It seemed to have shown up over night. 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 loving family, I’m in a band, I’ve got a wonderful girlfriend. Why am I suddenly down all day and having these suicidal thoughts? I decided to run away from all of it. I packed my backpack with a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a bible and hit the road. I didn’t have a destination. I didn’t even have a care in the world about my friends, or family, or what was going to happen to me. Thoughts were fuzzy and scattered. One minute I was thinking about jumping off a cliff, 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 by the river. My mind felt like scrambled eggs and I decided it was time to find 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 medications 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 band mates are always concerned about how I’m doing or whether or not I’m going to disappear again. My grandparents aren’t quite sure how to deal with living bipolar either. The medicine is costing them money, and they keep searching for a permanent 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 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 medicine either. It’s hard!
I just have to live 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 work was. How is the band doing? Do we have a new drummer yet or any shows 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 think they’re scared of me. They think I could snap at any moment. And the sad thing is that I could.
Adjusting to bipolar living is a hard thing to do after leading a semi-normal life for eighteen years. But like Father Brannigan tells me, “A life of struggle should teach compassion.” So I try to be understanding and compassionate. I work real hard every day to get over my aweful 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 greatness.
