionally stimulated and drawn toward compulsion on a case by case basis; and to also then have the strength to not act on those compulsions that are not helpful, healthy or reinforce increased negative emotional responses. A simple example is binge eating, something many can relate to at one time or another. You have missed out on a big sale you thought you had in the bag at work or you get a call from the school that your kid is acting out. These would cause in most a feeling of disappointment on some level and for most there would be a desire to fill that emptiness and despair with something. Many people use food to cope. It's symbolic in that it fills your belly and it appeals to appetite of self-indulgence. The difficulty is often to recognize the connection with the cause of that disappointment and or to have the will power to not act on it, because though the food may be comforting at the time, it usually makes us sick, lethargic or frustrated later. This is all nothing new to most.

Take that to an extreme and you can start to understand the difficulties of living with Bipolar Disorder. There is constant emotional over stimulation from so many triggers, on a level of severity much greater than a normal person experiences. The over stimulation feels like a convergence of intense emotional distress that is coming from so many emotions, at times, that it is difficult to act in anyway but to find instantaneous relief. This is why it's referred to as madness, especially in a manic state. To expect someone with the illness to be able to make rational decisions, much less step back in the chaos and recognize individual triggers and then take a different course of action seems almost impossible to the sufferer, especially in the height of major episodes and in the first few years of dealing with the illness. But that is what good management of the disorder requires. It's a skill best learned in therapy. I've been blessed with the financial means to attend individual therapy for most of the time since my diagnosis and I attribute this to much of the change in my mental approach to the illness.

What Bipolar Disorder requires on some level, in a way that seems somewhat robotic to the sufferer, is to constantly make choices almost completely ignoring your emotional desires and thoughts. You have to look at the consequences of the compulsive behavior and always remember it from past bad choices and know that regardless of what you feel is best, that the direction of professional and more rationally grounded friends and family are the choices to make. It sucks at times because acting on emotion in some way makes us feel good and that we are being true to ourselves but when that behavior is self-destructive on any level it has to be changed.

This is all good in theory but it is a hell of a lot harder in practice. It's a constant battle and often ends up being a trade of a worse coping mechanism for another bad one, stepping down in severity over time, step by step. I still act out more than I should with all I know. My wife might read all this and laugh because I don't practice what I preach as well as I should but that's life with the illness. The hardest thing to gain with Bipolar Disorder is consistency in life and consistency is what most progress requires. You get up everyday and resolve to be just a bit better and make one more step forward. After 11 years you can look back and see a lengthy past with lots of little steps, or as Bill Murray termed it, "Baby Steps."

A Man's Search for Understanding

Just like the illness sometimes everything isn't about sunshine and hope. This is something I wrote a while back one night expressing some of the internal psychological torment associated with my struggle with Bipolar Disorder. Maybe you can relate, maybe you can't. Here goes nothin':

A man in the years just past his prime was troubled with a difficulty while working his fields and went to God for help. God told him that He did not personally deal with the afflictions of mankind so he had no answers to the man’s ailments and how to relieve them. He told the man that he had put Jesus over the needs and desires of mankind and that he could surely help him find his answer.

                The man continued on to Jesus, the one who knew mankind better than anyone. Surely there was no one better to help with his pain than the Savior of the world, who atoned for all. The man came to Jesus and asked, “How do I deal with these difficulties and ailments in my life? Where is the cure and the salvation from pain so great as this?” Jesus stood up and with tenderness put a hand on the man’s shoulder. He said, “My son, I have been with the Father in all creation. I have seen all of the beauties and blessings bestowed upon man. I have also allowed the necessity of affliction, sorrow and sin in this life, that man might have things through-which to grow. Yet in all illness and affliction we’ve allowed among mankind, this one is not of our doing. I know not of the origin of your troubles but they sound so immense.” The man lowered his head in despair as he feared he might never come to an understanding and resolution to his pain. Seeing the man’s despair the Lord tearfully embraced him as he reluctantly told him of where his answer might be found. “There is one still who might have your answers, but to go to him is a path of darkness on which many never return. He may very well have your answers but understand his ways, he is cunning and manipulative and would have you lose even more. It is the fallen Angel who might know your pain. Go to Lucifer and he might have your answers.” Tearfully the man bid ado and continued his journey on.

