[bluematador]

Bipolar disorder exists on both sides of my family. It has been regarded with great shame and secrecy. When I was fifteen I was sent to a school counselor. The counselor sent my to a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with manis depression. I ran away and lived on the streets for two years. I spent the next twenty years of my life trying to keep my illness a secret. I lived in denial. There were moments it was hard to deny something was wrong. One morning I shaved my head, quit my job, dragged all my belongings out onto the front lawn and then I headed out to the rain forest on a vision quest. I returned a week later homeless. I found myself living in a an abandoned airplane hanger with a group of junkies. They played in a band called Endorphin. It was winter in the northwest. There were holes in the ceiling. We tried to cover the holes with big sheets of plastic. I remember lying there one morning just before dawn. I was lying on a concrete slab huddled between the bodies of two junkies trying to keep warm, wrapped in dirty blankets. The sheets of plastic had fallen down. They were waving in the morning breeze like ghosts. I lay there watching my breath crystallize in the cold wondering what happened. I never took drugs yet I was living a lifestyle surrounded by drug addicts. After two suicide attempts in the last year I decided to try medication and cognitive behavioral therapy. I am still struggling with acceptance and the mood swings. I would like to hear how others have arrived at a place of acceptance. I struggle with my routines. I am stable for a while and then a tornado builds up inside of me and I want to break free. I tear down the structures that keep me stable and the mania returns.

[faerie_moon_x]

Well, I pretty much always knew something was wrong with me. As a kid I had trouble making friends and was bullied. At one point I thought I must be some type of alien from another planet. Because it wasn't just hard to make friends. It was like I had a big flashing sign on me and I was avoided like the plague. And people (not just kids) seemed to think it was perfectly okay to treat me like I wasn't a person. I mean, the things people have done and said to me as a child are incredible. Complete strangers would walk up to my mother and say "who is this?" and she would say "may daughter," and they would say, "oh, that's too bad." What did that mean. After my mom died the kids at school told me that i killed her. That I gave her cancer. Etc... I mean, horrible things!

So, I was always depressed. My whole family used to tell me I was too sensitive. I just always felt "wrong." I didn't start to wonder if I had bipolar until I was about 24 years old. But, I didn't see my first psychiatrist until I was 26 and I didn't get my diagnosis until 30. But being diagnosed was more like a "thank goodness now I know what this is!" And then finding other people who have bipolar and seeing that, hey, I'm not so weird, I just have bipolar and so do you! And look! That weird thing that happens to me also happens to you! That was comforting.

[bluematador]

For years I've blamed myself for my illness and I have struggled with self hatred and self destruction. I tried to control my condition with extreme discipline. There were years I practiced yoga and meditation for four hours a day. The mania and depression continued to disrupt my life in-spite of my efforts to control it this way. I oscillated between slow suicides and reckless behavior. I climbed cliffs without ropes. I swam across dangerous rivers. I went out drinking and wandered the streets alone in bad neighborhoods wearing slip dresses and six inch stilettos. Sometimes I would find the scariest looking guy in the bar and take him with me. I was surprised by the kindness and compassion i found in these strangers I fetched for annihilation. I found a big biker wearing a leather vest. His body was covered with tattoos of snakes and Medusa. I brought him home hoping he would rough me up. Instead he held me in his arms on my couch, consoling me until dawn. The next day he sent me flowers. Another drunken evening I found a big bald man standing almost seven feet tall. His face was covered in peircings. His body was covered in sadistic tattoos. He wore a spiked dog collar around his neck. I asked him to come home with me and spank me. I was severely depressed. as he was about to spank me with a wooden spoon he noticed the expression of sorrow on my face. He said what I really needed was a hug and some chamomile tea. He made me some tea and held me in his arms until morning came. He wrote down my address and sent my a prayer written by St Francis. I am trying to learn self compassion and stop the self destruction. I think with self compassion I can learn to ride the storms and create some stability.

[venusss]

you should write a memoir....

[faerie_moon_x]

I agree, you should write a memoire. But your post also makes me think, "you really can't judge a book by the cover." The most loving people often wrap themselves in things that will scare people away on purpose, it's like how animals in the wild have false faces in their fur. "That's not a butterfly, it's a scary monster! Run!"

