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Bipolar Disorder: A Personal Story of Triumph Over Suicide and Mental Illness
It is my belief that as your Official Guide on Enlightenment, I should share some of my personal background and experiences so that you can earn to recognize me and comprehend where I stand.
I've had a life complete of suffering but if you are to truly perceive blessings, you scarcity to go through suffering and triumph over it.
I personally don't think you can overcome legitimate crises without acquiring spirituality.
If anyone wishes to effect me, please email me at or denominate me at 561-735-7958
Manic Depression or Bipolar Disorder
Like in Alcoholics Anonymous, I sometimes wanted to shriek to the world, “I am a Bipolar.
” Why? Because I was drastic for offices when I peak contracted Bipolar Disease, but support was not forthcoming.
Oh yes, there were the electroshock treatments that in 1991 made me a blithering idiot or in 1995 temporarily lifted my agitated clinical hopelessness for one finished week before submerging me again in drudgery.
During this week of freedom, I was so joyful that my melancholy had lifted that I stupidly gave up my inclination term disability and requited to my professorial duties at Stony Brook University on Long Island, New York.
When the depression returned, all of a sudden I was elapsed from the university for a phrase that lasted five years.
I had to reapply and secure re-approved for my inclination expression disability.
The paperwork should have taken me at most a couple of hours.
Instead like my original application, it took me three weeks.
That’s how fatiguing it was for me to do anything.
It would be three years modern before the ignomity of this sickness allowed me to once fresh face my university colleagues through attending my individual and colleague Bill’s retirement party.
From 1991 through 1995, I was hospitalized four to five times, each case for several weeks in three different hospitals.
I hated it each time.
I couldn’t wear my hairpiece and when that door locked me in the psychiatric ward, I knew I was trapped in a world I detested.
Oftentimes, I would scheme my flee in that I would bar out the door with visitors after visiting hours, but I never found the courage to do so.
Had I tried and failed, I envisioned being placed in a straightjacket like in the movies.
I had sunk pretty low from being an intelligent Professor scientist who now accepted his mound that this is the method his absent life would be from here on in.
In March of 1995, I planned my suicide.
I had uttered to a patient in one of my hospital visits who described her suicide attempt with an overdose of pills.
She sighed when she told me that her experience was not a interest one but I wasn’t listening.
I had been a capsule taker all my life, so I believed I finally had found a routine out of a cosmos that was telling me that there was no manner out.
Only through Divine Providence of God coming to my wife Marcia am I alive today.
And I’m so sorrowful now that Marcia passed on March 18, 2011.
She saved my life but I wasn’t able to reprocess hers.
I took drugs for the voices I heard in my probe and for the psychosis that accompanied my mania.
The gang effects of the drugs were involuntary twitching of the lips, brain fog, and tremors to the atom that I could not badge my name.
The antidepressant drugs that I tried never worked and only months of the alley of case brought me out of my episodes of harsh clinical depression.
My only respite was the two hours of dock that I got from sheer prostration each night.
I’ve never figured out why moor was able to provide that relief but in retrospect, the doctors should retain heavily sedated me with the most awful sleeping pills.
After all, isn’t that what they do, manage drugs? The three different psychiatrists that I had during this point interval never really talked to me, never got at what I was feeling.
Their role was to provide their patients with pharmaceuticals regardless of drug party effects.
When all else failed, I resorted to suicide by swallowing 200 aspirin and codeine pills that my mother had brought me from Toronto.
At the time, my wife Marcia and my youngest daughter Erin were shopping forty-five minutes away from our home.
They had no opinion about what I had planned.
I opened the two bottles of pills and took one or two pills at first, followed by four then six then eight.
I was a pro at receipt pills and the two hundred pills disappeared into my stomach in reasonable fifteen or twenty minutes.
I went to lie down and finally after months of finding it impossible to find a alcove for myself, I felt at peace.
It was too overdue to reverse the process and I was waiting to see that adorn that folks who have survived approaching death experiences gibber about.
Oops, I realized that I hadn’t written a suicide communication to Marcia and the family.
Nor had I recorded the date for posterity.
I was certain, however, that I was going to die.
Meanwhile a miraculous intervention was occurring at the diner 45 minutes away by car.
Erin and Marcia had moderate ordered lunch when Marcia verbal to Erin, “We obtain to go.
Something’s wrong with dad.
” When they showed up back at the abode and woke me up, I blurted out what I had done.
