Just When It Couldn't Get Any Worse

My life, newly diagnosed with bipolar, was a disaster in every meaning of the word. My marriage, relationships with family, and opinion of myself dissolved into little bits of glass that cut deep. Although no one could tell from looking at me, those bits of glass were shredding my insides, my heart, my soul, my desire to live.

The doctor who diagnosed me started me on a regimen of prescription drugs that covered everything from anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, and sleeping pills. I was his lab rat and he never hesitated to have me on at least six different medications at one time. Reality as I knew it faded into zombie-like living. I went through the motions of work and home life without really caring about the consequences of what I did or how I acted.

My marriage unraveled quickly and my husband was not supportive of my treatment. He was convinced that bipolar was some sort of virus that, over time, could be healed. My drinking was out of control and instead of trying to help, he poured out any liquor I bought before I had a chance to drink it. Maybe you think this was "helping" but it wasn't. This only fueled my fire and the rage I experienced was soon out of control. We fought constantly and, frankly, I wanted nothing to do with him. Now, I'm not saying I was without fault during our marriage, because I did many things that pushed us apart and I have come to accept my bad decisions and ask forgiveness. But at the time, I never felt anything. I didn't feel guilt, remorse, love....I was hollow. My heart and soul were ripped out and there was nothing left. I wanted to die.

Inevitably, my marriage ended badly. I moved to a small studio apartment, again on my own. Within about three weeks, I discovered that my husband had a girlfriend move in with him. I really can't come up with words that can describe that point in my life so I'll just leave it at that.

On my own, once again, my self-destructive behavior escalated. With no one to "babysit" me I lost control. Alcohol ruled my life and there weren't many days that went by that I was not intoxicated. I was in school at the time, plus I was holding down a full time job. It absolutely blows my mind to look back on the decisions I made. God saved my life for reasons, at that time, I did not realize.

I took my medication when I felt like it and kept drinking. I met new groups of friends whose goal was keep the party going and I was totally up for the challenge. The men in my life were absolutely pitiful. What I saw in them, I've yet to understand.

During this time, I started seeing a new psychiatrist. During our first appointment, I knew I was onto something. He was awesome. He explained many things about bipolar that I had never known and actually made sense of it. He took me off the concoction of medications and put me on two: an anti-depressant and an anti-psychotic. Two medications!!! I was excited! But between appointments, it happened.

On my lunch break one day, I went to the pharmacy to fill my script. They did not have the medication I needed and it would be a couple of days until they got it. Something so minor turned almost deadly. I ran out of the pharmacy in tears and furious. I steered my car directly to the liquor store, picked up a bottle of vodka, and proceeded to consume almost the entire bottle. Totally freaked out, I called my doctor and told him what I had just done. Within the next hour, I was admitted to a "behavioral institution," also known as rehab.

I was at the bottom. Here I was in a place I knew I shouldn't be and the only reason they admitted me was because I told them if I went home, I would proceed to overdose on my medication. There was no reason for me to be on this earth and it was time to end all this nonsense. It was the wake up call I so desperately needed. I immediately got in touch with my doctor and thankfully he stepped in. I swore that I would do whatever it took to get better. Those three days were awful. Nurses came in all hours of the night to take my blood and make sure I wasn't going through withdrawal. I had a roommate...I hate roommates.

By the grace of God, I walked out of there sober and determined to get better. My doctor was by my side through it all and I was finally learning to trust someone again. I will also say that, even though I denied it at the time, my parents were behind me 110%. As I look back on my days in rehab, the one thing I remember vividly is talking on the payphone to my parents and how they were determined to help, even though they were half the country away.

And there I was in the black hole, looking up the long ladder to recovery. Yet, I was so afraid to start climbing.

And the Saga Continues...

Although I had slowly started turning away from God, my latter high school years were awesome. Not only socially but spiritually. Our youth group at church was tight. I never doubted that if I needed something, a friend or my youth pastor would always be there for me. Our youth group was awesome and that was a time in my life I'd actually felt close to God.

That was until the summer of the Toronto Blessing. Our youth pastor, in which I had the greatest amount of respect and trust, and another individual in leadership were planning on making the journey to Toronto during this event. In all honesty, I did not feel led to attend. I can't tell you exactly why, but I knew deep down that this was not something that would make or break my relationship with God. However, these two individuals proceeded to tell me that if I didn't go, I was no longer following the will of God. I was 18 years old. And and that moment, I had completely turned away. How is it that these "Christians" could decide whether or not I was following God's will? Needless to say, I was extremely hurt and angry. Hurt because a youth pastor (who I'd known for years, had stuck by my side when things got tough, and was constantly encouraging) was no longer supportive of my personal decisions when it came to my faith. Angry because these mere humans suddenly felt they had permission to play God. Who are they to determine my place in God's kingdom? Who are they to insult my personal walk with Jesus when they, themselves, had made poor decisions for the whole church to see? Why was it just me who received the "out of God's will" speech? I felt so isolated.

