Six months ago things were fine, the next day I was out of my mind. 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 loving family, I’m in a band, I’ve got a fantastic girlfriend. Why am I suddenly sleeping all day and having these suicidal images in my brain? 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 good taste in my mouth about my friends, or family, or what was going to happen to me. Thoughts were rubbery and inconsistent. One minute I was thinking about jumping into a lake and drowning, 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 completely thrown off by my surroundings. I was cold, hungry, alone in the woods. My mind felt like toast and I decided it was time to contact 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 said, 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 manic depression.
Bipolar living is no joke. I’m on a ton of medicines that make me feel fuzzy and tired even though my thoughts have leveled out for the most part and I sort of feel like me again. I’m still in a band, but my band mates are always concerned about how I’m feeling or whether or not I’m going to take off again. My grandparents aren’t quite sure how to deal with living bipolar either. The pills are costing them money, and they keep searching for an end all to this mess. 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 help through this. I wish living bipolar 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 pills either. It’s hard!
I just have to live one day at a time. My family and I have family time 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 drummer yet or any gigs coming up? But in the back of my mind there is a constant nagging, telling me that everyone is judging me for being a freak. I feel like 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 difficult 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 override 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 greatness.
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