Is My Experience Valid?

Several months ago, I facilitated a workshop for 250 homeless people with mental illness. It went better than my expectations, but I did encounter some strong resistance from a few. As I was going through a “business plan” for mastering depression, I heard a comment that has been with me ever since - "It's easy for you. You are not homeless. You have no idea what it is like for us. Our struggle is so much harder just to stay alive, that we don't have the luxury of doing the work you are talking about..." It created questions in me that I have been thinking about ever since. What do I know? Is my experience somehow less than that of everyone else? Is my experience valid?

While it is true that my experience of homelessness was only for a brief period in my early twenties, I do think my experience of being bipolar is valid. I have over 40 years of direct personal experience of bipolar symptoms, often in extreme states. I have been facilitating workshops for the last five years, speak regularly to large audiences of both professionals and consumers, and am certified by the California Board of Behavioral Sciences to teach LCSW and MFT therapists.⁶ I have lived introspectively, paying close attention to my thoughts, feelings, and spiritual life. Since my immersion in this subject, I now have confidence that my personal experience of bipolar and depression is what gave me the most insight.

I find myself thinking along a similar line of reasoning when I hear someone who is not bipolar talk about his ideas. He portrays himself as an expert, while acting like I know nothing, since I don't have his degree. Unless you have experienced something directly, you only have a description of it. In the deepest sense, the only real understanding comes from direct personal experience. Of course, professional doctors and therapists have direct experience in dealing with patients, so their contribution is valid in those areas and very important to our success.

I hold beliefs about the bipolar condition that are very challenging to the "pervasive deficit-based view of people with psychiatric disorders that is held by both mental health professionals and the lay public alike," as so well said by Maureen Duffy, Ph.D. As a matter of fact, my view is the exact opposite – being bipolar is the best thing that ever happened to me. It was only my inability to deal with the condition that made me see it as an illness. Now that my condition is under my control, I see being bipolar as my greatest asset.

But maybe I don't suffer like everyone else. Maybe my condition is so slight that it was easy to control. Perhaps if my condition was half as bad as everyone else, I would see the folly in my thinking. To that end, I have been thinking long and hard about what my experience has been. I came to the conclusion that it is not the hardships we face that matter, it is what we become as a result of facing them. Nonetheless, as there is no measurement to compare, the question remains - is my experience valid for someone else?

I have struggled the longest with coming to see depression as an advantage, although mania has just as many challenges, if not more. For me, and so many others I have met in talks and workshops, depression has four components: physical, mental, emotional and spiritual.

Each by itself can be unbearable at times, but combined, they have killed so many that there is great danger in encouraging someone to even go there. It is understandable that one would choose the boredom of an overmedicated life to the pain of depression.

While I don't see my own experience as that much different from others, I will talk about my last depression from all four components, and try to explain how it got me to seeing the bipolar condition as a great thing.

Physical Pain

Other than a broken ankle when I was 14, my physical body was fairly pain free until I experienced shingles⁷ for the first time at 25. Shingles is often said to be the worst pain a man will ever experience. Women say child birth is worse, but shingles lasts much longer. My first episode continued over a month, and was so unbearable it was the only thing in my consciousness for the whole period. My shingles was spread across my chest and wrapped around my body like a band of pain. I have had it a few times since, but never as bad as the first time.

My last depression made shingles seem like nothing. The pain was just as bad, but it covered my entire body. Shingles is just at the surface of the skin, but my pain was everywhere, like a giant muscle cramp that would not go away. Some say 70% of people with depression have physical pain as part of it. Is that the pain they are talking about? I don't know. All I know is it was so painful that I stayed in bed for over a month as I could not move. With shingles to compare to the pain of depression, I believe I at least know my experience of the physical component of depression is valid.

There were times when the physical pain was so intense that it became the only thing in my consciousness. I write about this intensity in the chapter about Saint Teresa. Her pain was so far greater than I have ever experienced, and for so much more of her life, but I think I know what she means when she talks about getting to a state where she transcended the pain. There were times for me when the pain took me to a place where I felt a “peace which surpasses understanding.”

Mental Pain

What is mental pain? How do you measure it? What goes on in one's mind that causes it? I only know what it is like for me. My mental pain is a combination of hallucinations, obsessive thoughts, thoughts of suicide, delusion, unclear thinking, and confusion—to name a few. My last depression consisted of mental pain at my all time worst, along with the physical pain I just related, plus the emotional and spiritual pains yet to be described.

