Legally Crazy; Walking the Tightrope of Mental Illness

Hello My Dear One,

It's funny, how we can pretend that enormous things are little, while we simultaneously create catastrophes out of details that will be forgotten by tomorrow. It's easier to focus on something we think we can control, rather than on a problem that is far beyond our reach. Think about when the grocery store is out of your specific brand of milk, versus climate change or gun violence.

That's the tightrope that we all walk, I think. And for me, visualizing it as a real tightrope helps me understand the issue better. When we imagine ourselves on the cord we only see the tiny sliver of path under our feet and ignore the large safety net below us. We can't even see the crowds in the stands, but we are acutely aware of their presence and the shame we will feel if they witness us fall off.

When one suffers from mental illness, like I do, that rope can seem to shrink to the width of a toothpick, and it feels like I'm wearing clown shoes. To extend the imagery, the tightrope also appears to rise higher and higher off the ground with every step. Before long, the height is dizzying and my anxiety has risen commensurately with the rope. I don't know if this is what it's like for others with mental illnesses, but it's been my experience over the years.

But as much as the mental illness, in my case Bipolar 1, sucks, there are ways to manage it. The largest one for me is the support net[work] of family, friends, religious community, and healthcare providers that I am surrounded by. Were it not for other people who are safely grounded on the floor I would be at risk for a ton of injuries, both psychological as well as physical.

There is another way that I deal with these things so that the fears and emotions don't send me flying. And that is being able to freely express the ins and outs of my illness in written form. Somehow, it makes it more manageable and less terrifying when I can get the words out of my head and into a more coherent form. I can read my thoughts out loud and hear if they make sense or not. I can see more of the picture, more of that balance beam I'm on.

But it's always in the back of my mind, that the disease can take over at any time, and the balancing act begins anew. And perhaps it's the balancing itself that is the issue, not the rope, or the net, or the crowds, or even my clown shoes. Maybe it's the ability to know how and when to lean into or out of a bobble or a potential fall. Maybe it's knowing how to steady yourself with something less instinctive, such as your feet, rather than grabbing out with both hands in a wild panic. Maybe, it's just being present to the situation and waiting for the feelings of fear to pass. Probably, it's a balance of all of those things.

Each day I'm confronted with the task of balancing the needs of my family with the needs of keeping my mental illness in check. Each day I hope that I have done a decent job and that both parties are satisfied with the end results. Each day I strive to be more balanced than I was the day before. But I am learning to forgive myself when I'm not.

The tightrope act.

I'm also learning to forgive others when their words or actions are delivered not with kindness but out of fear or a need for control. I'm learning to see others' panicky grabs for balance as a reflection of their fears instead of my own. I'm learning how to reach out to be a steadying force, rather than a reactive shove in the opposite direction where both of us are now flying off of the tightrope. And I'm learning to see the tightrope at the height it really is, usually no more than a few inches off of the ground, not 50 feet up in the air.

I will probably never master a smooth and steady walk across the tightrope of my life with mental illness. But perhaps, with the right supports and a steady group of people surrounding me, I'll make it to the other side in one piece.

Thank you for walking this tightrope of a journey with me.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself. 

Ari

Legally Crazy; Transgender Happiness

Hello My Dear One,

Recently, I gave a presentation about transgender healthcare issues as well as my personal story of transition. Largely, I keep things light with plenty of jokes, some slightly self-deprecating humor, and an upbeat attitude. Of course, I take a more serious tone when I talk about suicide attempts, losses, transphobia, harassment, and abuse. I balance the softness of the good with harsher realities of Gender Dysphoria and the process of becoming oneself.

This particular talk was especially fun and I engaged with the audience through comical descriptions of what my life has been and continues to be like. We all laughed quite a bit, and by the end it felt like we had collectively shared a special time together. It was truly fulfilling for me to be able to bring a group of people together and transform their understanding about transgender people through our conversation.

After I've done my storytelling portion of the presentation I open up the discussion to questions. Now, I've been asked every type of question, from biology, to psychology, to theology, and a host of other things I've never thought of. I find that there are certain constants, usually having to do with my children - what do they know/how do they feel/how has this affected them - or with surgical inquiries, or how do I reconcile my faith life with my gender identity? All of these topics have multiple answers, and I respond based on the composition of the audience, the setting, and my own personal level of vulnerability in the situation. Mostly, I stress the positive aspects of each of these and explain how transition has made me the man I am today, not just in presentation but in totality. 

This past time someone asked a question I'd never been asked before, or even consciously considered in recent memory. The preface to the question was particularly meaningful given the past year that I've lived through and my own doubts about my mental state of being.

"You seem like a really happy person. Do you think you would have been just as happy or happier if you had been born as the gender you identify as now?"

Wow. What an amazing thing to think about. And I know it took a few breaths before I answered. But, like me, it is was and is a dualistic response that I gave. "Yes and no," I replied.

Of course, my life would have been significantly easier if I had been born physically male. My sense of self was always as a male person, so it definitely would've helped to have a mind and a body that matched. I wouldn't have suffered from the deep seated sense of betrayal that I felt toward my body, and I might not have tried so hard to hide from the reality in an extra 100 pounds of fat. Dating would've been easier. Fitting in might also have been simpler, but then again, maybe not. I doubt that having a penis would've really increased my popularity, much. So yes, I suspect being happy would have been an easier emotion to access if I had not needed transition.

For the sake of full disclosure, I do have Bipolar 1 Disorder, and that plays with the neurochemistry that affects my emotional wellbeing. But, medications have controlled this for 15 years and my happiness now is dependent upon my outlook and how I respond to life circumstances.

But back to the no answer. Why would I say that needing to transition from female to male made me the "happy person" that I am? There are so many reasons, but the primary one is that I had to struggle through the truth that I could not live any other way than as myself, as a man, as the person I am in the world everyday, or I would have chosen not to live at all. It was the horror of finding myself with only 2 choices - transition or suicide - that built the foundation for the happiness that I have today. It was the process of finding that who I am is right and good. It was the risk of losing all that I loved, my wife, my children, my family, my faith community, everything and instead finding them all stronger and happier as I transformed into this body and this person.

My life now is based in the knowledge that I am a beloved child of G-d. I believe that my transition is a gift from G-d that helps me to have greater love and empathy for everyone else. I feel in my core that I am called to experience this transition as part of my journey to being more fully human, and to more fully knowing the Divine that guides my life. This is the basis for my deepest happiness and for how I live as myself each moment that I have. And I am thankful for each one.

Thank you for being part of the happiness that infuses this part of my journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

Ari