PROLOGUE

                                                                         (Excerpt)

 

        Throughout this book you will still read about struggle, but there is more to me. Those poems I spoke of earlier were replaced with meaningful scriptures. I began to write more of God’s Grace and Mercy, the beauty of music in my life and a renewed faith in the One who gave me this great gift that brings me closer to Him. He never let me go, even when I couldn’t feel His presence, back when there was only one set of footprints in the sand. He never let me go, reaching into my life and touching me while I was at my lowest.

         Over the years, the only thing I have done consistently is make music, and I did it even when I could do nothing else. It became my therapy. Ironically, the disease brought a deep heart and introspection to the music I sang, and that which I wrote. Odd as it sounds, I am Grateful for my unbearable highs and devastating lows. For years each episode I lived through left scars, but more importantly, a determination to overcome, and a new dedication to my faith.

          I learned to pray all over again and with a new direction. I grew closer to Jesus, inviting him into all aspects of my life. He is my savior, my healer, my teacher, and my provider. I am forever grateful for the joys and sorrows that have called me to seek Him in all that I do. For every tiny step that I took toward Him, He took twenty giant steps toward me. It was He who removed the negative people from my life, people that He knew were no longer good for me, people who could only see my disease and not the person within. He blessed my soul and my craft. This is what I hope you will take away with you as you read this book. For this and so much more, I am truly Grateful.

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                                                                            Chapter 1

                                                      Living with Manic Depressive Illness

                                                                            (Excerpt)

“I have often asked myself whether, given the choice, I would choose to have manic-depressive illness. If lithium were not available to me, or didn’t work for me, the answer would be a simple no - and it would be an answer laced with terror. But lithium does work for me, and therefore I can afford to pose the question. Strangely enough, I think I would choose to have it. It’s complicated…I honestly believe that as a result of it I have felt more things, more deeply; had more experiences, more intensely; loved more, and have been more loved, laughed more often for having cried more often, appreciated more the springs, for all the winters…Depressed, I have crawled on my hands and knees in order to get across a room and have done it for month after month. But normal or manic I have run faster, thought faster, and loved faster than most I know.”(1) 

                                                                                       —— Kay Redfield Jamison

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     Professor of psychiatry and author, Kay Redfield Jamison, beautifully answers a question I have often asked myself. The truth is that I, like Jamison, believe that there have been many blessings which have come to me throughout my lifetime as a result of having Manic-Depressive Illness.

Well after all, isn’t that how God works? He makes beautiful music out of a nasty mess. I went through hell, but He never left me alone, especially at those times when I could not feel His presence.

Eventually, I made it a point to get as educated about my illness as I could. For starters, I asked a lot of questions of my doctors once I could put a lucid sentence together. They were helpful, but I had to do more. I familiarized myself with the bipolar section of the Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders IV and I read two of Jamison’s books: An Unquiet Mind: Memoirs of Moods and Madness, and Touched With Fire, Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament. The former is about her experience living with the disease herself, and the latter explores artists who were afflicted. From composers to poets she takes us on a detailed journey of their struggle with bipolar disorder or depression, and its effect on their creativity.

     I read Call Me Anna, by Patty Duke, which also helped me come to terms, learning of another artist who fought the battle. As an artist myself, I can tell you that these books have aided me in coming to terms with whom I have become following the onset of this aggressive disease. They helped me to gain acceptance and validation.

     I too have loved more, felt more pain and joy and have had a much more heightened awareness of my environment. Sometimes this was detrimental, as my environment was not always the way it appeared. For a long time I was looking at life through a broken filter. My thoughts were broken. Still, much of what I have felt since my first episode has fueled my creativity and forced me to focus on my craft as a singer, songwriter, and author.

     I also have a richer faith today, but when I was depressed, I could not feel the presence of the Lord. Intellectually I knew He was there, that’s how I was raised after all. Though I forced myself to go to church, for years I couldn’t feel the Holy Spirit. Most of the time I was impaired and in tears throughout the Catholic Mass, so I stopped going. The disease told me God was not listening, so for years I did not seek Him.

     My doctors say that my first major depressive episode may have been triggered by a difficult breakup in college. It’s hard to tell initially, but external forces can be a trigger for someone who is chemically predisposed to such an illness as Bipolar Disorder. It is important to note that there are two types of this disease. Bipolar 1 Disorder generally surfaces for the first time in the form of a major depressive episode, followed by an episode of full-blown mania. (2) This was the case for me. It is also usually passed along genetically from the maternal side of the family. (3) Down the family tree a bit, there was a distant cousin on my my mother’s side who was hospitalized for Manic Depressive Illness. This was back when there was no medication. I also swear my maternal grandmother, my Nana, was hypomanic. To my memory, I can remember that she was frequently elevated, just not to the point of full-blown manic episodes. There were many occasions when her moods did swing. She could be up and down like a roller coaster but her spirit was unbreakable, something I like to believe she passed along to me.

