I Lost Everything to BiPolar, but Still Find Hope for Tomorrow.
It was June 2003 when I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder which, no doubt, had gone undiagnosed for my entire life. My life was sprinkled with extreme anxiety attacks, OCD, manic episodes, and especially severe depression. By the time I had my own family – a wife and two boys of my own – my depression had gotten out of control.
For me depression was and is extended periods of time inside a six foot cube with no stimulus. No light sneaking in through my lids. No sound other than shallow, rushed breaths. No breeze touching my face. Alone.
But depression is just as much about ‘fullness’ as it is about emptiness. I struggled with an overload of negativity that reached deep into my soul to drag out any signs of hope and love. All at once I would be inundated with anger for what’s happened and about to happen, sorrow for those I’ve lost - some in the most tragic of ways - and the deep loss of who I thought I was. The loss of being the go-to-marketing-guy at work, the loving husband, the fun dad, the brave youth hockey coach, and the bread winner.
As time passed the depression showed up in suicidality and ultimately attempts leaving me hospitalized five different times. I was put on Short-term disability three years in a row and forced out on Long-term disability in 2006. All the while, the doctors toiled to find the right mix of meds that would stabilize me and help me have as much of a normal life as possible. They added 32 courses of Electroconvulsive Therapy which jarred me out of the most severe depression and suicidality.
During this time, my young family lost all we owned to bankruptcy. We had to rewrite our roles, goals and expectations. Instead of being caught up in the fast-paced, impersonal, and materialistic grind of the new millennia, we had to think a new way - one moment at a time - which had to start with some massive repurposing for me. I had to concentrate on getting better and would no longer be the main bread winner which is a role my wife then managed. I would, in turn, become the domestic arm of the family. Our two sons had to accept less when it came to spending money and more when it came to household duties. All of us learned that our annual camping trips to the North Carolina Outer Banks and the Smoky Mountains were all but over. Instead we’ve found adventures in the parks and walking trails close to home.
My story continues and my life still changes and morphs. Our marriage crumbled in the wake of manic episodes from years prior. Both my sons are adults who have been in and out of Mental Health Wards and jail the last few years. Their diagnoses seem to change as years go by. The youngest has Bipolar Disorder and the eldest has Schizoaffective Disorder (a combination of Schizophrenia and BD).
