It seemed to have come over night. 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 wonderful girlfriend. Why am I suddenly down every day and having these suicidal images in my brain? I decided to run away from all of it. I packed my duffel 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 extremely confused and scared by my surroundings. I was cold, hungry, alone by the river. My mind felt like jelly and I decided it was time to contact 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 tried to convince him, the more concerned he got, and the next thing I knew my mom was there to pick me up. After many worried hugs and shoulder shakes, I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with manic depression.
Manic depression is no joke. I’m on a ton of medicines that make me feel groggy and weird 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 parents 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, I begin to go back to some bizzarre corners in my mind and people around me get a little scared because I become unpredictable. I’ve begun going to church every week because I want to ask God for help through this. 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 pills either. It’s tough!
I just have to take it 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 class 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 inner dialogue telling me that everyone is judging me for being a freak. 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 living with bipolar disorder is a difficult thing to do after leading a semi-normal life for eighteen years. But like Father Brannigan tells me, “Life is a struggle only to teach.” 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, I will turn this bipolar disorder around and use it to fuel me on the path to a successful life.
