Thursday, April 16, 2015
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Chocolate Covered Bacon
Delusion
de•lu•sion
dəˈlo͞oZHən
noun
an idiosyncratic belief or impression that is firmly maintained despite being contradicted by what is generally accepted as reality or rational argument, typically a symptom of mental disorder.
One of the problems with being bipolar, at least with regard to my flavor, is that it is filled with delusions. When I was diagnosed with Bipolar II my counselor told me the difference between Bipolar I (what we used to call Manic Depression) and Bipolar II is that if you are Bipolar I you walk down the street buck naked thinking you are Jesus Christ. Personally, I’ve never thought I was Jesus Christ.
For me, being delusional came with being bipolar. Had my bipolarity been more severe, those delusions would have turned up as psychosis. Instead, they would in my teenage years manifest themselves as paranoia, and later in my early adult years as delusions of grandeur. I remember coming up with many get-rich-quick schemes or business schemes, or plans for ministry. In my mind each plan was well thought out, and made perfect sense. However, to the rational person not one of my ideas was well-founded. One example would be when I decided to take out a $30,000 loan so I could attend computer school and become an IT expert. The problem was that while I was and am an intelligent person, I did not possess that aptitude for computers, computer networking, or network security, all of which were part of the program in which I was wishing to participate. Nevertheless – and keep in mind that this was all before my diagnosis – I managed to talk my mother into co-signing for the loan, and began taking classes. Less than a month later I was in deep water, so deep in fact that I was overwhelmed by the massive amounts new information thrown at me. So I quit. That’s what bipolar people often do when they can’t move on. They leave the task unfinished, which was for me just one of many.
One of my more recent delusions happened a few months ago when I started working a third shift job. Although I had worked third shift in the past, it had been many years since I tried adapting to an overnight work schedule. My entire daytime routine was thrown off balance, and within days of starting the job I was forgetting on a fairly regular basis to take my medication. When I did remember to take my meds, my mind and my body did not know what to do with them. Consequently, I began to spiral back into the old bipolar me. Within days I became depressed. Suicidal thoughts began to creep back in, and I got the most delusional idea for a business scheme I had come up with in a long time: I would get rich making and shipping chocolate covered bacon.
Before you think me too crazy, you need to realize that while the idea sounds far-fetched, it is not without precedent or merit. Bacon is extremely popular, as is chocolate, and the combination of the two is being done to this day. Also keep in mind that I am a very good cook, and in some people’s opinion qualify to be called a chef. Armed with my culinary knowledge and years of experience in the kitchen, I decided to make an experimental batch of chocolate covered bacon and see how it tasted. To my surprise, and the surprise of a few members of my family, it turned out delicious. I posted pictures of my product on Facebook, and declared myself open for business which netted me two orders totaling over $100. But that was during the holiday season, and as quickly as business took off, it dried up.
To make a long story short, I decided to make a more concerted effort to take my medication on a daily basis, and I quit the third shift job. Slowly I began to see the idea for chocolate covered bacon for what it was, a delusion. I never did make millions by shipping chocolate covered bacon overseas to the millions of people in China like I had planned, nor do I even make it for my family anymore. In fact, I can’t stand the stuff anymore having eaten more of it than anyone else. Had you told me in the beginning that I was being delusional, I would have argued with you and tried to convince you that you lacked vision for good ideas. On this side of the delusion, however, it is plain to see that it was all a crazy scheme.
de•lu•sion
dəˈlo͞oZHən
noun
an idiosyncratic belief or impression that is firmly maintained despite being contradicted by what is generally accepted as reality or rational argument, typically a symptom of mental disorder.
One of the problems with being bipolar, at least with regard to my flavor, is that it is filled with delusions. When I was diagnosed with Bipolar II my counselor told me the difference between Bipolar I (what we used to call Manic Depression) and Bipolar II is that if you are Bipolar I you walk down the street buck naked thinking you are Jesus Christ. Personally, I’ve never thought I was Jesus Christ.
