Everything happened so quickly. The thoughts racing through my head at a hundred miles an hour. Suicidal 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 depressed all day and having these suicidal images in my brain? I decided to run away from all of it. I packed my bag with a few things 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 in front of a train, the next minute I would laugh at myself for having such a thought.
After the next 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 scrambled eggs and I decided it was time to connect with someone. I showed up at my music teacher’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 spoke with 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.
Manic depression is no joke. I’m on a ton of pills 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 band mates are always concerned about how I’m doing or whether or not I’m going to take off again. My parents aren’t quite sure how to deal with living bipolar either. The pills are costing them money, and they keep searching for a permanent cure. If I don’t take my medication, I start to say things about the world in my mind and people around me get a little scared because I become unpredictable. I’ve started going to church pretty frequently because I want to ask God for a solution. I wish bipolar living 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 medication either. It’s hard!
I just have to take it one day at a time. My family and I have dinner together every evening and talk about normal family things. Like how our day was. How class was. How is the band doing? Do we have a new set list yet or any shows coming up? But in the back of my mind there is a constant inner dialogue telling me that everyone is judging me for being manic depressive. 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 Walsh 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 bitter feelings of not fitting in. My music is getting better and my drive is getting stronger. With the help of my friends and family, this bipolar living will ultimately fuel me on the path to a successful life.
