Filed under: Christianity, Mental Health | Tags: bipolar disorder, charismatic, Christianity, demons, devils, religion
I volunteer at a juvenile detention home in Dayton. The home recently changed facilities, so this morning our ministry team was given an orientation. This was basically Sharing Our Feelings with the Chaplain. The chaplain is an old, small and charismatic little African-American lady. She’s a spitfire, and she likes to do some Bible-thumping (praise the lawd!). Anyway, she asked me why I wanted to do this kind of ministry. I told her it was because my own experience with bipolar disorder made me want to help other emotionally troubled teen girls. She took this pretty well and I figured that it was the end of the discussion.
Needless to say, it wasn’t. This lady loves to pray, and she loves to pray out loud with everyone standing in a circle holding hands (terrific for a person with OCD). At the end of her prayer she puts a hand on my head (major WTF moment) and prays that the Lawd will deliver me from the ’spirit of bipolarism,’ that I would no longer be troubled by evil spirits, that the Lawd will heal me from the influence of my devil.
I thought about twitching, then telling her the devil was leaving me so she’d feel victorious. I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut until I was out of her sight, then turned to my team members in time to see that every one of us had the same bewildered and bemused expression. The spirit of bipolarism? I’ve got to tell you, that’s a new one. I should run that by my psychiatrist…maybe not. Anyway, this lady wants me to be partnered with her when we go minister to the girls. No. Just no. It’s not happening, no way no how. I’ll jump on a chair and shriek like a monkey until she decides I’m past help and leaves me alone.
It was embarassing. I wanted to cry or curse or at least beat a hasty retreat. I must be getting control of my temper because I did none of these things. But I’m still bewildered and a little hurt. I should be able to mention my disorder without worrying that someone will perform an exorcism on me. It’s not right and it’s not fair and I won’t take that. I read a news story about the NIU shooter. Apparently he was mentally ill and took medication, but one of his former professors said that he ‘never wanted to be identified with the mentally ill.’ So he stopped taking his meds, and now people are dead. I’m not exonerating him; he committed a terrible crime. But there is no doubt in my mind that if there was no stigma surrounding mental illness he would have been a much happier (and safer) person. Maybe someone tried to exorcise him, too.
Filed under: Mental Health, Real Life | Tags: bipolar disorder, depression, manic depression, Mental Health, mental illness, seasonal affective disorder, winter
Of all my family members, I am the only one to be born in winter. Winter suits my personality, which is exactly the problem. It was so cold this morning that I swear I could taste snow in my mouth. It was the type of cold that freezes your ears and waters your eyes; the type of chill that numbs your face and rips your lips. I don’t blame the sun for hiding. I would too. I am, actually. This is not a day for sunshine.
Winter is wild and unpredictable in Ohio. It spits sleet and howls at the windows. I can understand why the ancients thought a howling wind is an omen of death. It sounds like the sky itself is screaming. I can picture an angry Norse giantess or a mourning Demeter tearing the sky like a mourner ripping her clothes. But this is Ohio, and Winter is as bipolar as I am. I am as likely to see the sun as I am a snowstorm. I’ve said before that Ohio’s weather needs lithium and I stand by that statement. However, no amount of psychotherapy will change the soul of Winter. She is what she is.
But a windy bitter day does not completely capture the darkness of depression. Depression is not necessarily cold. Sometimes it’s like a warm dark sludge, like quicksand. You feel it grab your feet and before you realize what is happening you are up to your neck in choking mud. Sometimes, though, it’s like a black wave that sweeps you off your feet. A rip tide carries you out to sea and there is no Coast Guard for the depressed. And sometimes, it’s like a wet gray blanket that covers everything around you. It’s so heavy that you can’t push it off yourself and eventually you stop trying, and let it smother you.
So I’ll say this much for Winter: she is not passive or still. A storm is sometimes better than the calm. At least there’s activity; at least you can feel the cold. If you’re becalmed long enough the entire world becomes a silhouette. Every year, this is what my world becomes. Medication delays it, keeps things clearer longer. But it still happens. It will always happen. Winter and I are Siamese twins. We entered the world together and I strongly suspect that we will leave it the same way, no matter what shape that ending takes.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: bipolar disorder, Mental Health, mental illness, obsessive-compulsive disorder, tourette's, trichotillomania
First, the good news: I’m done with the semester. Second piece of good news: My eyes aren’t as dry anymore.
Now the bad news: I have a 2.8 GPA. Second piece of bad news: My psychiatrist thinks I have Tourette’s Syndrome.
Yes, that’s right. According to my psychiatrist, my facial and vocal tics aren’t due to my medication. I have a mild form of Tourette’s that only rears its ugly head when I am stressed. Since entering college, I’m stressed most of the time. Hence the sudden appearance of twitchy symptoms. Now, before you get excited let me clarify: I am not like Tourette’s Guy. When I say vocal tics, I mean change in tone or pitch. Every now and then I’ll make a sound, kind of like a hiccup, only I don’t have hiccups. I don’t scream obscenities. Thanks to my OCD, I do get the urge to do this. Thanks to my medication and some old-fashioned willpower, I don’t act on the urge. Anyway, I now have to go see a neurologist. I don’t want to see a neurologist and I will flip a shit if they put me in MRI tube thingy. However, a neurologist might be able to give me suggestions for dealing with this. It takes months to get an appointment with one, so even with my psychiatrist pulling strings for me I probably won’t get to see one until May.
So. Let’s take stock. I have Bipolar Disorder II, rapid cycling; Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder with Trichotillomania, and mild Tourette’s Syndrome. I take Trileptal, Wellbutrin and Luvox. Ladies and gentlemen, I am beginning to understand why I am still single.
Filed under: Mental Health, Real Life | Tags: bipolar disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder
October’s a wierd month, or at least it is for me. This is the month when my seasonal depression usually begins. Mental Health Awareness Week is the first week in October, and four years ago this month I was diagnosed with mental illness. How’s that for irony?
I was just a kid when someone first told me that I might be mentally ill. I was fifteen years old, and I was sad. So sad, in fact, that the idea of dying seemed better than the reality of living. My ‘personality quirks’ had started to overwhelm me; I was making dozens of lists, pulling my hair, and writing and re-writing notes until my handwriting looked perfect. The world around me seemed as distant and unreal as a child’s fairy tale. I wasn’t sure if I was out of my mind, but I knew that I was at least out of my life.
My parents took me to our pastor, and fortunately he does not hold the same view of mental illness as his alma mater (Bob Jones) does. He immediately recognized the presence of a psychological disorder and sent me to a general practitioner for mediction. The doctor gave me Zoloft, which sent me straight into a manic episode. Now I had two diagnoses, and the medication just kept piling up. I have been on Zoloft, Depakote, Depakote ER, Luvox, Wellbutrin, Wellbutrin XL, and Trileptal at one time or another in my life. I currently take Trileptal, Luvox and Wellbutrin XL to manage the symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder and bipolar disorder.
It’s hard to believe that I was diagnosed four years ago. I’m still not used to the idea of being mentally ill. Some days I’m fine with it. On other days, the reality of my new life hits me like a brick in the face. What I am now is not what I wanted to be. Four years ago, I wanted to major in English or Psychology. Instead, I’m majoring in International Studies. I wanted nothing to do with Christianity, and I now attend a Christian university. I wasn’t sure if I could hang on until my 16th birthday, and now I’m almost 20. I thought I’d graduate from my Christian high school, but I graduated from a public high school instead.
Things change. October never really has.