                The path was quick and simple with a luxury of aids along the way. It seemed so enjoyable the man forgot his cares and the purpose of his journey, but the feelings raged on and kept him at his purpose. As he entered the devil’s great hall the handsome Lucifer, somewhat startled by the man’s presence, not that he hadn’t been aware the man was headed his way, but that he hardly dreamt he’d ever see this man face to face. Lucifer grinning began his cunning, lawyer-like remarks. “My friend, what brings you on such a wonderful journey to my neck of the woods? Were the ways of discipleship ones you could no longer keep? Were you wanting more riches from the sweat of your brow? Was the love of one person not fulfilling your desires?” The man looking to the floor then back up again looked Satan in the eyes and began his appeal. “I have been plagued with difficulties, ones I find nearly unbearable.” Satan interrupted, “Child, I can ease the difficulties of so many burdens. I know the complexities of life. It is much of what I give so that many people’s burdens are appeased. Do you want some drugs? A woman? Money or for me to billow up your vanity? Let me ease your burdens, friend. Tell me your problems.” The man taken back a bit by Lucifer’s ploys, slowly shook his head, ever so slightly lowering it with each movement until his chin lay firmly on his chest. From here he began again, ever so tired of the repetition of his story that took a little bit out of his stamina each declaim, “I have for some time been burned by a pain so unbearable it makes me cringe both on the inside and out to even recount it. The voices I hear are those that would lull me to sleep, only to perform their lobotomy. Sharp sounds invoke physical delusions of my body being pierced by daggers from head to toe. The touch of rain scathes my face like acid from the Gods, punishment for the skeletons that fill my closet. The pain is so immense that a sound mind would gladly escape with a leap to death or a loaded gun. Sometimes the best solution is to soak it all up, an attempt to drown yourself in agony and escape the pain, if only fate was so kind. My bed sheets are a body bag, conveniently placed for the night they will become my permanent place of rest. Smiles are like jokes, bipolar in nature, saying something in one form but with a basis that comes from material of the polar opposite. Satan, there is no shield from this. I’ve found no cure. Please tell me what you’ve done to me and how to get rid of this devil. It takes my days from me and makes my nights never end. Intelligence becomes so fleeting until it gives way to madness. I can not live like this, I can not go on. Please tell me, I’m begging you what I must do. Is it fasting or more prayer or giving greater alms to God? I know it is of the devil, it could come from no place else. Give me the diagnosis so that I might find the cure.” Lucifer looked on in amazement. Then a serious face of puzzlement overcame him. He stayed this way almost ten minutes before he gave his reply. His seriousness faded and a grin replaced the empty space. He said to the man, “I see the seriousness of your plead and the predicament of your situation. I see now why you have come to me for your answers but I’m sorry to say you are mistaken. It is quite laughable this place you are in, you are not the first to come to me with such an ailment. I hear the intensity of your pain and fear in your voice. I feel the trembling of the ground as you speak of this “evil” that you feel. I know that it’s real and I know that it is truly doing a number on you because with all your intelligence and keen awareness of life you have missed the most simple truth. It’s is true that God did not have your answer, nor Jesus too. But you have failed to see that I did not cause this either, the culprit is you.” The man was startled, confused and puzzled. “Satan, quit with your games, no Godly figure could create this ailment, it must be you, for it is a devil of the most devastating kind, just like you.” Satan laughed and then continued, “My friend you are mistaken. You have created this monster with your own mind. Don’t you see the humor in this? Don’t you see that this is a monster not of my creation, as devastating and morbid as you say is, it is not a devil at all but a figment of your imagination, so real it has set a course on your own self destruction. I can influence and tempt. I can stir anger and contempt, but not even I in all my power could cause such calculated destruction as you have manage with out me. Bravo! I applauded you, I may have met my match. I never thought someone could be so mad and not be touched by my friends.” The devil laughed and laughed. The plight of this man’s tale humored him to the bone.

