I can trace my undiagnosed bipolar condition as far back as nine years old. In my youth, the symptoms were almost entirely hypomanic (lots of energy, very little sleep, etc.) with minor periods of depression, consisting of mostly just low energy. By the time I was thirty years old, my bipolar condition had settled into a predictable pattern. I would work with practically no sleep for nine months, then quit my job and hang out at the beach or in bed for three months. It was easy for me to confuse that pattern with the school system’s summer break schedule, so I thought it was normal.
Twenty years ago, I moved to a monastery because my spiritual interest had become the most important thing in my life. I can trace my strong interest in a meditative life to the age of two, when I became fascinated with watching my breath go in and out. I read about, contemplated, and meditated about spiritual matters my whole life; it was the only thing that mattered to me.
Sure, I did all of the terrible things I mentioned in The Bipolar Advantage, and followed every distraction I could find, but behind it all there was this deep desire to someday become the saint that I believed I should be. I always thought that I was just burning off desires and would sooner or later stop doing the things that didn’t matter. Without those distractions, I would become the person that I really am. Looking back, I can see the foolishness in such a concept, but such is the power of delusion.
When I first went to the monastery, it felt like I had finally come home. For the first time in my life, it seemed that I was doing the right thing; I completely loved it. For the first year or so, it was the best time of my life; I was making so much spiritual progress that everyone looked to me as the example to aspire to - or so they thought. At that point in my life, I had the delusion to think that chasing after the highs associated with meditation was the essence of spiritual life. I had not yet discovered that true spiritual growth is to know who you really are and to change yourself into a better person.
It was during my life at the monastery that I had my first real depression. I was so exhausted that I could not work, show up for meditations, study, or even walk to the dining hall. I became confused, lethargic, and mostly just lay in bed all day. The doctors tested for low thyroid, but since my blood levels were fine, it remained a mystery until my mid forties. I was still very happy for a while, perhaps as a result of meditation, but my psychiatrist would say I was in what they call a “mixed state” - part depression and part mania at the same time.
Eventually, I was forced to leave when I became angry and started acting inappropriately. Devastated, I wandered hopelessly through life for a couple of years, before giving up all hope and returning to the wild life that I wrote about in The Bipolar Advantage. My behavior got increasingly worse as I wildly fluctuated between increasingly more extreme mania and depressions for the next 15 years.
In my late thirties, I found myself teaching Silicon Valley companies about internet technologies and helped start a new dot com company. That job had me traveling around the world and teaching so much that my bipolar condition was exaggerated to new extremes. I was going into rages five to ten times a day, although for unknown reasons, my depressions were not debilitating me. Perhaps it was the thrill of making $1,000,000 a year, but I doubt it. I was miserable and often joked that I had rented my soul to the devil.
After retiring at 42, I created a piece of software called Introspection, as a way to get back on the spiritual path. However, after a few months, the stock market crashed and depression set in like never before. It would fluctuate from a low grade feeling of unhappiness and lack of energy, all the way to suicidal. I would also occasionally go into mania, but without any of the associated happy feelings. Depression occurred about 70% of the time at that point in my life; it was often to such an extreme as to be unbearable, bordering on suicidal.
Life had no meaning and was not worth living. Even when I felt I had reached a state of true one pointed thought, the intended goal of meditation, I had no desire beyond ending my own life.
A byproduct of my deep depression was that I was beginning to go to the clinic regularly with symptoms of flu and other minor illnesses. Finally, the clinic said I had to see a doctor instead of just dropping in.
My first visit with the new doctor was a day I will never forget. After listening to my symptoms and looking over my history, he asked, “Did you ever consider that you might be depressed?“ “No, I’m not depressed,” I said, “I am just going through a lot of stress.”
He asked if I knew the difference between stress and depression; I didn’t. "Stress is the result of the things that happen to you. Depression is your inability to deal with the stress; it makes you unable to function normally. The reason you keep having physical problems is because you are depressed." This was a moment that changed my life forever. I finally began to realize that I was suffering from depression that I needed to address.
Although I was soon working with a professional therapist and getting medication from a psychiatrist, my depression was getting worse, while I was gaining control over my mania. I wrote in The Bipolar Advantage about how over the course of eight years (some of which was pre-diagnosis), I slowly turned rage around from five to ten times a day into my advantage. However, depression was still not completely addressed, because I had not been willing to face it. Denial is powerful, even in the face of overwhelming evidence.
It took almost five years before I realized that my behavior was the worst symptom of my condition. It is the way we act that affects everyone and makes our condition a terrible thing. Changing my actions became the central focus of my recovery, and I wrote the following as a way to hold myself to the task.
