Six months ago things were fine, the next day I was out of my mind. 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 loving family, I’m in a band, I’ve got a wonderful girlfriend. Why am I suddenly depressed all day and having these suicidal thoughts? I decided to run away from all of it. I packed my bag with my last meaningful belongings 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 extremely confused and scared by my surroundings. I was cold, hungry, alone by the river. My mind felt like toast 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 tried to convince 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.
Manic depression is no joke. I’m on a ton of medications that make me feel fuzzy and tired even though my thoughts have leveled out for the most part and I sort of feel like me again. I’m still in a band, but my friends are always concerned about how I’m feeling or whether or not I’m going to disappear again. My grandparents aren’t quite sure how to deal with bipolar living either. The medication is costing them money, and they keep searching for a permanent cure. If I forget to take my medication, I start to say things about the world in my mind and people around me get a little scared because I become unpredictable. I’ve started going to church twice a week because I want to ask God for a solution. 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 medicine either. It’s tough!
I just have to take it one day at a time. My family and I have dinner 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 shows coming up? But in the back of my mind there is a constant voice telling me that everyone is judging me for being bipolar. I think they’re scared of me. They think I could break 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, “Life is a struggle only to teach.” 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, this manic depression will ultimately fuel me on the path to greatness.
