REALIZATIONS

We all have times in our lives when something or maybe several things suddenly become clear to us. Some call them epiphanies. Others may refer to them as awakenings. I prefer the term realizations. Not as dramatic, I'll admit. More utilitarian, less flowery.

I made a deal with myself when I started this blog, the bastard child of The Prodigal Glenn, that I hope to abide by. I passed two resolutions in the Congress of my brain: first, that I would never blog just for the sake of blogging, but only when I had something humorous or meaningful (or maybe both) to say; and second, I vowed never to blog while hyper-emotional, whether on a manic high or a depressive low. It was a close vote, mind you. Four of the voices in my head voted yes, two voted no, and two didn't bother to show up.

My realization occurred last night, here in the solitude of my room. Sitting here in my own little world, my back to the television, playing computer solitaire. Listening to repeats of Law & Order. I can't tolerate silence these days. I must have noise. Being stuck alone with my thoughts and no distractions is terrifying. Long story short, the TV is on 24/7.

Miracle of miracles, up popped an episode of Law & Order that I had never seen (or heard) before. I didn't think that such a thing existed. But it was the subject matter of the episode that drew me in. The plot concerned a young journalist/writer afflicted with dysphoric mania, which is a close cousin of my own illness, bipolar disorder, type II.

When you actually look at the symptomology of the two mental deficits, there is not a great deal of difference, especially for someone like me who has a lot of mixed episodes. This poor gent was a very gifted and engaging writer, full of personality and life at times. And also a horribly depressed problem drinker/crystal meth addict who had brought a great deal of unhappiness to his family and friends with his escapades. Either a ray of sunshine or a dark thunderstorm. Sometimes both at various times during the same day. Hmmmm....did this remind me of anyone (minus the crystal meth, of course)?

Anyhow, long story short, this lad wanted to kill himself and enlisted the help of his girlfriend and his brother to assist him. A bunch of Xanax, a bathtub, then a legal controversy. Now don't panic, I'm not there right now. My realization, my moment of truth, came while listening to other characters on the show discuss his illness, his state of mind, and how he came to be this way. Namely, that it was an organic brain condition. That he did not wish to be this way. And that sometimes the pain of living with the illness was just too much to bear. Tears flooded my eyes several times during the show.

And a light bulb slowly sparked and began to glow in the awful darkness of my mind.

Through all these years, I have been fighting two battles. One against the ravages of bipolar disorder. And the other against myself. For although I have intellectually known that bipolar disorder is an illness, no different than my thyroid cancer, I have treated myself as being at fault for having it. I have tortured myself endlessly. Loathed my existence. Cursed God for creating me. Imprisoned myself in this room in the belief that no one out there really wants to see me anyway. Isolated myself from those who want to unconditionally love and help me without judgment. Despaired of living to the point where I have sought to escape this mortal coil. Ended up in psychiatric wards where I have seen the most god-awful sights.

In short, I have been fighting a two-front battle. And I was always defeated before the first shot was fired.

Fighting something like bipolar disorder is a daunting task in and of itself. I have said it before, and I'll say it again, I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. Not for a single moment.

What was my realization? That I'm not a bad person. I can be funny, charming, and a real hoot to be around sometimes. At other times I can be very quiet and somber. And at other times I can be a holy terror, a dark tempest throwing lightning bolts of unhappiness and hurt in all directions. But in all of these states, I'm still a good person. A good person with a bad disease. A good person who sometimes does stupid things and says hurtful things.

Am I saying "Well, nothing is ever my fault, you just need to deal with me"? Heck no. I think of the apostle Paul, who said in the book of Romans, "Shall we continue to sin that grace may abound?...God forbid!". I don't want to use my mental deficit as an excuse or a crutch. I want to endeavor to deal with it more effectively. My realization is simply this...I will no longer condemn myself, or view myself as a lesser human being, because I have a mental illness. I'm going to accept myself as God made me.

Might not seem like much to you. But is sure is to me. And it's having that simple knowledge make the journey from my head to my heart that makes a world of difference. Maybe you're struggling with something today. Maybe depression, maybe something totally different. Something not at all your fault, but yet you beat yourself up mercilessly about it day in and day out. Pause for a moment and accept yourself. Work on loving yourself and forgiving yourself. That's what I'm going to be doing from here on in. If I can at least face life's battles and be on my own side for a change, maybe I'll do better.

Okay, so this wasn't as dramatic as "Holy crap! Here comes Moses down off of Mount Sinai! His hair's on fire and he has a smoking iPad in each hand!" (containing the Ten Tweetmandments, of course). I'm not surrounded by the the Shekinah Glory or anything. I haven't parted any bodies of water nor have I walked on any.

It was just a very comforting, soothing moment for me. As if someone wrapped a soft, warm blanket around my shoulders and whispered in my ear, "Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done". Maybe God still loves me after all.