For me, being delusional came with being bipolar. Had my bipolarity been more severe, those delusions would have turned up as psychosis. Instead, they would in my teenage years manifest themselves as paranoia, and later in my early adult years as delusions of grandeur. I remember coming up with many get-rich-quick schemes or business schemes, or plans for ministry. In my mind each plan was well thought out, and made perfect sense. However, to the rational person not one of my ideas was well-founded. One example would be when I decided to take out a $30,000 loan so I could attend computer school and become an IT expert. The problem was that while I was and am an intelligent person, I did not possess that aptitude for computers, computer networking, or network security, all of which were part of the program in which I was wishing to participate. Nevertheless – and keep in mind that this was all before my diagnosis – I managed to talk my mother into co-signing for the loan, and began taking classes. Less than a month later I was in deep water, so deep in fact that I was overwhelmed by the massive amounts new information thrown at me. So I quit. That’s what bipolar people often do when they can’t move on. They leave the task unfinished, which was for me just one of many.
One of my more recent delusions happened a few months ago when I started working a third shift job. Although I had worked third shift in the past, it had been many years since I tried adapting to an overnight work schedule. My entire daytime routine was thrown off balance, and within days of starting the job I was forgetting on a fairly regular basis to take my medication. When I did remember to take my meds, my mind and my body did not know what to do with them. Consequently, I began to spiral back into the old bipolar me. Within days I became depressed. Suicidal thoughts began to creep back in, and I got the most delusional idea for a business scheme I had come up with in a long time: I would get rich making and shipping chocolate covered bacon.
Before you think me too crazy, you need to realize that while the idea sounds far-fetched, it is not without precedent or merit. Bacon is extremely popular, as is chocolate, and the combination of the two is being done to this day. Also keep in mind that I am a very good cook, and in some people’s opinion qualify to be called a chef. Armed with my culinary knowledge and years of experience in the kitchen, I decided to make an experimental batch of chocolate covered bacon and see how it tasted. To my surprise, and the surprise of a few members of my family, it turned out delicious. I posted pictures of my product on Facebook, and declared myself open for business which netted me two orders totaling over $100. But that was during the holiday season, and as quickly as business took off, it dried up.
To make a long story short, I decided to make a more concerted effort to take my medication on a daily basis, and I quit the third shift job. Slowly I began to see the idea for chocolate covered bacon for what it was, a delusion. I never did make millions by shipping chocolate covered bacon overseas to the millions of people in China like I had planned, nor do I even make it for my family anymore. In fact, I can’t stand the stuff anymore having eaten more of it than anyone else. Had you told me in the beginning that I was being delusional, I would have argued with you and tried to convince you that you lacked vision for good ideas. On this side of the delusion, however, it is plain to see that it was all a crazy scheme.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Life on Meds
Before I was diagnosed as bipolar and treated with
medication, life was an unending roller coaster ride. There were highs that
would slowly climb to a pinnacle and fall over an apex that would quickly
plummet me into a chaotic vortex of spirals and loops of emotion. My diagnosis
was Bipolar II Mixed which meant at any given time the ride was high and low, up and
down, fast and slow. Rarely did it ever slow down long enough to give me a
chance to jump off. This changed, however, when I was diagnosed and given
medication. While the roller coaster did not stop, it did slow down enough for
me to see the world around me.
If you want to know what life is like for a bipolar person
on medication, think of the most chaotic, upsetting, wish you could just crawl
in a hole for a day moment. Add to that a touch of paranoia, a handful of
delusions, and perhaps a little bit of anger and rage just to make things
interesting. Imagine feeling like that
all the time. Now think of the normal you, the sober you, the you that is in
control of your emotions and day to day thoughts. Leave in about ten percent of
the chaos and emotional confusion, and this is life on medication. Life on
medication for me is not a 100% cure, but it is the closest thing to normal I
have felt in my entire life. It is called being stable. It is a new norm that
allows me to differentiate between the old, bipolar me, and the new me that
can handle the normal ups and down of life. Yes, there are still bipolar
symptoms that remain, but with 90% of the crap gone, what remains is
manageable
.
For me, what remains is mostly manic. I still have feelings of
anger that I try my best to push down, and I find myself plagued with delusional
thinking from time to time. With regard to the delusions, I will tell you that
without the medication I did not realize I was being delusional. Now with the
medication I recognize the delusions for what they are. Sometimes I push them
away, other times I allow myself to day dream and fantasize as if the situation
was real. In either case, I recognize them for what they are.
