This is me trying to make the best out of a horrible situation. This is me reaching out to others in hope to make contact. This is me using a pseudonym because I’m not yet ready to project my personal mental health to the world. January 2021 I start my journey to get my master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. With that said, it’s been eight years since I was first diagnosed Bipolar 1. Just now turning the corner on thirty years old it is safe to say that my mental illness destroyed my twenties. I am grateful to have come out alive on the other end, however this end I find myself at is nowhere near the top of my aspirations.
With one of the best undergraduate college educations in the country, this life has led me to working in a warehouse. In college I had dreams of Wall Street and making large corporate sales. I have watched my colleagues surpass me at every achievable career marker. I live alone in part of a city I no longer enjoy and survive financially only by the graces of my successful father. Back when I was twenty-two, when my symptoms first peaked, I would have thought by now I would be starting a family. Instead, I’m starting a book?
My life has been devastated by what has been three to four MANIA induced psychotic episodes. Each time ending up in the hospital at the behest of my parents. My last episode, a few months ago in July, was the first time I didn’t fight going to the hospital. It was the first time I was aware enough of my current state that I knew I needed help. I learned much from this last hospitalization. I learned that I wasn’t taking enough Lithium and that my time spent with marijuana had to come to an end. This is something I am going to have to stay on top of for the rest of my life. Hence why I write.
I write because I’m angry. I was born doomed with a genetic flaw. A flaw that would fester to ruin me. I write because I can’t relate to what I read. I have been searching and searching the blogs and message boards for a ray of light that I am yet to find. It would appear that no one takes their meds, everyone has mixed episodes, and most are so depressed that taking a shower is an achievement.
By all notable psychiatric standards, I am currently stable. I’m not depressed, yet I am miserable. Overcome with regret from the mistakes I made while MANIC. Mistakes that felt so right at the time that led me to this life I now despise. I must do something about this. I have to help myself by helping others. I have to get in a community that will help me thrive for the rest of my life. I have to find a way to take care of myself so that I can begin to assemble some sort of life I am proud of living.
I’ve never made contact with a successful bipolar. Closest I ever got was in the hospital, but we didn’t get to spend much time together. Even there the two of us might as well have had on tin foil hats while discussing the true nature of our illness. What is personal gravity? I want to find more people like me. I want to know how they are living with this disease. Do you feel the same way I do? Does it pass? Do I only feel this way because I am still on the flip side of a MANIC episode?
Looking back at the boy I was when I was twenty two years old, that version of me would hate the man I’ve become and ashamed of the life I currently live. My dreams have changed several times during my lifetime and what I look forward to now is sharing my word and finding likeminded individuals. I want to be able to come out of the closet (so to speak) in my everyday life, to no longer be ashamed of my bipolar. To share my story with others as a cautionary tale as something for them to learn from. I want to turn my past shame into a tool that can be wielded for good, and if I can make a living doing so that would be living the dream.
How much suffering could have been averted if I was able to get to this mentally stable point mere months after my initial diagnoses? What would have changed for me if I had met someone who could relate to what I was going through? I want to be this person for others. For I know the hardest part of the diagnosis is accepting it. Second is taking the medicine every day, a daily reminder of our genetic imperfection. There is just one reason to take the pills versus the thousand reasons not to. For me, it took a lot of ups and downs to realize that my way of living was not normal. I never wanted to be normal, but I definitely didn’t want to be crazy.
Normal is just a setting on a washing machine.
Subjective to the individual it is impossible to know the inner workings of another’s mind. My red may be your blue. The cross between phycology and philosophy is what fascinates me, what motivates us and makes us tick. These are the conversations that intrigue me and unfortunately most of them have only happened in rehab. As far as discovering the answers to these questions, I have explored some in therapy. Therapy or casual conversations over the years stoned with friends. An activity I am no longer aloud to partake in.
My passion for Star Trek “The Next Generation” or TNG started post college when I needed a new Netflix show to binge. Such and Such college taught me the value of nerd culture and I’ve always figured that if you wanted to be one of the smart ones, you had to like what they like. In fact, I only got into the show because I wanted to have a reference point for my new Star Trek Bridge Crew video game.
