Living with Bipolar Disorder

I spent all last year suffering from bipolar disorder.

Not to worry, I found the cure: Divorce.

I don’t in anyway mean to make light of this disorder or this subject. I lived with and loved deeply a man who was diagnosed in middle age with bipolar disorder and managed it well through medication, humor and great adventures.

The man I knew had (has) the biggest heart in the world. He is accomplished and brilliant --- internationally recognized in his profession. He is talented, committed, adventurous and genuinely one of the good people on this earth. His life’s commitment had been to care for others and protect Mother Earth.

Then last year, he decided that pot was more important than family and friends. And, if he hadn’t quit taking his medications (suspected) then the pot was interfering with their effectiveness. From good guy to mean, angry, selfish and hurtful. I came to call him “180” because the change was so drastic and apparent to everyone around him.

The National Institutes of Health estimate that 5.7 million American’s over the age of 18 will develop this disorder every year, about 2.6% of the population. 180 often commented on how his medications dulled his senses. He said he couldn’t feel great happiness, excitement, or sadness.

He is now, he says, living his authentic bipolar life, which on some level, seems like he has the right to do. Of course, not everyone has the right to do everything and anything they want to do at the expense and harm to others. So now I wonder if the cost of his choice is too great when it victimizes those around him, those who care?

Life changes course at times in ways we never expect. I thought (for the second time) that I was going to be married for life…that I’d found someone who “got me” and vice versa.

I did, but just for a fixed period of time.

It was good and adventurous while it lasted. Our travels took us to South Africa, Bali, Malaysia, Tioman Island, Swaziland, England, the Yucatan Peninsula, with lots of U.S explorations in between. We cooked up our own close to home adventures as well and dragged our family in…like building an igloo. I can’t complain and I don’t regret.

This is an illness that requires understanding and support. It can be controlled and suffers can have whole and productive lives by their own and others’ standards. However, that control and maintenance has to be driven by the individual with the disorder. Those around him are at times helpless to protect him --- and others --- from his actions.

So this chapter ended for me because we others around 180 couldn’t and shouldn’t sacrifice our own health and needs to the demands of his disorder.

I’m thankful for having known the good guy. I’m fine in my own place in the world.