Life with medication has also allowed me to hop off the
roller coaster from time to time, and look at the ride for what it is. Thanks
to the medication I have been able to look back at my life and recognize very
specific times when I was depressed, manic, suicidal, delusional, co-dependent,
or paranoid. And perhaps this is the most painful part of being on medication,
because being able to look back with such clarity can be humiliating and painful,
and even embarrassing. Thus, with
medication there has come a difficult learning curve – how do like myself for
who I am, without hating the me that once was?
And I so I press on with my new-found freedom from
depression and hypomania, or at least what limited freedom I have been given. I
press on to new understanding about myself, my God, and my family. I live my
life as fully as I can while I can for as long as the medication works for me.
Monday, March 30, 2015
Dear 18 Year Old Me
My wife once asked me if I could go back in time and talk to
the me of yesterday, what would I say? After thinking about it for some time,
this is what I would say to the bipolar me of yesterday.
Dear 18 Year Old Me:
You don’t know me, but I once walked in your shoes for many,
many miles. Like you I struggled with
feelings of anger, suicidal depression, loneliness, bitterness, and rage, so I
know how you are feeling. I know there are times when you feel alive, and
invincible, like you own the world, or at least will, one day, some day. And I
know there are also days when you could care less as to whether you live
another day, because nothing makes sense, and life seems to be nothing short of
a waste of breath. I know you fall in love easily, and are always looking for
someone to love. I know you are a passionate person and willing to lay your
life down for so many people, and that is good, to some degree. I need to warn
you, though, that giving so much of yourself away doesn’t make you a great
person as much as it makes you co-dependent. You need to understand that co-dependency
isn’t just for women with alcoholic partners willing to destroy their lives for
the sake of helping someone who will most likely never love them back. Co-dependency
belongs to anyone willing to give of themselves to the point of their own harm.
This isn't what love looks like, even if Jesus did lay down his own life for
the sake of others. His sacrifice was a calling. Yours is a desperate grab for
purpose and meaning, which you will never find by letting others use you. Stop
it now.
And while we are on the subject of bad habits, you will not
find comfort by getting drunk all the time. The answers to all your
pain-filled questions are in the bible, not in a bottle. You should be
witnessing about Jesus to white Russians, not drinking them by the gallon. Drinking
only makes the depression worse. In the same vein of thought, put down the
cigarettes before they start to kill you. Your image is not enhanced by
drinking or smoking. These are only vices that make your problems with anger
and depression worse by the day.
I want you to also know that what you are feeling can be
changed by talking to the right people, the right doctors, and getting on the
right medication. Prayerfully, seek out these people. Work with them, and let
them help you. No, God isn’t going to
take away these feelings of pain, and frustration, but the right combination of
medication and counseling will go a very long way to making you feel stable,
normal, and healthy. Yes, with the right help you can and will wake up one day
and for the first time in your life not want to kill yourself. With the
right help, life can and will hold purpose and meaning. When you do reach this
point in your life, you will find it easier to walk with God, and live out your
faith in Jesus. You will be able to become the man of God you have always
wanted to be, free from the bewilderment of why God allowed you to be the way
you are. Do know, however, that the help you will find will only be a tool for
you to use to overcome your depression and mania. While you will have the power
and ability to overcome, it will be your choice on a daily basis to use that
ability in a positive, healthy way. The mania and depression might be abated,
but your sinful human nature will still exist. Thus, you will have many choices
to make as to where you want your life to go, and Who you will ultimately follow.
I could say more, but for now I want to leave you with this
to chew on for a while. It is enough information for you to use to find your
way to a healthier and more satisfying life. I will add one thing; no matter
how you feel, the God of Heaven truly loves you. One day you will discover that
what you are living with is not as much an illness as it is a gift from God
that you will use to help others who are walking in similar shoes.
Friday, March 20, 2015
Bipolar Diagnosis
I never had a whole lot of confidence in psychologists, psychiatrists, biblical counselors, or anyone else in the mental health field until I was well into my forties. I grew up in the 70s and 80s when the scientific study of the human brain and human behavior was at best experimental. Many mistakes were made in those days by well-meaning mental health professionals, and sadly much to the detriment of the patient, and sometimes to the family. In my case it was both.
