Everything happened so suddenly. The thoughts racing through my head at a hundred miles an hour. Depressing thoughts that would not seem to leave me alone. This was not me. I grew up in a loving family, I’m in a band, I’ve got a great girlfriend. Why am I suddenly sleeping every day and having these suicidal thoughts? I decided to run away from all of it. I packed my backpack with a few things and hit the road. I didn’t have a destination. I didn’t even have a good taste in my mouth about my friends, or family, or what was going to happen to me. Thoughts were foggy and dark. One minute I was thinking about jumping in front of a train, the next minute I would laugh at myself for having such a thought.

After a few days on the road, I woke up one morning completely thrown off by my surroundings. I was cold, hungry, alone by the river. My mind felt like scrambled eggs and I decided it was time to find someone. I showed up at my cousin’s house and explained to him that I had found God. His face told me that he thought I was joking. But the more I spoke with him, the more concerned he got, and the next thing I knew my dad was there to pick me up. After many frantic hugs and shoulder shakes, I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

Manic depression is no joke. I’m on a ton of medicines that make me feel fuzzy and tired even though my thoughts have leveled out for the most part and I sort of feel like me again. I’m still in a band, but my band mates are always concerned about how I’m feeling or whether or not I’m going to take off again. My parents aren’t quite sure how to deal with living bipolar either. The medication is costing them money, and they keep searching for a permanent cure. If I forget to take my medication, I begin to go back to some crazy corners in my mind and people around me get a little scared because I become unpredictable. I’ve begun going to church pretty frequently because I want to ask God for a solution. I wish living bipolar didn’t entail a bunch of pills that take me out of myself. But then again I’m not myself when I don’t take the medicine either. It’s quite ridiculous!

I just have to live one day at a time. My family and I have supper together every evening and talk about normal family things. Like how our day was. How class was. How is the band doing? Do we have a new drummer yet or any shows coming up? But in the back of my mind there is a constant nagging, telling me that everyone is judging me for being a freak. I wonder if they’re scared of me. They think I could crack at any moment. And the sad thing is that I could.

Adjusting to living with bipolar disorder is a hard thing to do after leading a semi-normal life for eighteen years. But like Father Welsh tells me, “Living bipolar is Gods way of teaching me to overcome weakness.” So I try to be understanding and compassionate. I work real hard every day to get over my aweful feelings of not fitting in. My music is getting better and my drive is getting stronger. With the help of my friends and family, I will use my feelings about this bipolar madness to fuel me on the path to greatness.