02/12/2013: My Bipolar Day

I do not say that my day is bipolar to to downplay the dangers or significance of bipolarism. In fact, probably quite the opposite. I actually know a lot about bipolar disorder. My grandmother, an immigrant from Germany, was diagnosed with manic depression psychosis. My father was diagnosed with manic depression and I was diagnosed with bipolarism. They are all names for the same thing. You could say it is a family tradition.

I also have a Bachelors degree in Psychology and a Master's degree in Social Work that was followed up by becoming a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. Part of my job is diagnosing mental health disorders, including bipolarism. Not only have I have lived bipolarism, I have studied it.

That said, life can be bipolar. It can go from extreme happiness to extreme depression with the blink of an eye. For me, today is one of those days. I have much happiness as an anniversary and much pain as an anniversary today. It is my choice how I look at the pain and happiness as well as what I focus on. Life happens, and it either makes us better or bitter. Which is a choice you have to make.

I will start with the positive. 6 months ago today, Addison Grace was born. She is one of the happiest babies I have ever been around. Her smile melts my heart. She is a huge blessing, and completed my family. I have an amazing wife, a wonderful son who is a proud big brother, and my angel Addison. She also scares me. People tell me she will have me more wrapped than my son does. If that is possible that is not going to be a good thing.

5 years ago today, my dad lost his struggle with bipolarism. My father committed suicide. I will not get into how  he did it here, but he used 3 different methods that each by itself would have killed him. He wanted to die. I had talked to him the night before and he was as depressed and down as I had ever heard him. The video tape showing him the next morning, shopping for the things he would use to kill him, showed him with a big smile on his face. That is where I find my solace.

My father had yo-yoed for his entire life, struggling with his disorder. He knew as he shopped that his struggle was over. He would finally be released from the roller coaster, and that made him happy. At the time, watching the video at the police station did very little to cheer me up. It helped me later.

At first I was shattered and I struggled. My drinking was already nightly and to the point of shakes if I went too long without drinking. It got worse. I took his suicide personally at first, and made it about me. How could he do this to me. I finally realized that he was miserable and did not see a way out. He was in pain, the kind of pain I can only imagine. He did not want to hurt anymore, yet I made it about me.

When I attempted suicide years ago, it was not about anyone but me. I was miserable and saw no way out of my addiction, so I just gave up. At least dead I could relax, I could be free. It took me a while to remember that and see that it was the same for my dad. He was wrong just like I was, but he felt that was the only way to overcome his struggles. He forgot about the casualties he left behind.

Suicide is not a victimless crime. It leaves people behind that blame themselves, wondering why they were not enough or if they could have said something different that might have changed the outcome. The truth is, the dead are dead. They have moved on. We are the survivors, the ones who are still alive. We need to find a way to move on ourselves.

I eventually gained the realization that his suicide was what he felt was best, and that if he was struggling that much I was glad he wasn't struggling anymore. I realized that my father had given me another tool in my counseling tool belt. I gained empathy for those left behind when a loved one committed suicide I did not have before his death. It also was a major portion of my upcoming rock bottom that saw me step away from alcohol/drugs/cigarettes/pre-marital sex and never look back.

In the end, my father's death helped me get sober. I am sure my wife is grateful, as are my son and daughter. I would not have them if I was still in my addiction. I still miss my dad, but I remember that he did the best he could and I loved him very much for it. I still do. Without him, I am  not the husband and father I am today. It is amazing how sometimes the worst experiences give us the wisdom and strength we need to grow into who we were born to be.

Today I celebrate all that my father did for me, and I focus forward on my amazing daughter. Two of the most important people in my life. I guess today is not that bad after all!