It was my second appointment with the Doctor. By now I had been to several group meetings. After hearing some of the crazy things that others had done who were bipolar I began to start wondering if I was possibly bipolar. So, I asked her, “Do you think I’m maybe bipolar?”
And she responded with firm, “Yes, of course you are.” And then she smiled.
And I responded by asking, “Why didn’t you tell me that the last time I was here?”
And she said, “Because you never shut-up long enough for me to talk!”
And I thought to myself, “I did NOT talk that much lady!”
See, after a very public and extremely painful manic episode that landed me a lot of trouble and the deepest depression, a doctor friend, believing she was helping me, had put me on an anti-depressant for the several months prior to my arriving at the hospital for out-patient treatment. By the time I got to the hospital in Michigan I was ready to run the place! I figured that I could do it better than they were doing it!
I was in rare form. I was in the crisis of my life and yet I was ready to take on the world! Welcome to the world of bipolar disorder. A world of roller coaster rides of ups and downs and sometimes ups and downs at the same time. It had been world of non-stop thoughts, exaggerated sense of superman-self and a dark world of bizarre behaviors.
I was so relieved. It explained so much. For, some had suggested that maybe it was nothing more than sin. Others wondered if it might be a personality disorder. But for me there was relief. There was a reason for this chaotic dark world of behavior that I had no explanation for that had left me feeling hopeless many nights. It meant that the “monster” that felt like lived inside of me was no longer going to get to control me. There now were reasons, not excuses, but reasons for the bizarre behaviors that had caused not only me, but the ones I love the so MUCH pain.
So, I simply couldn’t understand my wife’s tears when I told her. Why wasn’t she happy? She knew all too well what it meant. She knew the struggle all too well. She knew there were some very long and dark days ahead. And she was right.
As the next few weeks unfolded and the medicine began to stabilize my mood, reality began to be real again. The more reality got real; the more pain I began to feel. And I began to grieve. I grieved about what I had done and the people I had hurt. I grieved about having to live as someone with a mental illness. I grieved about what it meant for the future. Grief gave way to regret and the regret gave way to hopelessness. How could anything good come from what had happened? How could I move forward? How could I have hope? After all, the medicine made me feel bland and lifeless. So, why even bother to have hope?
Life as it was- was over. Back at home were two children and a wife that been hurt deeply. Back at home was a church that had been hurt along with leaders who had already asked me to resign before me even knowing what was really wrong. And there I was some 600 miles away in a motel room weeping. I was lonely, afraid and hopeless with no clue of how to move forward. I didn’t want to die but I wanted the peace of being dead.
Well, that was some thirteen years ago. That was then, this is now. And I have more hope than I’ve ever had before. It’s been a long journey to this point of fresh hope, but it has been worth it. And that’s the reason for this blog. To give you hope if you too are one who is possibly on the same journey. I’m hoping to offer up fresh hope to those of you who are bipolar. I’ll share my journey in this blog and together we can begin a dialog about getting up and choosing to live each day with hope.
Maybe today you are at a point of hopelessness or at best a point of lifeless indifference because of your medicine. Have hope my friend. The best is yet to come. Yes, THE BEST is yet to come!
Pastor Brad Hoefs
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