Inevitable Conflagration


 “I had the shit till it all got smoked
I kept the promise till the vow got broke
I had to drink from the lovin’ cup
I stood on the banks till the river rose up
I saw the bride in her wedding gown
I was in the house when the house burned down” — Warren Zevon

By the time I was diagnosed with a mental illness I had already blown my life up.  It was difficult to believe that I wasn’t the person I thought I was, that everything I had done in my life may have been a result of a disease.  How did this happen?  Where did this come from?  How did I get it?  Why did it take so long to be problematic and noticeable?

My bipolar diagnosis came very late in life. I was 44 years old when I was finally diagnosed in 2012. Bipolar can be triggered by many different events or types of stress. No one is certain what causes bipolar disorder, but there are several theories. The obvious beginning of this is genetics. Bipolar disorder tends to run in families. About half the people with bipolar disorder have a family member with a mood disorder. I have a pretty good history of mental illness in my family. My father suffered from anxiety attacks when I was younger and looking back on his behavior, I’m fairly certain he was also bipolar. His mental issues were exacerbated by my mother’s death in 1996. My maternal grandmother also suffered from mental illness and spent time in a psychiatric hospital. I could never find out what her exact diagnosis was because “we don’t discuss those things” was the family mantra. All I could ever learn was that at some point there was an incident in which she destroyed all of her household furniture and both my parents helped clean it up. I now regret not getting the full story.

Also, a person who has one parent with bipolar disorder has a 15 to 25 percent chance of having the condition. As I mentioned, I’m pretty sure my dad was bipolar. Between that and his anxiety disorder my diagnosis feels like it was inevitable. Until my mother passed away, I never realized how much of a support she was for him and kept him from exhibiting symptoms.
A mood episode can be triggered in a person who may be genetically predisposed to bipolar disorder. I remember several distinct episodes of depression when I was younger. I had a serious suicide attempt when I was 16 years old and another episode when I was a sophomore in college. That was more self-harm than suicidal. I considered suicide at several other points in my life, especially during the episode of depression that led to my three weeks at Four Winds. I can also remember distinct episodes of hyper-sexuality going back as far as high school and continuing in various forms until recently. If you’ve read my previous blog entries, my activities in strip clubs is pretty well documented.

In my own opinion, the biggest trigger, and the one that led to my diagnoses and self-awareness occurred in 2011. I’ve never discussed this in my blog before and outside of a close circle of friends and mental healthcare professionals, I’ve never discussed this at all. One day at work I discovered a flash drive sitting in the computer I was using. I opened a file to see if I could discover who it belonged to. That was the worst mistake I ever made. What I found was a coworker’s photo collection. Suffice it to say the subjects and material were highly illegal. I will not go into any further detail, as this is already a trigger for me and I can’t dwell on it any more. The coworker was removed from the premises and later prosecuted. As a result I started drinking more than usual, but as the saying goes “What has been seen cannot be unseen.” I tried to drink so much that I would, hopefully, retroactively drink myself blind. No such luck.

In addition to an increase in drinking and depression, I started to spend time in strip clubs where I discovered cocaine. This was quite the discovery, because I had a substance that made me feel slightly better than alcohol, a depressant. Now I could really self-medicate by mixing and matching my drug of choice to my mood.

I found out later on that in addition to genetics, the event of discovering that flash drive, use of alcohol and drugs, combined with a lack of sleep could also prompt an onset of bipolar disorder. It was a perfect storm of crazy. Everything I did effectively was a trigger for my mental illness. For months I experienced an unbelievable hypomanic state. Every symptom was present.

Then the money ran out. The lies and excuses ran out. Then my family left.

The crash was unbelievable; the depression and suicidal thoughts lasted eight months until I finally got to Four Winds. There was a brief period in those eight months when I felt better. I was diagnosed as bipolar, taking my medication, and in therapy. Once I began to felt better I quit treatment because, well…I felt better. I think we all know by now how that movie ended. I really hope there’s not a sequel in the works.