Throughout my life, from childhood to adulthood I visited a handful of psychologists and psychiatrists, and two bible-based counselors. Each one listened to my story, determined something was wrong, but except for one, not one of them could tell me I was bipolar. Maybe I did not give them enough time to figure me out, because the one who did spent the better part of a year with me sorting out the pieces of my life. But in the early days of evaluation what little information that could be gathered lent itself to mere speculation. In my elementary school years my parents were blamed. In my teenage years my behavior was blamed on the way I was raised in my elementary years. As an adult doctors and counselors blamed it all on the emotional and spiritual baggage I was carrying around with me. One psychiatrist even came close to finding a diagnosis, saying I had mood swings, and prescribed medication to help control them, but that was not enough to effect a positive change.
One reason doctors had such a difficult time understanding my behavior and giving me a proper diagnosis was, because up until 1980 anyone with any type of mood disorder was simply labeled manic depressive. At that time the term bipolar disorder started being used and distinction was being made between full blown mania and hypomania. For me, however, and anyone growing up in the 80s with Affective Mood Disorder, the matter was further complicated, because it was not until the end of the 1980s that doctors began making a distinction between adult and childhood bipolar disorder. The reason why this was messy was, because anyone born in the mid to late 1960s was during this time of enlightenment coming into their adulthood. Therefore, doctors evaluating teenagers in late adolescence and early adulthood were just beginning to get a firm grasp on the evolution of the disorder. In other words, many doctors did not even realize how the disorder was changing, and the effects those changes were having on those of us trying to make sense of the hell in which we were living.
For me that early diagnosis was simply that I had mood swings, which was so obvious a child could have come to the same conclusion. And so I slipped through the cracks and went untreated and improperly diagnosed for another twenty years. During this time I was verbally abusive to my wife and my children, perpetually depressed and suicidal, unable to hold a steady job, and headed for a breakdown. Thankfully, I did have a complete and total breakdown, for had I not, I would have never reached that rock-bottom point in life where I had no other choice but to seek help, and subsequently, finally get diagnosed as Bipolar II. My counselor, Jerry, being a brilliant man did what others could not do and put the pieces of my life together and came to conclusion that my problems were not much behavioral, as they were the sum total of a mental illness that I had been living with my entire life.
Throughout my life, from childhood to adulthood I visited a handful of psychologists and psychiatrists, and two bible-based counselors. Each one listened to my story, determined something was wrong, but except for one, not one of them could tell me I was bipolar. Maybe I did not give them enough time to figure me out, because the one who did spent the better part of a year with me sorting out the pieces of my life. But in the early days of evaluation what little information that could be gathered lent itself to mere speculation. In my elementary school years my parents were blamed. In my teenage years my behavior was blamed on the way I was raised in my elementary years. As an adult doctors and counselors blamed it all on the emotional and spiritual baggage I was carrying around with me. One psychiatrist even came close to finding a diagnosis, saying I had mood swings, and prescribed medication to help control them, but that was not enough to effect a positive change.
One reason doctors had such a difficult time understanding my behavior and giving me a proper diagnosis was, because up until 1980 anyone with any type of mood disorder was simply labeled manic depressive. At that time the term bipolar disorder started being used and distinction was being made between full blown mania and hypomania. For me, however, and anyone growing up in the 80s with Affective Mood Disorder, the matter was further complicated, because it was not until the end of the 1980s that doctors began making a distinction between adult and childhood bipolar disorder. The reason why this was messy was, because anyone born in the mid to late 1960s was during this time of enlightenment coming into their adulthood. Therefore, doctors evaluating teenagers in late adolescence and early adulthood were just beginning to get a firm grasp on the evolution of the disorder. In other words, many doctors did not even realize how the disorder was changing, and the effects those changes were having on those of us trying to make sense of the hell in which we were living.
For me that early diagnosis was simply that I had mood swings, which was so obvious a child could have come to the same conclusion. And so I slipped through the cracks and went untreated and improperly diagnosed for another twenty years. During this time I was verbally abusive to my wife and my children, perpetually depressed and suicidal, unable to hold a steady job, and headed for a breakdown. Thankfully, I did have a complete and total breakdown, for had I not, I would have never reached that rock-bottom point in life where I had no other choice but to seek help, and subsequently, finally get diagnosed as Bipolar II. My counselor, Jerry, being a brilliant man did what others could not do and put the pieces of my life together and came to conclusion that my problems were not much behavioral, as they were the sum total of a mental illness that I had been living with my entire life.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Breakdown
On Sunday August 29th, 2009 I woke up crying into my pillow. I was a month shy of my 41st birthday, a husband, and a father, and one step away from ending my life.