I Want To Be A Better Person
January 29, 2006
I have finally settled on a motto that says it all for me - I Want To Be A Better Person. For me, that simple phrase addresses many of my issues; my arrogance, my bad behavior, my admission of having done wrong, my acceptance of who I really am, and most of all, my need for hope. I Want To Be A Better Person reflects my belief that in spite of my bipolar condition, I can overcome my bad tendencies and become someone to admire, instead of someone to fear or feel sorry for.
My journey to wanting to be a better person was long and convoluted, painful, yet even funny at times. My hope is that by sharing it with you, I will have an even greater desire to live up to my dreams and give someone else hope as well. There are countless details left out and many details may be wrong, but I hope to paint a picture of how I got to this point.
Long before my diagnosis of Bipolar, I exhibited behaviors that were considered horrible, to put it mildly. Thinking I was smarter and better than anyone, I would justify my behavior as the fault of whoever was my victim. It was always “your” fault that I was acting so horribly, and if it weren’t for you, I would be a saint. My extreme rages were outdone by my delusions, my denial that I was responsible for my behavior, or even believing that my behavior was perfectly justified.
After getting sick of my own behavior, I bought an estate that was next to the monastery that I once lived in. I volunteered to manage the computer systems department and was put under the direction of Lee, a senior monk who I have known for over 20 years. One day, I had a falling out with a friend of mine that I had hired to do some work for the monastery. We ended up in a heated email exchange that was rapidly escalating to the point that it was harming the monastery. Because I was representing the monastery, Lee insisted that all emails that I sent be approved by him. It has been almost five years now, but that experience is one that I have finally grasped.
Mike would send me an email that my deluded mind thought was rude. I wanted to reply with the full force of my rage, but knowing Lee would not approve it, I would rant and rave around the office until I calmed down enough to write the first draft.
I would read my draft to my co-workers and they would tell me, "There is no way Lee is going to let you say that." I would go for a walk, try to soak up some of the peace from the monastery, and go back for another try. My co-workers would again tell me "no way" and I would repeat the effort all day.
Finally, by the end of the day, or sometimes the next day, I would have a draft ready for Lee. He would calmly change what I had written into something that a saint would have written.
The process of receiving an email and taking all day to respond, went on for over a month. Towards the end, I told Lee that he was expecting me to act like a saint, to which he replied: "Did you expect anything less?"
A year or so later, I was diagnosed as being bipolar; I was back in form. I had quit my volunteering and went back to my old ways. Overtaken by delusions, I was sure everyone was out to get me. My preemptive strikes caused me to vent my rage at anyone I thought was a danger, literally everyone. The lesson Lee had tried to teach me had not only failed to sink in, I had never noticed it in the first place.
The diagnosis seemed like the worst thing that ever happened to me, but now I see it much differently. I finally saw that there was a reason for why I was acting inappropriately. As I resolved to get a handle on my “disorder,” Lee stepped in again and tried to help me understand. He told me that it was not a “disorder,” it was a “condition” that I had to overcome.
I put together a workshop so that I could gain the insight of other bipolar people. I decided to call it “Bipolar in Order” because I wanted to get the “disorder” under control.
Like most of what Lee tried to teach me, it has taken many years to understand what he meant by “condition.” Does it really matter whether my actions are the result of a mental illness, or just the accumulation of bad habits? I don't think so. It is who I am today that matters. I finally realize what Lee was trying to help me understand. I now want to be a better person, and that desire makes me try to say and do the right thing, whether Lee is there to correct me or not.
Everything that happens to me — a post on a bulletin board that I do not agree with, an event that happens on the street or in a store, my daily interactions with my wife, my friends, and everyone I meet — creates the same process in me. My first thought is to go into a rage. I then think, "I want to be a better person" and try to temper my reaction. If I am doing well, I choose to not react right away and I think about how I would react if Lee was there. I sometimes even act in ways that would make him proud.
I am finding that my desire to do the worst is starting to go away. My ability to do the right thing, or at least something close to it, is getting stronger. Very slowly, I am becoming a better person. I don't beat myself up about it, but I do put a lot of thought into analyzing my efforts. My introspection is getting easier because I can honestly say that I have become a better person than six months ago.
It might sound simple, but putting it into practice is the hardest challenge I have ever faced. It is also the most rewarding. Some day I might even live up to Lee's hopes and become that saint.2
Footnotes:2 First published in Mental Health World, Vol. 4 Issue 3, p.8, Fall 2006, Editor, Karen Welch
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