Mea Maxima Culpa


“Guilt is cancer. Guilt will confine you, torture you, destroy you as an artist. It’s a black wall. It’s a thief.” – Dave Grohl

Let me give you a brief insight into my character. Everything is my fault. If it’s not, I will still find a way to make it mine. This is my default mode. Everything has been my fault for the last three years. Every stupid mistake, every terrible outcome, every bad idea, and every lousy situation that has occurred has been my fault.

Ok, maybe not everything, but I have come to believe it. I have so thoroughly beaten myself up for all the terrible things I actually did that I automatically assume guilt for everything. If my son does or says something wrong or out of line, then, in my mind at least, I am to blame. I am a terrible role model and an unfit parent. Anything that goes slightly wrong at home is because of me.

Part of being bipolar is dealing with constant self-doubt and self-hatred, especially while being depressed. When anything goes wrong I can and will find some way to blame myself. Another reason this happens is because bipolar causes not only mood swings, but an intensification of emotions. Where most people may feel a slight twinge of guilt that quickly abates, my world crashes. Guilt and anxiety are multiplied and unstoppable.

Naturally there are things I am guilty of and I accept responsibility for: my financial mess, my family situation, and living situation are all a direct result of my faulty judgment. Even though I say I’ve accepted responsibility, it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty or make me hate myself any less when I’m dealing with the repercussions of my actions, or when they trigger depression.

This guilt and self-loathing are particularly harsh because it they drive my suicidal thoughts. The thought process is this: every shitty thing is all of my own doing and I can’t do anything to stop it because I’ll simply fuck that up too, so the only sensible solution is to kill myself. Not so much to end my pain, but to stop me from hurting everyone around me. I have no doubt that world would be a much better place without me.  In my mind there is no doubt that this situation can only end with me dead.  These thoughts are not an everyday occurrence, but in the midst of depression they surface fairly often.  Usually they are fleeting, but occasionally the idea sticks and I will ruminate on it for an extended period of time. It was this kind of rumination and suicidal ideation that led me to my three week outpatient stint at Four Winds in Katonah, NY.

Like I said, I’ve spent so much time hating and blaming myself that assigning myself the guilt is an automatic reaction. In my house it’s even become a running joke. If something falls or breaks, or whatever accident occurs, there is a race to see if someone can blame me before I yell out that it’s my fault. This actually helps. I can laugh at it and own it in my particular way. Humor is how I cope. I will make a joke of anything, no matter how inappropriate or morbid. Sometimes I won’t verbalize it because I know how awful it will sound, but it still amuses me, and that’s enough to get me by.

I’ve tried to ease up on myself, but it’s a difficult process to undo such an ingrained reaction rooted in real disasters. Especially your grandmother’s gout. Yep, that’s my fault too. I’m sorry and I feel awful about it.

Antisocial Media



“Everyone has the right to believe anything they want. And everyone else has the right to find it fucking ridiculous.”
— Ricky Gervais

Like most people, I’m an avid user of Facebook. I’m slowly delving into other forms of social media. I have a Twitter account, but I hardly ever tweet (If you want boring blog updates, feel free to follow @Rider324. If I ever get a decent amount of followers I promise to be more interesting). I mostly use Twitter to follow a few of my favorite people, especially ones known for causing a bit of controversy with their tweets. Ricky Gervais, Patton Oswalt, and God (actually a writer from The Daily Show) are examples. I’m still trying to understand Instagram and although I watch videos one Vine I’ve never had the desire to post one. So with all of this, Facebook remains the one I am most active on. I belong to several different groups covering my main interests: sports, books, mental health, and several others. I post pictures of my son, memes, (hopefully) witty and thought-provoking statuses, take part in discussions, poke fun at my friends; pretty much all the usual Facebook activities.