For forty one years I lived with an undiagnosed bipolar disorder. The breakdown I was experiencing was the culmination of 41 years of recurring depression and mania. To the trained eye my symptoms might have been obvious. I might have even been diagnosed and treated with medication, and sent on my way to lead a somewhat normal, healthy life like I do today. But past dealings with psychiatrists and psychologists had left me jaded, and fully convinced that the field of medicine that dealt with the human mind was little more than junk science. I had gone down that road before, which only led me to a dead end. So, I dealt with the pain of my depression and the highs of my mania the best I could. But with each passing day, week, month, and year, layer upon fragile layer of my psyche withered and died. A storm was brewing within me, and on August 29th, 2009, the first bolt of lightning struck, the raindrops began to fall, and the winds brought everything crashing down around me.
The mind can be a beautiful place. It can hold hopes, and dreams, and fantasies that are good and pure and can change the world to make it a better place. It can hold memories of love and happiness, joy and pleasure. It can be a place of peace and comfort, a place of refuge and solace where no one can enter without permission. It can be a private place, a happy place. But it can also be a dark and lonely place. For many people the mind is a cold cavernous place filled with thoughts and feelings that are often filled with pain and torment. For some of these people their minds are a place of haunting memories, depression, and hopelessness. Try as they might to change their way of thinking, they can only see pain-filled chasms of emotional, mental, and often spiritual torture. They are plagued with thoughts that quite often cannot be controlled as inner demons scream death both night and day, until the thought of dying becomes more hopeful than the thought of living.
I cannot help but wonder how many people in the world today experience the inner demons of depression, even suicidal depression. At the same time, I wonder how many people scratch their heads in wonder at how a person can feel so low as to want to take their own life. I have never attempted suicide. I have come close to carrying it out a couple of times, but each time something got in the way, or I simply did not possess the means. I can tell you that had I ever owned a gun I would not be here today. I remember when I was in therapy and my counselor finally did figure out I was bipolar that it was a miracle I was not dead. Some people are able to hold on for one more day. Some people cannot. I did.
For forty one years I lived with an undiagnosed bipolar disorder. The breakdown I was experiencing was the culmination of 41 years of recurring depression and mania. To the trained eye my symptoms might have been obvious. I might have even been diagnosed and treated with medication, and sent on my way to lead a somewhat normal, healthy life like I do today. But past dealings with psychiatrists and psychologists had left me jaded, and fully convinced that the field of medicine that dealt with the human mind was little more than junk science. I had gone down that road before, which only led me to a dead end. So, I dealt with the pain of my depression and the highs of my mania the best I could. But with each passing day, week, month, and year, layer upon fragile layer of my psyche withered and died. A storm was brewing within me, and on August 29th, 2009, the first bolt of lightning struck, the raindrops began to fall, and the winds brought everything crashing down around me.
The mind can be a beautiful place. It can hold hopes, and dreams, and fantasies that are good and pure and can change the world to make it a better place. It can hold memories of love and happiness, joy and pleasure. It can be a place of peace and comfort, a place of refuge and solace where no one can enter without permission. It can be a private place, a happy place. But it can also be a dark and lonely place. For many people the mind is a cold cavernous place filled with thoughts and feelings that are often filled with pain and torment. For some of these people their minds are a place of haunting memories, depression, and hopelessness. Try as they might to change their way of thinking, they can only see pain-filled chasms of emotional, mental, and often spiritual torture. They are plagued with thoughts that quite often cannot be controlled as inner demons scream death both night and day, until the thought of dying becomes more hopeful than the thought of living.
I cannot help but wonder how many people in the world today experience the inner demons of depression, even suicidal depression. At the same time, I wonder how many people scratch their heads in wonder at how a person can feel so low as to want to take their own life. I have never attempted suicide. I have come close to carrying it out a couple of times, but each time something got in the way, or I simply did not possess the means. I can tell you that had I ever owned a gun I would not be here today. I remember when I was in therapy and my counselor finally did figure out I was bipolar that it was a miracle I was not dead. Some people are able to hold on for one more day. Some people cannot. I did.
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