[venusss]

Originally Posted by dark_heart_x

I agree, you should write a memoire. But your post also makes me think, "you really can't judge a book by the cover." The most loving people often wrap themselves in things that will scare people away on purpose, it's like how animals in the wild have false faces in their fur. "That's not a butterfly, it's a scary monster! Run!"

in one novel I read long time ago people were discussing how devil would look like and one wise old lady said, that he'd be a well dress gentleman, because if he gave away who he is on the first impression, he would not be able to commit so much evil.

Yeah, "scary" looking people are either protecting themselves.... or testing who is willing to see person behind the image.

[bluematador]

I love reading the memoirs of others with this disorder. It has helped me see it from different perspectives. Maybe I will add my own story to the collection. I will have plenty of time on my hands. My recent manic episode completely destroyed my career plans. Iam a senior in college and I was planning on applying for a graduate program in Psychology when I graduate next year. While I was manic I decided psychology had evrything wrong. It was backwards. The world needs more madness. I decided madness was the cure for the rampant materialism in the world today. I felt like there should be a national holiday where everyone goes mad for a day. I canceled my registration for the year long clinical psychology program that would fulfill all my graduate school prerequisites and began writing my manifesto on the benefits of madness. I imagined designing workshops that would induce madness and teaching them in locations around the nation. I would create a big retreat center where people could safely explore madness for a week and enrich their lives. I thought madness held within it spiritual insights that could be gained no their way. I sincerely believed everyone needed to go stark, raving mad at least once in their lifetime. I quit doing my school work and headed downtown to consult with the experts. I found an old man talking to a tree. He agreed to assist me in my research. I found another man wrapped in a big green blanket. He was talking to Jesus. He also agreed to help me. The third man I found talking to an invisible friend refused to help me unless I agreed to be his shadow. Strangely I found students willing to be my test subjects. Two weeks later I came crashing down. Now the only classes open for registration are poetry, dancing, and consciousness studies. There is no chance I will fill my prerequisites for graduate school. It is difficult to accept things like this. I have to accept the fact that I must walk a completely different path. I have no idea where I am going. It is always an adventure. I hope with humor and compassion I can learn to navigate my way through the dark

[Confusedinomicon]

I don't understand. Why can't you take an extra semester?

You shouldn't give up on a dream just because you had an episode of mania. My GPA isn't great (hopefully closer to a 3.2 after the summer) and I'm graduating with a BA in psychology. I'm taking a year off in-between a masters program so I can take extra classes to help strengthen my understanding of reading statistics and reading papers. At my university people drop classes all the time and you can usually get into some of the classes if you keep checking. There is also usually something called a "add/drop" list and waitlists to get into classes. Don't give up, talk to people and utilize all your resources available.

I think that the best way to accept it is to love yourself. There isn't any secret to coming there. You have to do it on your own at your own pace.

[bluematador]

The college I attend is an alternative school. The program in Psychology is a year long designed for interdisciplinary study, covering the history of psychology, statistics, clinical research, and an internship. The program is full and the waitlist is full. I would have to stay in school for an additional year if I want to complete my prerequisites. Given my lack of judgement during this recent episode and the frequency of my episodes I am questioning my plans to become a therapist. I am thinking of writing and doing research instead. I love doing research. My pdoc and T say this is about as stable as I am going to get. I have to work on accepting the severity of my condition and working with it. They are trying to help me create realistic goals. I feel kind of dismal in the wake of this recent disaster. I can't quite accept the fact that this is what I have to live with.