So what does any of this have to do with being bipolar? A great deal, actually. I’ve noticed a few trends, some recent and some not so recent. My social media use provides an excellent mood tracker. This is a vital tool in managing bipolar disorder. The downside is that it provides a very public mood tracker. My friends can notice the obvious differences between my depressive and hypomanic states, as well as the occasions in which I’m feeling average. The other problem is that, much like what happens in real life (as stated in last week’s entry), people tend to get driven away and abandon ship. I’ve lost count of how many Facebook friends I’ve lost over time. Most of them bailed because of religious and political statements I’ve either made or shared. I’ve pissed off a lot of people over the years and I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve ever apologized for it.

As far as mood tracking goes, the usual pattern is this: when I’m hypomanic my status updates and comments are much less serious. I joke around frequently. My responses are quick and humorous (although in my own humble opinion, I’m goddamn hilarious). I will poke good-natured fun at my friends and they respond in kind. I love that give and take as we troll each other back and forth. When I’m in the throes of depression, a couple of things happen. Firstly, I tend to disappear for weeks at time. Several friends noticed this pattern immediately and I would get frantic private messages and texts asking if I was okay and if I needed help. When I did post, I noticed that my posts tended to be much more aggressive, bordering on outright rage.

I do enjoy debating politics and religion with my friends, but these posts would go beyond that. Looking back, much of what I would post seemed to be indirectly attempting to poke certain people in the eye. With a flaming stick. Obviously, some people took offense and unfriended me. Others engaged in debate in which we mostly decided to agree to disagree. Surprisingly, not many people told me directly that I was as full of shit as the things I ranted about. I don’t mind that. I am a very difficult person to offend. I like to think that I can take as well as I dish it out.

I’m not going to go into exactly what I posted or what my political and religious views are, because that’s not what this blog is about, but rather how my online behavior is affected by my mental illness. I’ve often been told that my posts go too far, or that I’m just angry. I disagree with the latter, but I can understand the opinions about the former.

Again, in reference to last week’s entry, this kind of self-imposed isolation (this time online), either intentional by disappearing, or unintentional by annoying the crap out of people, has consequences. I’d very much like to use Facebook and other forms of social media to promote awareness of mental health issues and help destroy the stereotypes and stigmas that we crazy people face on a regular basis. Eventually I’d like to start a Facebook page just for Tales from the Loony Bin once I get more followers. This would allow me to separate my usual rantings from my discussion of serious mental health issues. The problem is, with many of my posts, people no longer respond. I don’t know how many people in addition to those who unfriended me either ignore my posts or have me blocked. I try desperately to promote this blog but I often feel as if I’ve disenfranchised the better part of my audience.

The Fine Art of Isolation



“Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt” – Nine Inch Nails “Hurt”

Not surprisingly, I’ve spent a great deal of time reading about bipolar disorder. I’ve read articles by psychiatrists, blogs by other bipolar people, and several websites dedicated to mental illness. I am constantly looking for people with whom I can compare symptoms and advice on coping mechanisms. I found some excellent sources, and some that are sub-par. When it comes to coping mechanisms almost everything I have read include what most consider essential when it comes to coping with bipolar disorder: a reliable support system. A group of friends, and/or family that can help not only recognize symptoms but help you cope with them. This seems fairly obvious, but what if something prevents you from maintaining that support network? To quote from Hamlet, “Aye, there’s the rub”.

As an example, I had a great number of friends at one time. Each and every one of them was like family. Once I had mostly ruined my life through my hypomania and crashed into crippling depression and was finally diagnosed as bipolar, people began to distance themselves from me, or so it seemed.

I’m not saying they ran away or abandoned me because I was bipolar. Quite the opposite. One of the symptoms of my depression is that I withdraw and isolate myself. I don’t return phone calls, I don’t socialize, and I even stop any social media activity. I did that a lot; so much so that a lot of friends got tired of the frustration of dealing with me. I pushed a lot of people away, many of whom really did try to help. When I was forced to resign from teaching, several people made suggestions as to what I could do next, such as tutoring or teaching SAT prep courses. The problem was I couldn’t do it. I was in such a depressed state that I couldn’t even imagine returning to any kind of work at that point. My response, however, was to yes everyone to death and then ignore their suggestions. Again, people got angry and frustrated and gave up.