I couldn't see. The bedroom was completely dark even in bright daylight. On the screen of darkness, I could see myself dying in many ways; driving into a gas pump and exploding, driving into oncoming traffic, jumping off a bridge, in front of a train, hanging, being cut into pieces, drowning, being beaten to death, every macabre scene you can imagine. The voices in my head kept shouting "Kill yourself, end it now, you are worthless, quit being such a burden, you are going to die right now." The voices went on and on. When I could think a thought other than death, it was paranoia and the possibility of being stuck in this state for eternity. It was eternity. Time seemed to just stand still.

Another mental pain that I share with many is what is called “state specific memory.” While in a state of depression, I cannot remember a time when it wasn’t like this. I can be reminded about a vacation we once took and remember it clearly, but only remember being depressed, even if I was not at the time. I also cannot envision a time when the depression will go away.

Is my experience valid? It is hard to compare mental pain because there is nothing physical to use as a reference. I do know, from talking to many others, that my experience is very common. The mind goes places we wish it never did, but we seem to have no control over it at times.

Emotional Pain

What is emotional pain? How is it different from mental pain? For me, mental pain is about thoughts, visions, and hearing, while emotional pain is more about feelings in the heart. I am one of those men who are not good at expressing emotions. Words like sadness, sorrow, dejection, misery, despondency, desolation, wretchedness, gloom, dolefulness, melancholy, mournfulness, woe, heartache, grief, and even despair can't convey the sheer pain I feel when all I can do is cry.

In some moments, there is nothing else but the emotional pain, which in a weird sort of way is a temporary relief from the physical and mental pain. It is there all along with the physical, mental and spiritual pain, but for brief periods, one of them becomes so overwhelming, I can't even notice the others.

Once again: Is my experience valid? Who knows? I may not be as good as some in describing it, but when others do, I know exactly what they mean.

Spiritual Pain

Why am I here? What is the point of life? Is there a connection to other people? Other beings? Is there a God? Have I lost all connection to everything? Does life have any meaning? Like the homeless man who claimed life was easy for me, I find myself thinking that those who talk about spiritual things have never lost the luxury of being able to ponder these questions.

When faced with the total annihilation of existence, the despair that accompanied my last depression was so deep that such questions were meaningless. Yet those same questions were central to the entire spiritual pain. At some point, there was just nothing. No me, no God, no life, no meaning, no connection, nothing. It was a true crisis of faith: a “Dark Night of the Soul,” forty days in the desert, the loss of all purpose, all rolled up into a visit to hell without leaving the bed.

Some people like to talk about what it would be like to go to a place where nothing exists. Some even spend their lifetime meditating in an attempt to get there. I've been there and can tell you very clearly - it is the worst kind of hell. The physical, mental, and emotional pain were a pleasure compared to the despair of a total void. Life without meaning is no life at all.

Don't misunderstand, most people use meditation as a tool to find meaning; it is a powerful tool. Just be careful what your goal is. You might get there, and find out you picked the wrong one.

I wrote about my spiritual pain in The Bipolar Advantage. Some people misunderstood and were offended by what they perceived as attacks on their beliefs. I was, and still am, in a deep spiritual crisis. I know it seems illogical to express hostility to all things spiritual in one book and to include stories of saints in the next, but such is the nature of spiritual pain. While not claiming my experiences carry the validity of the saints, my own spiritual crisis is very real to me.

Is My Experience Valid?

Who knows? Maybe it never happened. Maybe the month in bed was just being lazy. Maybe there was no real pain, because my mind was just making it up. Maybe I'm just crazy. Perhaps I should have gone to the hospital, called my doctor, called 911. Do other people have legitimate pain? Am I making a mockery of it? That is the trouble with psychological pain. There is no cancer or broken leg to point at.

My doctor says it doesn't matter if I have suicidal thoughts; what matters is how I choose to act on them. Although in lesser depressions, it is entirely possible to attempt suicide, in the depths of my last one, it was not. It would have taken too much effort to even try.

In talking to many other bipolar people, I don't believe my experience is that different from most. We all get to states that can be called “hell.” If there is any difference, it is in the way I reacted to it, but not in whether it was legitimate or not.

It is the nature of our condition to question ourselves about it. Self doubt is part of the mental pain and adds to the problem. The lack of any physical component, including no blood test or any other confirmation, only makes us more unsure of ourselves. In the final analysis, we must come to an acceptance that our condition is valid because of the concrete affects it has on our lives.

In one of my favorite books, The Saints That Moved The World, Rene Fulop-Miller talked about how modern psychologists (in the 1940s) would say that Saint Anthony’s visions were all in his head. He concluded that it doesn’t matter. What matters is what Saint Anthony became as a result of it.⁸ In that regard, my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual pain is valid if it helps me to change myself into a better person.