[mharleman]

Originally Posted by bluematador

I love reading the memoirs of others with this disorder. It has helped me see it from different perspectives. Maybe I will add my own story to the collection. I will have plenty of time on my hands. My recent manic episode completely destroyed my career plans. Iam a senior in college and I was planning on applying for a graduate program in Psychology when I graduate next year. While I was manic I decided psychology had evrything wrong. It was backwards. The world needs more madness. I decided madness was the cure for the rampant materialism in the world today. I felt like there should be a national holiday where everyone goes mad for a day. I canceled my registration for the year long clinical psychology program that would fulfill all my graduate school prerequisites and began writing my manifesto on the benefits of madness. I imagined designing workshops that would induce madness and teaching them in locations around the nation. I would create a big retreat center where people could safely explore madness for a week and enrich their lives. I thought madness held within it spiritual insights that could be gained no their way. I sincerely believed everyone needed to go stark, raving mad at least once in their lifetime. I quit doing my school work and headed downtown to consult with the experts. I found an old man talking to a tree. He agreed to assist me in my research. I found another man wrapped in a big green blanket. He was talking to Jesus. He also agreed to help me. The third man I found talking to an invisible friend refused to help me unless I agreed to be his shadow. Strangely I found students willing to be my test subjects. Two weeks later I came crashing down. Now the only classes open for registration are poetry, dancing, and consciousness studies. There is no chance I will fill my prerequisites for graduate school. It is difficult to accept things like this. I have to accept the fact that I must walk a completely different path. I have no idea where I am going. It is always an adventure. I hope with humor and compassion I can learn to navigate my way through the dark

This reminds me of what I went through when they told me I was suffering from delusions. I certainly didn't believe I was suffering delusions. As a matter of fact, I didn't, and still am not sure I fully understand, what a delusion is. It's defined as a belief that nobody else has. That I did have. I was experimenting with the idea that right and left brain control different parts of the body. I didn't think that was delusional. It will be really funny if someday it's proven that I was right. However, I was doing some pretty weird stuff. I was writing strange things on paper and had paper all over the apartment. I scared my wife to death. Finally, they Baker Acted me and forced me into a hospital. When I came out, I was a different person (but it took awhile for me to trust my wife again.) Now I know she had no choice. I had gone off the deep end and never would have come back without help.

[bluematador]

I think there may be some truth in your perceptions but maybe you took it too far. It's the same with my mania. I still believe there are spiritual insights to be found in altered states of mind. The term madness is just a term used to describe an altered stated of mind that deviates from the norm. Normalcy is defined by cultural values. Some cultures valued altered states of mind. Individuals experiencing altered states enjoyed positions of high status in their society. In my state of mania I got carried away and my enthusiasm took me too far. I still struggle with the idea that society need to change and accept a greater variety of human experience welcoming more diverse expressions of human behavior instead of defining it in terms of pathology.

Originally Posted by mharleman

This reminds me of what I went through when they told me I was suffering from delusions. I certainly didn't believe I was suffering delusions. As a matter of fact, I didn't, and still am not sure I fully understand, what a delusion is. It's defined as a belief that nobody else has. That I did have. I was experimenting with the idea that right and left brain control different parts of the body. I didn't think that was delusional. It will be really funny if someday it's proven that I was right. However, I was doing some pretty weird stuff. I was writing strange things on paper and had paper all over the apartment. I scared my wife to death. Finally, they Baker Acted me and forced me into a hospital. When I came out, I was a different person (but it took awhile for me to trust my wife again.) Now I know she had no choice. I had gone off the deep end and never would have come back without help.

[mharleman]

My apologies if I misunderstood. It just seemed to me to be a similar situation. I felt as if I did take to far the idea of right left brain stuff. Isn't that what you were saying you were doing with madness?

Originally Posted by bluematador

I think there may be some truth in your perceptions but maybe you took it too far. It's the same with my mania. I still believe there are spiritual insights to be found in altered states of mind. The term madness is just a term used to describe an altered stated of mind that deviates from the norm. Normalcy is defined by cultural values. Some cultures valued altered states of mind. Individuals experiencing altered states enjoyed positions of high status in their society. In my state of mania I got carried away and my enthusiasm took me too far. I still struggle with the idea that society need to change and accept a greater variety of human experience welcoming more diverse expressions of human behavior instead of defining it in terms of pathology.

[bluematador]

Yes, I am agreeing with you at the same time this is where I struggle with acceptance and stability. It's hard for me to determine when I am going to far. I don't want to confine my ideas to fit the narrow definitions of normalcy. If I try to define myself in those terms I judge myself harshly. I am trying to determine what to accept and what I can change about my behavior.