                The man could see that his visit had reached its end. He traveled back to his home and contemplated along the way. What is my purpose now? Where do I go from here? He went home to his village and met his wife at his home’s gate. She kissed him and asked how his journey went and if the prognosis was that things would be okay. He smiled and hugged her and said things would be okay. That night after dinner he retired early to his bed. He laid down alone and gazed at the stars through the window. He thought about his journey and all he had learned. He thought about God and Jesus and the love they showed him, but he couldn’t get out of his mind the scoffing and laughter that Satan so vehemently expressed. He laid a little longer and then knew what he must do.

                The next morning he went to the fields and went about his work.


My wonderful wife said that I needed to explain and clarify a few things about this story. I love her to death but she's a little slow sometimes, so for all those non-literary people out there this is my analysis of my story, which I hate to give because it takes away the ability for one to interpret it as they wish. First off, I have to make clear that this is not a relegation of the Almighty. I am not saying that God and Jesus Christ can not and do not understand my or any other difficulty, that would be blasphemy. This is to be looked at as a mythological type journey of understanding. I revised the first line to begin the protagonist in his fields to help clarify the full circle. In his journey he first believes God has punished him or is the source of his problem to try him. Then he thinks Christ would have the answers, his appeal is not for Christ's comfort but for the origin of his difficulty. Christ notes that he also did not give this to him and (for mythological sake) points out that it is similar to the demons that Satan might surround us with. The end of the journey leads to the understanding that this is not an illness of Godly punishment or Demonic persuasion. It is a genetic illness mixed with psychological traumas only affective because of the way the man's own mind and body work. Heavy hearted by this knowledge he returns to those he loves and ponders how to best deal with such a heavy, lonely difficulty. The smile and reassurance is alluded to early in the story when he says his smiles are bipolar, showing one thing but meaning another. He has little assurance things will be okay, but he assures those he loves anyways. He is torn between God and Satan, and though Satan's evil so closely mimics the feelings of his heart and mind, he knows what choice he has to make. The choice is to live. To end where he began with very little relief but with a knowledge that he must push on for the sake of those he loves and for himself, so he does what he knows best. He goes back to life as usual, still weighed down by the burden and weight of the cross he bares. That is the true beauty for him and all who suffer, regardless of the difficulty. Early on I thought a diagnosis and understanding of what the problem was would give great relief. But like the man, it really didn't change the suffering he endured. To live every day and not give in to desires to flee, die or quit, that is the true hero. That is the quest many of us are on every day. That is the story of this man and many others.

Ominous

This is my painting depicting the battle of Bipolar, especially depression. The light blue ocean represents the good times that you've been in and the storm represents the encompassing darkness that is inevitable. The ship is being swallowed by the darkness and though the calmer seas are in sight, they are unreachable. The ship is being blown by the storm to the side but it also is a symbol of the ship reaching toward the light. Hoping to be consumed by its warmth but knowing it soon will be swallowed up and this warmth is more like taking one last gulp of joy in before the darkness comes. The storm is big and the end is not in sight with it just getting darker as it progresses.

I'm not by any means professing this to be anything special, just the work of a mad man at 3am one night.

How do you help those you love?

Now I have to start by saying I'm not a trained psychologist and that this is only what I've felt was helpful for me in my experiences. You have to know that because of my strict adherence from childhood to my religious code of health I never struggled with drug and alcohol problems. In my worst of times I knew that they would send me over the edge and luckily had the self-control to never even try them. (Full disclosure- I did try alcohol once but didn't get drunk).


What I do know about getting help for loved ones is that it starts with them. The truth is that like anything else in life, if they don't think they have a problem or don't think they need help for it, there is little you can do for them other than be patient. That's not always a situation a loved one can wait on. Also, as great as GPs can be as doctors, if you feel you or someone you love has a serious issue, get the proper help and request a referral to a Psychiatrist. They are trained on these matters in ways GPs have little knowledge. The wrong medication administered by a less knowledgeable doctor can dramatically increase suicidal ideation along with a myriad of other things. Get the proper help from the beginning. I would say that if there is any sign or talk of suicide that regardless of the willingness of the afflicted to comply, action should be taken and a physician should be contacted immediately.