Marcia immediately called 911 and the Nesconset, Long Island Fire Department responded within minutes.
I initially refused to be taken to the emergency room, but Marcia pleaded with them and me.
The sadness and desperation on her frontage changed my temperament and all of a sudden I was being lifted off our king-size bed onto a stretcher.
With sirens blasting, I found myself in a surreal state.
There were no beds at the emergency room, only an uncomfortable elliptical stretcher in an rhythm conditioned room with clear overhead fluorescent lights.
I was polar and had to pee.
An unkind promote provided a metal urinal and I missed and urine was all over the sheet canopy the stretcher.
The treat was less than compassionate.
I felt humiliated and embarrassed, and within minutes someone placed a catheter into my penis.
The catheter was painful and never should have been inserted.
The worse was yet to come as doctors and nurses stood over me while they pumped my stomach.
They kept inserting this stinking conduit through my nose.
I was wishing it was over and finally for what seemed like forever, it was over, as everyone left.
After additional situation had elapsed, of which I hold no account, I remember finally being transferred to a bed that actually accommodated my 6 foot 2 inch height.
That was the last phenomenon I remembered as I was in and out and mainly out sleeping for the following 48 to 72 hours.
The caring boost on dutifulness had told Marcia that they didn’t recognize whether I was going to make it.
I had fallen down a bottomless cavity and finally hit bottom.
I was embarrassed and ashamed but didn’t notice how I would preserve to outside this nervy clinical depression.
Days later, I made a end feeble try at suicide with sixteen pills, inert considered an overdose, and had my intestines pumped again.
Marcia was fed up and dumped me without a snog goodbye on the steps of the admissions office of the South Oaks Psychiatric Hospital.
I dreaded returning and felt that this was the latter of the sequence and the hindmost of my freedom.
This is where I would remain for the modern of my days.
I had hallucinated and heuristic my hairdressers with orange and purple hair and experimental impurity in paintings and people.
I had delusions of grandeur thinking I was the Messiah.
In my 1991 episode, I played chess with Saddam Hussein as we strategized during the prime Gulf War.
Ironically, I didn’t move chess.
I even called the White House to chatter to Barbara Bush to grant her my advice for ending the war.
I had experienced psychosis at the pile of my mania and I had crashed to harsh misery to the ultimate bottom, suicide.
Several months modern when I had miraculously recovered without the help of drugs from my suicide attempt and agitated depression, I found myself at a logical ailment assistance group.
The meeting was attended by parents of heirs who had the ailment and I qualified because in August of 1994 and June of 1995, my banal sons, Sean and Seth had their prime bouts respectively of Bipolar Disorder.
I always felt that I was destined to have the indisposition at age 50 so I could accept what they were and are passive going through.
I was the boon to keep Bipolar Disorder in the family.
My father suffered from misery but never experienced mania.
My psychiatrist felt that the mania probably came from my mother who he suggested was hypo-manic.
Identical paired studies keep shown that Bipolar Disorder, or Manic Depression as the sickness used to be called, is genetic in about half the cases.
That routine that half the point only one corresponding double has the illness.
Where both twins are sick, you sometimes see one with Bipolar Disorder and the second with Schizoaffective Disorder or Schizophrenia.
The “schizo” attachment signifies an additional thought illness that can accompany the identical mania and psychosis as seen in Bipolar Disorder.
Bipolar as its title implies is different than the “schizo” disorders in that it is a mind ailment with swings from the tall of mania to the low of depression.
All types of cognitive disease are chemical imbalances in the brain and are not the oversight of the unfortunate and often surprised recipient who is diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.
No one knows the escort of Bipolar Disorder and after doing regressive therapy back to my mothers womb, I am not at all convinced that a genetic interpretation in families such as mine is the bob for transmission to spawn like my sons.
There is so much bio-electric job occurring in the womb, especially in the birth canal abbot to birth, that may reform the neurotransmitters’ and hormones’ amounts and actions to thicken the stage latter for the onslaught of the disease.
Often the disorder is not diagnosed for years because it seems that inability to do homework or focus in school can be explained by other problems such as accent deficit disorder or attention deficit hyperactive disorder.
The textbooks gibber about Bipolar Disorder being diagnosed in offspring as early as age 8 but my wife Marcia was a special knowledge teacher and she marked the nature swings of the mania and misery of Bipolar Disorder or Manic Depression in some of her 4 year olds.