I’m not angry at anyone for their reactions and I don’t feel abandoned in any way. I so completely isolated myself that I made damn sure almost everyone was gone. Not everyone was put off by my behavior. Several friends put up with my infuriating behavior and helped as much as they could, often going above and beyond whatever help I asked for.

This isolation is detrimental in a couple of ways. I have cut myself off from my most important support and also it adds to my irritability when I am hypomanic. Those are the times I look to get out and socialize and interact with other adults, but instead I wind up home in front of the TV.

So how do I cope with having such a small support system? It’s not easy and it’s exhausting, but I manage. I write, I try to keep myself occupied and on a schedule, and most importantly, I stick with my treatment. Medication and therapy have brought me a long way. I’ve now stayed in treatment for six months, and his is the longest I’ve done so. The previous times I would go for a few weeks, start to feel better and then disappear from therapy and toss out the meds. With my limited options, treatment is a necessity and so is holding on to the small group of friends that I still have.

No Self Control



“If I could control tomorrow’s haze
The darkened shore wouldn’t bother me
If I can’t control
the web we weave
My life will be lost in the fallen leaves”
–David Bowie, “No Control”

I mentioned in a previous entry about the difference between mania and hypomania that there are other states besides those and depression that can affect a person with bipolar disorder. These states can be just as devastating, if not more so, than the expected swings between hypomania and depression. Some of these I’ve experienced and some I haven’t, so I can’t completely talk about them from a personal point of view, but what I can, I will. The one thing all of these other states have in common is that, just like bipolar disorder itself, there is no way to control them.

The first of these are what as referred to as mixed mood episodes. It is a combination of mania (or hypomania) and depression. These episodes can be very dangerous because they can combine the suicidal ideations of depression with the abundance of energy of hypomania. The thoughts of suicide and self-hatred mixed with manic restlessness can be problematic to say the least. Not only are there thoughts of suicide, but the energy to act upon them. Mixed mood can last anywhere from a few hours to a few days. On the roller coaster that is bipolar disorder, this is the most out of control part of the ride.

I’ve experience mixed mood on rare occasions, but luckily not for long and they ended before I was worked up enough to physically harm myself. I hated myself, my life, my actions and even my own uncontrollable thoughts. My brain kept hammering me with the fact that every shitty thing in my life was my own fault and nothing I did could ever change that. As is usual with hypomania, my thoughts were racing and constantly battering me with the fact that I was a worthless asshole and I kept replaying everything I had ever done to hurt not only myself, but those around me that I cared about. It was a repeating slideshow of painful memories.

Another danger to the bipolar person is called rapid cycling. Rapid cycling is when a bipolar person experience four or more hypomanic, manic, or depressive episodes in a 12 month period. This doesn’t mean, however, that episodes follow any predictable cycle. The pattern is quite random. The quick mood swings of rapid cycling can occur within a few hours or a few days. This roller coaster carries a high risk of suicide. Diagnostically, mania lasts one week, four days for hypomania, and two weeks for depression. These minimums are for the purpose of diagnosing bipolar disorder.

I’ve been lucky enough not to have experienced rapid cycling. My depression can last for months and my hypomania is usually several weeks. But again, they are not predictable cycles. Through therapy, medication, and educating myself on my illness I have become better at identifying certain cues as to what I may experience next. In addition tracking my mood, there are other signs as well. Sleep patterns are the most telling for me. If I’m not sleeping, I know something is happening. If I can’t sleep but don’t feel tired during the day, and I feel tense and restless, I know hypomania is to blame. If I can’t sleep and can’t bring myself to get up and get moving or begin sleeping during most of the day, it’s a sure sign depression is creeping in. Identifying what are called prodromal (early) symptoms is a key for me in trying to hold off a bipolar relapse. I can never control my moods or change the way my brain thinks, but as long as I continue with my treatment, I can manage the symptoms somewhat, and that’s about the best I can hope for.