On the note of suicide, you should always watch the signs. There is no full proof way to know for sure whether someone will act out an attempt on their life but usually it is progressive. All signs of suicide should be taken extremely serious but it can escalate. Comments of ending their life in moments of frustration is perhaps a first step down the road. Any signs of Internet searches on items or pill doses that could be used for such an attempt is an obviously an escalated red flag. Attempts of self-injury or more minor self-injuries including cutting or other forms should be taken very seriously and a sign that one is building up the capacity to act out in a more extreme manner. Changes in behavior that leads to high levels of impulsivity, especially combined with any of the above should send alarm bells off and be a time where the sufferer is not left alone, regardless of the reassurance they may give. These are definitely generalities but if any of these signs are visible one should not only try and remove the more accessible means of self harm, but also make sure the sufferer understands there is an readily available, open line of support and communication no matter the hour.

Back to the less depressing matters. Loved ones need to understand that mental illness is extremely difficult to understand and accept for the sufferer, especially in the initial years. There are feelings of denial, defeat and depression. It is hard for anyone to understand how their mind and body could function with great capacity a short time before but then all of a sudden is so "pathetic" that it is difficult to get out of bed. Often those who don't suffer from the illness have a hard time understanding how a little will power, "sucking it up" and/or a shift in paradigm aren't effective means of motivation for depression or mania. I relate the state of the sufferer to the kid who twirls around faster and faster with their head on the bat and then tries to walk, dizzied by the movement. We've all experience that inability to gather our bearings in that circumstance. Now imagine if that state of dizziness never ended, but you were still expected to perform like a normal person. You would know in your mind that is shouldn't be hard to snap out of the dizziness and chaos and that in the past the feeling had left after a mere few minutes. This time is different though, no matter your will power or determination to stop being dizzy, you cannot help it. Now imagine in that state of disorientation, how maddening it would be to live your normal life, go to work, interact with others, or even participate in your favorite hobby. It would be next to impossible, especially initially to do those things, and even while doing those tasks that were manageable, your mind would be filled with frustration over the fact that you can't snap out of this disorientation when your whole life to this point it had always left you within minutes. That dizziness is a lot like the bombardment of thoughts and feelings that come with both depression and high manias. As difficult as the feelings and thoughts are to manage, the greater frustration is often that you can't seem to snap yourself out of it no matter what you do.

To be completely candid I have a tattoo, something in my church that is pretty much frowned upon. Regardless of my current ambivalence about that decision, I'd like to show you what it looks like and explain it because it summarizes some of my own feelings and how it helped me get through some darker days. Early in my struggle I had an addiction to cutting. I have probably 30 or so places on my arms, legs and chest where I have carved or cut on myself in some form or fashion. I felt I was so worthless that it was a way to purge all the self loathing feelings I had because of my inability to push out of deep depressions and high agitated states. Some of those cuts were so deep they have caused permanent ligament damage in my forearm. One of the things I loved about cutting, especially on my arms was that it was something visible to me and everyone else that showed I felt I was defective. After spending time with Teana and growing close to her, I realized that I couldn't keep hurting myself all the time and that I needed to move forward in life. One day, impulsively, but having been thought of long before, we drove to Deep Ellum and they sized me up and charged the white suburban kid double for this simple tattoo. (it's a bit better than the picture) Now Teana makes fun of me for getting it and that of all the ways I could express my illness, I chose that. But I had thought about it and I knew I needed to express something I felt was at the core of my difficulties but also was something I could look in the mirror at everyday and remember. On the deeply depressing days where no hope was in sight, I could look in the mirror and see where I was but then also that there would come a day when i felt the sun shine again and could smile one of those smiles that you feel in your chest and gut. On the reverse side, I could remember in the good times to not get overly excited and to not make too many commitments and load myself up in a way that couldn't be kept when the down times came, as they surely would.

That is how you can help your loved ones who suffer. You can realize that if you or them are going to try and get in a fight with bipolar, thinking you will win, I assure you, you won't. You can't cure it. You can't beat it, trust me I've tried for years. The best thing to do is accept it and accept those who it affects. Progress will be slow and patience will be required by all parties. The sooner everyone can realize that bad days are bound to come but so are good days then the better it will be for everyone.