With virtual reality (VR) goggles on, one can step onto the bridge of the Enterprise and simulate with other players the many different scenarios seen on the TV show such as engaging the Borg or negotiating with the Romulans, and of the four positions I always elect for captain. I would like to believe command suits me because I soon learned that a good captain must understand the rolls of helm, operations, and engineering. If I’m not able to learn these things in the military like I planned, then the simulations will have to do.
Having seen the entire series uncountable times by now the science fiction television program has become my go to show for bed time. Unless I’m exhausted, I have trouble falling asleep without some background distraction. I need something to focus on so my mind doesn’t fall into its dark place of regret and despair.
One of my favorite charters on the show is an empath named Deanna Troi, otherwise known as Counselor Troi. Deanna is the ships counselor who has the psionic ability to sense emotions. This ability would make a counselor the best therapist on the planet (or in her case the galaxy) which is pretty much cheating if you ask me. This narrative of hers creates an easy character for the audience to understand as it relates to the function of therapist. Gene Roddenberry was truly ahead of his time as I doubt many Americans were seeking therapy in 1987.
Emotional intelligence has its importance in society. Without empathy we would all be sociopaths and trust would devolve into madness. During our evolution if we hadn’t learned to trust each other there would have never been groups of humans working for shared survival and we would have died out long ago like the weak primates we are. Just as important to our survival was learning who not to trust. Hence our genetic disposition for stereotypes and stigmas towards others outside our tribe.
I’ve learned that compared to most I have a gift for sensing people, for reading them and feeling connection when it’s there. While MANIC this sense is heightened tenfold and likes to jump to conclusions. I can feel whether someone means me ill or is hiding ulterior motives and these snap judgments have kept me alive thus far.
Of course, mania induced psychosis tends to cloud judgment and my reliance on reading minds has got me in trouble more times than it has helped. This perceived empathic capability comes with the added consequence of also being more emotional than most, hence the great sadness I am constantly running from. Once again, I want to take a perceived weakness and turn it into a strength. Leading me to my current path of counseling others. Counselor Troy, the masculine of my TV counterpart.
Being over emotional I try not to take the slights as disrespect. Although they hurt my feelings, like The Four Agreements says I do my best to not take it personal, however what could be more personal than the activity that puts food on the table? My promotion from warehouse to sales at Such and Such company has always been an intimidating proposition that looms over an incandescent future. The pursuit of this career has led me to three different states but has paid for two MANIC induced psychotic hospitalizations.
At my current position in the work force I find it hard to relate to my compatriots and colleagues. My background appears over educated but previously learned knowledge does not seem to translate well to my current job. Memorization, memorization, memorization, is the name of this game. Part numbers, names, and applications. I knew before I got this promotion that it would not be my dream job. I yearn for more in this life than making a living. I feel a calling to shout my vulnerability from the rooftops and see who answers.
This book, which started as a failed blog, I plan to keep up with during my three years of schooling to become a counselor. Sometime after that I plan to become a therapist, maybe even psychologist.
This will be my journey; these will be my thoughts. Not a journaling of the day to day, but topics that come up that affect us special few. I have been looking for you. Let me tell you why you are here. You are here because you know something. Something you cannot explain…like a splinter in your mind. Hello friend. Email me. CounselorTroy3@gmail.com
( Old email crated at the time, chat me on Substack)
I’m glad it could be of some comfort to you. It can be a lonely road that we walk, but I hope you know you are never alone.
Have you heard of W.R.A.P.? It stands for Wellness Recovery Action Plan. It is by far one of the most helpful tools I have found to support my ongoing recovery journey. Google it :). That and I became a Certified Peer Counselor this fall. (It may have a different title depending on where you live)
I now have the opportunity to use my lived experience to walk alongside others in their recovery journeys. Both of these things are largely how I found my “living with”community. Of course nothing is linear and I’ve learned to hold all things loosely, but I live more freely as my true self these days. Something that seemed out of reach for so long.
I’m here too. I am in your corner. You sharing your story matters. I cried when I read “mental illness destroyed my twenties”, I’ve had those same thoughts. Regret is an abuser and I know it well. I lived swallowed up by shame for too many years. Finding peer support in recent years, has been life changing for me. Finally, to sit across the table from some one who actually gets it, lives it. I don’t have to try to explain anything, it is just understood. To be seen as a human being and not just an illness. It is a gift I thought I'd never find.
Cheering for you on your way to getting your Master's in Counseling!