Everything happened so fast. 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 normal family, I’m in a band, I’ve got a wonderful girlfriend. Why am I suddenly sleeping all day and having these suicidal thoughts? I decided to run away from all of it. I packed my bag with a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a bible 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 about a week on the road, I woke up one morning very affected by my surroundings. I was cold, hungry, alone in the street. 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 spoke with him, the more concerned he got, and the next thing I knew my mom was there to pick me up. After many frantic hugs and shoulder shakes, I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with manic depression.
Living Bipolar is no joke. I’m on a ton of pills that make me feel groggy and weird even though my thoughts have cleaned up for the most part and I sort of feel like me again. I’m still in a band, but my fellow members are always concerned about how I’m feeling or whether or not I’m going to disappear again. My family members aren’t quite sure how to deal with living bipolar either. The pills are costing them money, and they keep searching for miracle cure. If I don’t 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 pretty frequently because I want to ask God for help through this. I wish living with bipolar disorder 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 get through it 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 school was. How is the band doing? Do we have a new song yet or any gigs coming up? But in the back of my mind there is a constant voice telling me that everyone is judging me for being manic depressive. I feel like they’re scared of me. They think I could break at any moment. And the sad thing is that I could.
Adjusting to living with bipolar disorder is a hard 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 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.