The last thing I would like to share is the concept of what have been called “breakthrough events”. Breakthrough events usually occur during days when I am feeling average. I may be having a good day by my standards and something happens. It could be anything, a song on the radio, something on TV, or even a comment someone makes and it sends me into a completely irrational emotional state, usually depression. Whatever progress I’ve made or episode I’ve overcome is just shattered. Everything just gets shot to hell without any warning and I wind up sitting and crying over something I’ve read or heard or watched. Again, this is part and parcel of bipolar disorder. It is an irrational disease and the breakthrough events can be lasting. I have to accept this as part of my illness and learn to deal with it. My brain fucks with me on a daily basis, sometimes sending me into self-loathing with no warning at all. Like I said, I can only manage as best I can and keep trying to make it through. I take my meds and stay in therapy and track my moods. These are my weapons in this particular fight.

Pants on Fire



“Everybody lies.” – Dr. Gregory House


I recently read an article on myths about bipolar disorder. Number one on the list was bipolar people are liars. This is a myth because lying is not a symptom of bipolar disorder. Sometimes, however, bipolar people do indeed lie. For example, I lied. A lot. Intricately,  with a great level of complexity, and I was good at it. I lied to cover my hypomania. I had to come up with reasons why I was out all night, doing drugs, and spending every cent we had. I often dragged my friends’ names into it in order to make the stories believable. I got away with it for a long time until finally the money  ran out and there were no lies I could conjure up to save my own ass.  This led to an abrupt, ugly, devastating end.  These lies, for all their complex deception, were not a symptom of bipolar disorder, I was just trying not to get caught.  It didn’t work out particularly well.  Really.

I still lie fairly regularly, but not at the same level or for any devious reasons.  Instead, they are white lies that prevent me from getting involved discussing my mood swings. Ask me how I am in the midst of depression and the answer is “Fine”. You’ll get the same answer when my mind is racing and I’m bouncing off the walls with hypomania. Ask me what’s bothering me, “Nothing”. It’s terse and simple.  I dislike having to explain my moods, that I can’t just get over them,  like people tend to suggest, and be like everyone else, so I lie.  That’s the truth.

Another reason I tell these white lies is because not only do I not want to explain my moods, people don’t want to hear it. Who, aside from my therapist, wants to hear about how worthless or self-aggrandizing I feel, depending on my mood? I’m not going to discuss my thoughts of suicide or self-medicating, or any of the other nasty little secrets my brain likes to run through and torture me with. It follows then, that I lie in social settings.  I hate crowds and I strongly dislike people.  Well, most people, specifically strangers.  I can be, however, a particularly social person when necessary.  I know how to play nice.  I put up this facade to avoid any preconceived notions about what others may consider bipolar behavior.  I can indeed carry on an intelligent conversation when I have to.  Honestly.

There are some people I am completely honest with, people in whom I place complete trust. It’s a very small group consisting of a couple of friends and my therapist. Even then, with the exception of my therapist, no one believes me all the time. I have torn my credibility and reputation to shreds by lying for so long. Many people will no longer believe most of what I say, or they will assume I am lying all the time. Trust is nearly impossible to regain, and I understand why I’m in that position.

Obviously, there are things in past I’ve lied about that I haven’t mentioned here. I limited it to events relating to being bipolar and, of course, this is just my side of what happened and why. I’m sure those to whom I lied will have different versions of what happened, although I have tried to be as truthful as possible.  As a final reminder, just because I’ve lied doesn’t mean all bipolar people lie.  It’s not a symptom, it’s just how I’ve tried to cover up my symptoms.


I wouldn’t lie to you.

