One day things were fine, the next day I was crazy. The thoughts racing through my head at a hundred miles an hour. Depressing thoughts that would not seem to leave me alone. This was not me. I grew up in a normal family, I’m in a band, I’ve got a fantastic girlfriend. Why am I suddenly down every day and having these suicidal thoughts? I decided to run away from all of it. I packed my bag with my last meaningful belongings and hit the road. I didn’t have a destination. I didn’t even have a clear thought in my head about my friends, or family, or what was going to happen to me. Thoughts were foggy and dark. One minute I was thinking about jumping off a cliff, the next minute I would laugh at myself for having such a thought.
After a few days on the road, I woke up one morning very affected by my surroundings. I was cold, hungry, alone in the street. My mind felt like scrambled eggs and I decided it was time to connect with someone. I showed up at my cousin’s house and explained to him that I had found God. His face told me that he thought I was joking. But the more I tried to convince him, the more concerned he got, and the next thing I knew my dad was there to pick me up. After many troubled hugs and shoulder shakes, I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
Living Bipolar is no joke. I’m on a ton of medicines that make me feel fuzzy and tired even though my thoughts have mellowed out for the most part and I sort of feel like me again. I’m still in a band, but my friends are always concerned about how I’m feeling or whether or not I’m going to disappear again. My grandparents aren’t quite sure how to deal with my manic depression either. The medicine is costing them money, and they keep searching for miracle cure. If I forget to take my medication, my mind starts to form crazy loops and people around me get a little scared because I become unpredictable. I’ve begun going to church twice a week because I want to ask God for a solution. I wish living with bipolar disorder didn’t entail a bunch of pills that take me out of myself. But then again I’m not myself when I don’t take the medicine either. It’s quite ridiculous!
I just have to live one day at a time. My family and I have supper together every evening and talk about normal family things. Like how our day was. How work was. How is the band doing? Do we have a new song yet or any shows coming up? But in the back of my mind there is a constant voice telling me that everyone is judging me for being manic depressive. I think they’re scared of me. They think I could crack at any moment. And the sad thing is that I could.
Adjusting to bipolar living is a hard thing to do after leading a semi-normal life for eighteen years. But like Father Welsh tells me, “A life of struggle should teach compassion.” So I try to be understanding and compassionate. I work real hard every day to get over my sour feelings of not fitting in. My music is getting better and my drive is getting stronger. With the help of my friends and family, I will use my feelings about this bipolar madness to fuel me on the path to a meaningful existence.
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