     Other criteria help doctors decipher between the two types, as their symptoms overlap. With Bipolar 1 you generally have an autoimmune disorder. (4) I had two, Hashimoto’s Thyroid Disease and Alopecia, which has now resulted in total loss of the hair on my head and body. I meet all three of these criteria, making me bipolar 1 instead of the slightly milder condition, Bipolar 2 Disorder.

     While external sources cannot cause manic depression, they can trigger episodes. Mania, for example, tends to rear its ugly head in the spring when the light changes, just as depression emerges in the winter. Too much stress in one’s life and not being compliant with medication can cause an episode, and so can an intense emotional situation like a bad breakup, which I experienced early in college.

     My condition was not a simple one. I endured more than the mood swings. I also experienced intense fear, paranoia, and reality testing issues. There were times I was so paranoid I could not even leave my room. My disease had me believing I was under surveillance. I was even afraid to change my clothes for fear someone was watching. I used to go into the closet to undress. The disease was Orwellian. I cycled very fast and my thoughts raced so much that I lost about twenty pounds during my first, two-week-long manic period of time.

     This paranoia and thought disorder made it difficult for the doctors to treat initially. I had a bit of a dual diagnosis. Early on, my symptoms led them to believe that I may have also had schizoaffective disorder, causing not only the severe mood swings but also these schizophrenia-like symptoms. This however, was never fully determined.

     Back in 1990 with the onset of these symptoms, I used to drive around in Cleveland at night, believing there were people somewhere waiting for me. I was convinced there was some kind of network following me and communicating through license plates and freeway signs. I thought construction was purposely put there to keep me from wherever it was I wanted to go.

     One night I was driving, and I saw a baseball park somewhere on the East side of Cleveland. It was empty, but the lights on the field were lit up. I believed it was a sign that people were waiting for me, so I pulled into the dark parking lot. There were young people standing around and drinking. I sat alone in my car with the radio on as if I were waiting for instruction. I must have sat there a half hour before realizing I didn’t belong. Everything was surreal. My reality testing was broken. I believed things that were not real, and I disbelieved things that were really happening.

     When a close family member died suddenly, I began to laugh. My family was visibly shaken and upset but I was convinced it was all a joke, literally. I thought they were intentionally playing tricks on me. I can remember sitting and waiting by the phone one afternoon while home alone, certain someone was about to call and tell me, “Just kidding, he’s really alive!” I just didn’t believe any of it. It was not until I saw him lying in his coffin at the wake that I was finally convinced of his death. My, how tremendously disturbing this all was.

     If these experiences remind you at all of the film A Beautiful Mind, just remember, that film came years later in 2001. You’re right though, Ron Howard and Russell Crowe did a brilliant job of depicting the schizophrenic episodes of one John Nash, Mathematician. Before I was properly medicated, I experienced similar thought disorders and reality testing issues, which made it difficult for doctors to initially treat my disease. As I said, I was paranoid and feeling like I was being watched all of the time, whether out in public or alone in my room.  I was living in a complete state of desperation, paranoid and looking at life through a broken filter.

     Following this desperate place, I eventually got on my feet. Though my health was not perfect, I did function for a while. I’d like to say that I never experienced episodes like that ever again, but that would not be true.

                                                                         ***

     Nearly fifteen years following my initial diagnosis, I found myself needing inpatient treatment twice in six months because of extreme mania. I was awake for nearly four days straight, paranoid and filled with fear and suicidal thoughts. At this time, I even called the suicide hotline once or twice. I just didn’t feel I had anyone else to turn to who would really understand. Again, I lost close to twenty pounds in just under two weeks. This was not something I expected to encounter again after years of managing. It happened while I was living in Los Angeles. I created an impossible schedule for myself and life was simply unmanageable.

     I was incredibly stressed, working part-time and going to school full-time. I missed my medication frequently and as I said, I went days with no sleep. I begged my roommate one night to take me to the emergency room. I was terrified, convinced again that I was being followed while driving and that my phone was tapped. I even went so far as to get one of those burner phones believing it was the only way to talk privately.

     In Cleveland my family was supportive and surrounded me when I was at my worst. They refused inpatient treatment for me back then. Instead, they kept a close eye on me at home but that was hard as well. I was essentially on lock-down in my own house. My family watched every move I made, ultimately taking my car keys away after I came home with those wild stories. It was better than being alone on the streets like so many with my condition, but it was by no means easy, not for any of us...