Thanks for the Suggestion



“Sometimes I think you
Don’t know what you say” – Jesus Jones, “I’m Burning”

I’ve gotten a variety of responses from people when I tell them I’m bipolar. My favorite was “Bipolar? Is that really a thing?” That’s one example of someone totally uneducated about mental illness. Needless to say, this response came from someone who felt that therapy and medication were useless and you should deal with issues on your own in a completely logical manner.   Sorry, but my brain literally does not and cannot work that way when it comes to depression and hypomania.

My least favorite response, the one I absolutely despise because it shows a total lack not only of understanding, but of empathy and compassion, is the ridiculous “Just snap out of it!” or the equally useless, “Get over it”.  Well, thanks a bunch there, Einstein, I wish I’d thought of that. Maybe next time you can tell a diabetic to produce more insulin naturally,  or a cancer patient to stop growing all those tumors. “Get over it,” is one of worst things to say to a bipolar person. For me, it makes everything so much worse; it increases my sense of worthlessness and self-loathing, that I’m not as good as everyone else and I’m just not “normal”. It’s  a dismissive and pointless statement that’s about as helpful as hitting someone in the balls with a five iron.

Anything that minimizes my illness or makes me feel like less of a human enrages me. I’ve had people tell me that everyone gets depressed, or that everyone has bad days and I’ll get over it eventually. I have to try to explain that my depression is very different, which of course can sound to others as if I’m being defensive and using it as an excuse for my moods and actions. I have to continually explain that I have a disease and my brain isn’t wired the same as everyone else’s. My depression and hypomania cannot be willed away.  My moods can change quickly and there are days where can’t even manage to get off the couch, shower, get dressed, or, worst of all, interact with my six year old son. That last one is the worst and it causes the depression  to feed on itself and there is nothing I can do to stop it or get past it. It’s an incredibly soul-crushing depression that leaves me a fetal-positioned mess with dreams of knives and warm baths running through my head.  I also can’t control my cycles of hypomania which are accompanied by an almost complete lack of sleep, racing thoughts, and extreme irritability.  This is just a short list of symptoms which show how much my brain hates me.

I’ve also been informed that, “We create our own reality.” In all honesty, I don’t even comprehend what the hell that means. If I created my own reality I’d be a billionaire living on a private island far away from idiots telling me I create my own reality. Similarly, people have offered me a host of new-age type treatments as well as homeopathic and “alternative” medicinal cures. Nope, no thanks for the hoodoo. I prefer trained professionals with real degrees and medications that have gone through clinical trials and are documented to work. I don’t need my chakra realigned, my third eye fitted for contacts, my aura polished, or an all-natural tea made of tree bark, lawnmower clippings and squirrel semen. To quote Tim Minchin, “Alternative medicine…has either not been proved to work, or been proved not to work. You know what they call alternative medicine that’s been proved to work? Medicine.”

I’ve even been told that I choose to be sick, or just as good, that I can choose not to be sick. I won’t even dignify that with a response. Some people obviously choose to be intellectually stunted.

The one thing all these responses share is that they are dismissive, belittling,  and discount the idea of mental illness as an actual disease. Just because I see a psychiatrist and some else sees a cardiologist doesn’t mean my disease isn’t as real. Like any serious illness, bipolar disorder can be fatal. 20% of people with bipolar disorder commit suicide and 50% attempt it. Those numbers are terrifying to me. I know I feel fine now, but anything can happen in the future.  It’s a coin flip as to whether or not I may try to kill myself. I know it’s not going to happen today or tomorrow, but somewhere down the line it may happen, and  it may be one cycle of depression away. That thought alone has kept me awake nights and it scares the shit out of me.

I know most people are trying to help, but some just don’t grasp the concept that bipolar disorder is an illness, just like the flu or cancer. In a recent survey, of 40% of the respondents said they didn’t believe mental illness is real.  This is why we need more awareness and education on mental illness.  Even though I have no physical symptoms I have a very real disease and I shouldn’t have to keep trying to prove it.