As I was contemplating what I wanted to write about I came across an old draft from when the mania was cresting and I was moving into the elevated high that is a key marker of Bipolar Disorder. I was unaware of just how "nuts" I was going at that point, although I suspected that something was different. When I began to notice the colors of the leaves and their immense brilliancy that brought me to tears, well, I knew for sure that I was falling off the cliff of sanity. I didn't want to tell anyone, because I realized I sounded just like my mother. I knew what that meant.
As I reread my own words, few that there were, I saw how disastrous my life can be when I don't take the proper medications. And I also saw the anxiety that lives within me, especially when I do have a manic episode, and how it continues to invade my everyday life and thinking even when the medications are on board and working.
The anxiety is a huge part of my daily struggle, it is the heart and soul of my beast, and I battle it with as many tricks as possible, but I don't often succeed at keeping it in check. And sadly, the worst offenses I commit are to my wife and children because I have an inherent sense of security that they will accept my bad behavior even if it is unwarranted. This is an egregious error that I continue to try to prevent and remedy, yet I still fall back into the patterns when I allow the anxiety to take over and run the show. This afternoon was one of those times, and I'll elaborate after the look over the words from the past.
So, here is the scant paragraph I composed before my complete break and subsequent hospitalization:
I had one of those times this morning when the clarity was blinding and I wondered if I could just close my eyes again. The answer was no, but I suppose when we transform ourselves, we must be prepared for some illumination on our souls. We might not like what we see, but you can't clear out the cobwebs in the basement if you never go down there, or you refuse to take the flashlight when you go.
Now, on the surface one could read this as simply a bad motivational speaker at a conference, but when the realities of mental illness are revealed there is an immense sickness that underlies these words. There is grandiosity and a sense that I am on the verge of great personal revelation, and that I am about to enter some fantastical new part of my life.
And in a way this is true. I am about to enter a fantastical new part of my life, but not the one that I thought I was at that time. No, I am about to go sailing off the end of the real world into madness, and fantasy will in fact be the reality. I will be driving myself to the crisis center, dodging telephone poles, screaming, crying, throwing things, and being observed in the local emergency room. I will then be voluntarily committing myself to a mental hospital where the illness will fully bloom. And after a few days in the hospital I will begin the work of resolving the baseline issues of mental illness that I have been avoiding and neglecting for nearly 18 months.
This was not the soul changing experience I had in mind.
There is also truth to the words about transformation, but again, not the ones I had when I was writing. I saw myself as a phoenix about to rise from the ashes of darkness and depression and ignite the world with my intense luminosity. I believed that I was about to begin a fabulous and famous new life as a speaker, healer, miracle worker, whatever. I was flying into the stratosphere.
And I was about to crash land. I was about to come falling down so fast that a good chunk of my sanity burned off on reentry. Welcome to hell. Welcome to reality. Welcome to that moment when you actually hit bottom, know that it is the bottom because its lower than you've ever been, and there is no longer any way for you to climb out of the hole without help.
I remember that it was several days into my hospitalization and I was rapid-cycling moods from elated to suicidal and I couldn't stop. I remember that the soaring heights I had been experiencing were now distant memories and frankly, embarrassments to myself and to my family. I realized that I needed help more than I could express and that I was eternally grateful for the staff that came to my rescue and gave me the help I needed. I am still eternally grateful for the presence of caring and knowledgable individuals and for a core sense of faith in G-d that grounded me enough to be able to begin making the necessary changes to get my life back.
And of course it certainly was a transformative time. It was a time when I knew that I could no longer deny my mental illness, I could no longer refuse the help that I needed, and that I could no longer lie to myself or those around me. I was sick. I was very, very sick. And thankfully there is treatment.
I look back at that time nearly 4 months ago and in some ways it seems like it must have happened years prior, and in some ways it feels like it just happened yesterday or last week. I suppose that this is a good thing, that it does not haunt me daily, but it is still present in my current consciousness and I am able to access the memories for contrast and for change.
And this brings me back to today. To my inappropriate, rude, disrespectful, degrading, and hurtful outburst at my wife when I let the anxiety part of my beast take control of the wheel. There are days when I can remember how terrible I felt, and how terribly I acted toward my loved ones. Then there are moments like today, when I crumble, and the frightened beast within me lashes out and attacks.
And there are never enough words, actions, thoughts, or deeds to undo what harm the beast and I have done. There comes a point when "I'm sorry." has no meaning. There comes a point when the only option left is forgiveness.
I must ask for forgiveness for my actions, and I must be willing to forgive myself and my beast for our misdeeds. I must ask the ones I love to find it within themselves, or through G-d to forgive my hurtful behaviors and try to see the me that doesn't want to act like that or harm them in any way. And I must have faith that this can happen.
This is the true transformation I seek. Not a soul illuminating journey through the basement of my errors, but an ability to change what I do when I am faced with something uncomfortable, or frightening, or difficult. I seek a transformation of self, where I am forgiven and I can forgive, and I can let that old beast keep sleeping. I can let the beast rest and face my challenges myself, with the help of family, friends, community, and G-d.That is my transformation.
Thank you for being on the journey with me.
Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.
-Ari
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