[mharleman]

In a previous post your wrote:

Originally Posted by bluematador

I oscillated between slow suicides and reckless behavior. I climbed cliffs without ropes. I swam across dangerous rivers. I went out drinking and wandered the streets alone in bad neighborhoods wearing slip dresses and six inch stilettos. Sometimes I would find the scariest looking guy in the bar and take him with me. I was surprised by the kindness and compassion i found in these strangers I fetched for annihilation. I found a big biker wearing a leather vest. His body was covered with tattoos of snakes and Medusa. I brought him home hoping he would rough me up. Instead he held me in his arms on my couch, consoling me until dawn. The next day he sent me flowers. Another drunken evening I found a big bald man standing almost seven feet tall. His face was covered in peircings. His body was covered in sadistic tattoos. He wore a spiked dog collar around his neck. I asked him to come home with me and spank me. I was severely depressed. as he was about to spank me with a wooden spoon he noticed the expression of sorrow on my face. He said what I really needed was a hug and some chamomile tea. He made me some tea and held me in his arms until morning came. He wrote down my address and sent my a prayer written by St Francis. I am trying to learn self compassion and stop the self destruction. I think with self compassion I can learn to ride the storms and create some stability.

I think I'm beginning to see what you mean, but I'm still not sure I grasp the real meaning behind these actions. To me, if this is madness, then accepting this kind of behavior is not going to solve anything. Accepting it means continuing it, but as you said, you want to stop it and develop self compassion. Of course, I don't see self compassion the same as feeling sorry for yourself. I see self compassion as modesty and being kind to yourself. Modesty is defined as recognizing your limitations and then living within them. Accepting that you have limitations is admirable. Believing you can accomplish things beyond your scope is a mistake. Believing that by defying deliberately not only what you consider to be acceptable (not normal, just acceptable) behavior you can somehow force yourself into a type of acceptances is self defeating. Finally, you can do things that are acceptable and modest. Society will not allow you to do things that are considered mad for very long without locking you in a rubber room, and I doubt that is where you want to be, but behavior like this will get you there. If I would start somewhere when it comes to what you can change, this would be it: Live a modest acceptable life, and don't allow yourself to believe that madness (or however you define this behavior) is to be acceptable or a definition of what you are; because, I for one don't believe it. I believe you are pretending to be something you're not in order to hide from all that is you. When I read what you write, I hear an intelligent responsible person not a crazed lunatic who enjoys fallacious sexual conduct. Not only do I believe that is something you can be, I believe that is what you are. Nobody considers self destructive behavior acceptable. Don't you agree? Friend to friend I mean...I know I am new here, but I want everyone to know I am interested in making friends.

Originally Posted by bluematador

Yes, I am agreeing with you at the same time this is where I struggle with acceptance and stability. It's hard for me to determine when I am going to far. I don't want to confine my ideas to fit the narrow definitions of normalcy. If I try to define myself in those terms I judge myself harshly. I am trying to determine what to accept and what I can change about my behavior.

[bluematador]

I managed to quit drinking ten years ago with the help of a meditation master. I studied with him for six years. I continue my meditation practice every day. I no longer fetch scary looking strangers from bars. That behavior was result of my intoxication. When I refer to accepting my situation I am referring to the denial of my bipolar disorder. I have refused treatment many times. I was diagnoses when I was fifteen. I refused treatment for nineteen years. I was hospitalized several times but never stayed with a treatment program longer than three months. This is the first time I have stayed in a treatment program. I have been in a treatment program for a year now. I am finding the strict routines and medication side effects difficult at times. There is still a part of me that wants to deny that I have a mental illness even though I have been diagnosed several times.

[mharleman]

I understand what you are saying. I agree with you. It is hard to accept that I have a problem such as this, but I think part of that is that society seems to have no place for me. I just received word that a possible volunteer position with an international education organization might be interested in letting me help. Believe it or not, I can't even convince anyone to let me help them for free. It has been an uphill battle for 20 years trying to find out where I fit in. But I think I'm discovering that the key is to focus more on others and less on me. If I put others first, I'm to busy to focus on my problems. I learned a long time ago that I can't deny that I have such an illness. Playing games with it like that only make it worse.