Most humans are diagnosed in their teens or twenties like my sons.
There is a smaller troupe who come down with the disorder at about age 40.
Rarely does one see anyone like myself at age 50.
A progeny doctor, a pediatrician, in his behind forties once stopped by my office at the university logical to meet me and recognize that there was someone else like him who had the disease at such an older age in life.
He too was the top in his family and had to donate up his medical practice.
I hope that I gave him hope.
I was out of the university for five years on a desire expression disability and had impartial mutual to Stony Brook to once again bring up my professorial duties when this fine descendants man stopped by.
It’s a humiliation that cerebral ailment quiescent has the stigma attached to it although with more celebrities talking about the diseases, we are seeing additional awareness and empathy from the public.
I often suppose that the mentally ill are allowance of a squad forgotten by society.
Young relatives in particular suppose that you can just will yourself back to health.
You won’t go into remission from a particular afair of Bipolar Disorder until the chemical imbalance is restored in your brain to some procedure we might entitle normalcy.
After years of receiving drugs, that department of normalcy may not be the same as your brain was before you ever acquired the disease.
Bipolar Disorder is like a tree stump.
It stumps your life.
Some kinsfolk never work again and those that do are hampered.
Rare ones like myself are consecrated to return to a higher quality of occupation.
The disease is often the govern of undertaking loss, nuptial tension and divorce, and addiction to character adjustment drugs and alcohol.
All the Bipolars I met in the hospital for some motive that I cannot comprehend smoked.
Traditional Bipolar is diagnosed by mania followed by depression, but the malady takes on different forms with specific medical terminology.
The end is revered but what’s fresh esteemed is to recall that Bipolar Disorder is different for everyone and each fellow event can be different with ordinary patterns.
My disorder is different from my banal sons, Seth and Sean, and theirs is different from each other.
How would genetics explain their differences unless influenced besides by environment?
There are a collection of misconceptions out there, but when people achieve preceding their fears and ignorance, they will sometimes ask me what is the difference between hypo-mania and mania.
From my perspective, mania is a additional forceful hole of brain activity.
In hypo-mania, you may torpid be able to compass the comrade and gain him support before he has a complete blown episode.
In mania, the man hears your voice but he or she is really not listening to you.
You can’t radius a person in their manic province unless they finally still down with the assistance of drugs or they somehow recognize themselves, like I did, that it’s situation to seek assistance or you leave evade your mind.
People furthermore sheepishly ask me what my suicide attempt was like.
Bloody terrible and demeaning I answer.
I remember at that offices side the social workman asking for someone to begin.
Immediately, a female sitting beside me jumped at the materialize and oral article I had never heard before.
“Bipolar Disorder is a terminal illness.
” No psychiatrist had ever expressed these speech and they seemed to be floating in the melody as I tried to take onto them and internalize them in my brain.
The woman, whose husband was sitting solemnly beside her, was somber as she spoke lovingly about her son who blew his brains out with a gun.
Thank God I took pills or that could hold been me.
The female told of her son’s countless cries for aid that went unanswered.
When the coordinator of the gang asked me to gibber next, I wanted this female to assume that I understood, so I described my suicide attempt.
This story has always struck a sorrowful chord in me and makes me thankful that I am idle here.
It brings up such varied feelings in me.
There is inert much to accept about Bipolar Disorder and lest kinsfolk reckon I am anti-drug, I am not.
In the lapsed days without humour stabilizers such as lithium and the neuroleptics (anti-psychotics), they threw you into the loony bin and you never came out.
It’s quiescent a crap germinate in the instance of the antidepressants.
However, if you find the repair one you consign smooch the form and thank God every day.
You can hold clinical despair without Bipolar Disorder and it is similar.
In my case, the misery was diverse with an unyielding agitation of the mania part of my illness.
I was given nothingness for the Akithisia as the doctors direct to it and I could sit torpid for reasonable a few seconds.
It was horrific and that’s when I pronounced to finally latter it all.
Thank God for God coming to Marcia.
I would never own avowed that I would obtain ever come up had I not survived.
I hope that my message gives hope to kin who are struggling today that every genealogy is share of an ascent to befall as crave as you stay the course.
Today I spindle on God and build my spiritual strength.
With God's help, I posses kicked Bipolar Disorder out of my something and keep not had an afair since the suicide attempts in 1995.
My twins are on the path to their own spirituality and they are receiving change with their reasoning illnesses.