Mania Strikes
I’m known for managing bipolar disorder well and teaching others to do the same. But even I still get hammered by difficult episodes of mania.
We know that stress precipitates episodes. Any stress. While it’s obvious that a difficult time can worsen, even positive stress can send a person into troubling moods. That’s the cruel thing about mood disorders.
The last few months have been stressful, indeed. I work in retail and the holidays were nuts; full of long hours, demanding customers and less sleep than I needed. I overindulged a bit, and even after New Year’s kept up with a little too much drinking.
We had two foster children who left us and even swings in the weather made for inconsistent, surprising days. Surprises aren’t always good when you’re trying to manage a mental illness. A series of crimes came to our quiet neighborhood, Omicron soared - I don’t have the luxury of working from home – I’m always interacting face-to-face with people - and new mandates and restrictions made life more difficult and less enjoyable.
My book comes out in two weeks. Working to publicize it and achieve a successful launch has become a second job. All of this, some good, some bad, has been stressful. I was suddenly on edge, beginning to make rash decisions about money, and acting a little too aggressively and belligerently with people, especially my wife and daughter. My episodes are usually mixed, and dark nervy desires and interests set in.
Then my cousin’s son died a violent death.
The funeral was set for last Saturday and I planned to go. Family is important to me, and all of my aunts, uncles and cousins would be there. But even seeing all of these people I love is incredibly stressful. My years with bipolar disorder were full of some pretty bad behavior, suicide attempts, long absences, and, while no one in my family has never acted to make me feel this way, I’m sure I’m a bit of a disappointment and not always a positive influence.
That all of that bad behavior and disruptive behavior is years behind me doesn’t dim the feelings of guilt that bubble up every time the opportunity to see my family comes.
On Saturday I planned on going to the viewing, but on the way there traffic was terrible and I was running very late. It was a beautiful day for an event that, while terrible and unjust, would be made uplifting with closure by the love of family and the solidity of church. But I was stuck on the road gripping the steering wheel overwhelmed by nervous energy and violent impulses. My thoughts were racing and my guts were wrenching. All of the signs of an oncoming breakdown that I had learned to notice were flashing red. I wanted to hurt myself but my family was in the car with me.
I turned the car around and headed into the rural part of New Jersey, to the ranch where my daughter rides, to sit in the sun in the chilling breeze, hear birds and look at horses.
A little bit of self-preservation made the mood pass and I have been recovering since then, a little more even feeling every day. A little more sleep and a lot less drinking. I haven’t missed a day of work and I haven’t ruined things with my wife and daughter. I haven’t hurt myself.
I’m still left with the rubble of my cure. I feel guilty for missing the funeral and embarrassed about speaking to my family. I have some big loose ends to tie up. But I’m here to tie them up. Once you’ve attempted suicide the impulse to call on its finality as a solution to every problem never passes. But I didn’t do anything stupid and my life, challenging and stressful as it can be, goes on. And I want it to.
I’m telling you this because even those of us who live well with the disease still have tough times. It never really goes away, but we can manage it and live rewarding, productive and positive lives. I’m about to go out on a book tour and promote the therapies I use when episodes threaten my well-being. Maybe this episode, now closing, is a blessing, a reminder of how tough people have it, and a check on my message if I make coping sound too easy.
Hang in there. Don’t feel alone. Acknowledge your suffering. Live a life that helps you stay well. Every time one of us comes out on the other end of an episode it’s not a sign that we fail or can’t get along and make bipolar disorder go away, it’s a sign that a good life is possible. And we deserve it.
My book, Practicing Mental Illness, is now available. Please support my work promoting meditation, movement and meaningful work as therapies for anxiety, depression and bipolar disorder by buying a copy.