I tell everyone that about 4 times a year I come out of a terribly dark time. There are a lot of periods toward the ends of those dark times where you start to feel better in the morning but then slip back into darkness by the afternoon and it plays with your head, like the old man on the insurance commercial pulling the dollar away on the end of the fishing rod from the girl with a grin on his face. But on that day when you finally come out of it for real there is a joy and gratitude to God that I can not put into words. I tell my family that I know what the resurrection will feel like because it feels like my body has gone from pathetic to perfected and the contrast is so vast it is almost surreal. Those days don't come along too often. Most days are somewhere in between good and bad but those are days that I feel hope and I know I must keep pushing along. Trust that your loved ones can feel that one day too. It took time to appreciate those days and even to appreciate the dark days. I'm bipolar. When I talk to God sometimes there are expletives thrown out there and then other times I kneel so humbly that I know my Heavenly Fathers eyes are watering too.

I'll go back to my original point. We have to accept the lot we've been given in life. I believe there is something beautiful in everything we go through, even those trips to hell that we travel on alone without the companionship of those we love most. In the darkest hours it feels lonely. It is difficult beyond belief. But the Lord will sustain us as sufferers and loved ones of those who suffer. The first step, though, is to admit we have a problem and in the case of Mental Illness, there is no easy way out.

There's Always Something

I was in my car driving and I felt the urge that I've felt so many time before but upon which I have failed to follow through. I want to take the time to publicly share some of my feelings and thoughts on the difficulties of Bipolar Disorder. I've not been shy about explaining to people that I have Bipolar I Disorder. I fall into craters of depression so low I find it hard to get out of bed along with times of extreme agitation where my mind is literally bombarded by incessant thoughts of suicide. These started when I was 18 and have continued to varying levels of difficulty for the last 11 years. I say all this to show that 11 years and still living has given me a wealth of experience in dealing with these difficulties. I haven't always made good choices in coping with my problems and even have attempted suicide twice. By the grace of God I'm still here and have added 2 reasons to live that make every battle worth winning, in my wife, Teana and my son, Ezekiel. But I didn't always think I would have them to help fight the fight.

I used to want to share the sufferings of the illness with others. I'm still app to do that on occasion when solicited but at this point in my life my desire is really to bring understanding and hope to those who need it and their families. There was a time in those early years where I was barely hanging on and felt abandoned and alone. My mind had turned on me and was rooting for my demise and even arguing its inevitability. I believed it to the point of almost not making it beyond that period. I often think now, what would I have said to that scared, fragile boy who was so consumed by darkness and madness that there was no way for him to see the life before him. In those times God spared my life, despite my every effort to end it, and I found a Doctor who did so much for me that my son is named after him. The path was a lot more complicated then that but the point was I went from a boy with little to no hope for the future to a still struggling man with a loving family that battles for the tender mercies God has bestowed on him in his wife and kid.

It is those who are in the fog of despair that I direct my thoughts. What would I say to those people? I would say hold on. Hold on with everything you have. Hold on like everything depends on you and then lean on others and the Lord like you have nothing left to give. I've always found that at the moments of deepest darkness, when I'm ready to throw in the towel, there is always some thought that comes to mind of why I am here on the earth and why I haven't given up yet. The thought of a loved one, or a game of one-on-one with my brother; One more joke I need to tell my sister and make her laugh; A memory of a time where i could feel the sun warming my skin and the joys of summer; A court side Mavs game with my best friend. I don't believe there are many people in the world who 100% want out of life. If we all think hard enough there are people we will miss and memories made that we want to make again. Those are what I have always held on to. They may not be that reassuring in the moment of bitter torment, but they are as real as the suffering and so is the fact that more of those memories can be our future. My life is evidence of that. I always told myself I'd never find a girl who could put up with me, who would love me despite my craziness. I found her and she has given me joy beyond compare, even at times of great suffering.

This battle is one fought behind closed doors in dark rooms and under layers of covers. It is a battle fought with torment at the very hours most of the world peacefully sleeps dreaming happy thoughts, on dark roads with blaring music at 3am. It is lonely. It feels lonely and it seems hopeless. But I assure anyone dealing with it or loving someone dealing with it that it isn't hopeless. There is always hope. If you want a fairy tale ending, I can't assure you of that. This is a battle you will face the rest of your life. But it can get a lot better and it can be an impairment without being debilitating. I have 11 years of evidence to prove it. And that's just me.