That incident was a monumental turning point in my views of faith, God, and Christianity.

My senior year in high school was a joke. Since I was the super awesome smarty pants, I managed to complete enough course work that I only attended school in the morning and participated in a work program in the afternoons. And, quite frankly, I just didn't care anymore. Church was a social thing for me. Nothing more, nothing less. My real social life consisted of staying out late, partying with friends, and being someone I never expected myself to be.

After graduation and a few semesters at the community college, I had enough. One day I decided to move halfway across the country and two weeks later, I was gone. At 19, I did was some adults are too scared to do. I bought a condo, lived alone, worked full time, all this while completing college course work. I was in control and I liked it.

One thing about my personality (that I'm still working on) is the need to please people. This personality trait was probably a huge contributor to my eventual unraveling. I wanted to please all the wrong people. This landed me in one bad relationship after another and always having those "friends" who didn't have my best interests at heart.

During my college days, I met my first husband. I really don't know why I was in such a rush to get married...maybe it's because everyone else around me was doing it. It was the thing to do at the time. And I didn't feel cool not being married. Well, I didn't feel cool ever. I was constantly reaching out for "things" to fill that void and make me feel like a worthy person. Even though I had come out of my shell a bit, my self esteem was nonexistent. At that point in my life, I wasn't really sure who God was. Sure, I believed in God but that was about it. I lived the party life and how I did that while working full time, I will never know. And how God saved me from death, I'm still trying to figure out.

So I got married. And, to be honest, I can't remember much of it at all. The main thing I remember about it is that after the wedding was over, and we were on our way to a tropical honeymoon destination, I crashed. Not "crashed" like I was super tired and had no energy. I crashed in the most extreme meaning of the word. I knew the next day that I never should have gotten married. The entire honeymoon was miserable. I hated it and I hated myself. And that plunged me into one of the deepest, darkest depressions known to man. There are no words to describe those feelings. If you haven't been there yourself, you just don't know.

Almost a year after being married, my world as I knew it, came crashing down. Due to constant mood swings, marital problems, and the beginning of alcohol abuse, my family suggested I seek professional help. Yes, they wanted me to see a shrink. It's very difficult to recall these memories because this is a time when I hated everyone. I was furious that they wanted me to see one of "those" doctors. Pissed because I didn't think they loved me anymore. I thought everyone was out to get me and make me miserable. Even more miserable that I already was. I couldn't stand those phone calls from my parents, or anyone for that matter. Every phone call seemed to be an argument or lecture and I just didn't want to hear it. The anger that had been building up for years started to seep out. I lashed out at everyone. My husband at the time, my family, and even myself. My self-destructive behavior was just beginning and would very quickly intensify.

I went to the shrink and was pissed throughout the entire appointment. But nothing could have prepared me for my diagnosis. Slowly, at that point when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, my life began to fade. I did not take the news well at all and was absolutely furious. Furious with my parents for suggesting the shrink, furious at my husband for making me go, furious with myself for being such a screw up, and above all else I was pissed at God. How could this so called "loving" God write this little chapter in my DNA? Was this some kind of joke? From that point, I no longer associated with God. The walls had been built and I continued through life living in my own castle and those closest to me entered at their own risk. Little did they know the fiery blazes within would be crippling.

The self-implosion began and it was going to be a wild ride.

A Day in the Life of a PK

I was a preacher's kid growing up. From a very early age I was able to recite Bible verses from memory, knew all the stories, and was at church every time the doors were open. It quickly became very routine for me and as I grew up the fascination I once had for God was fading. I did all the things preachers kids were "supposed" to do. If I wasn't in church, there was some type of youth group function going on. Youth group ski trips every spring break, church camp every summer, church functions Sunday morning and night, then again on Wednesday night. I can't really recall many times I didn't go. Maybe it's because I was expected to be there. Maybe it was the image I felt I needed to live up to. As a PK (and the oldest child), I always felt like I was under a microscope and when I reflect on those days, I suddenly realize why I now have such a struggle with being overly self-critical.

We did move several times, each time requiring me to start over. New friends, new church, etc. This was very hard for me. I am not an extrovert in any way, so the older I got the harder it became to rebound. I became more introverted and really began to enjoy just being alone. There was one town we lived in where things started changing, and not for the better.

When I was young, I wasn't a cute kid. I wore really thick glasses and had messed up teeth which landed me in the orthodontist's chair wearing braces for over six years. Let's just say I was an easy target for the cruelty of other kids. My self esteem was zero. I did all the things nerdy kids do. I made straight A's, was always on the honor roll, took piano lessons, and read lots of books. During our stay in this particular small town I have never experienced so much hurt. Every day was a challenge. Kids are mean. And this was slowly killing me on the inside. I was a quiet kid and had no idea how to defend myself from the cruel verbal insults hurled at me on a daily basis.

Not only did I struggle in school, the struggle filtered over to our church which was, ironically, directly across the street from school. Being the PK, I was obviously involved in the youth group and the same kids that made fun of me at school would continue their relentless heckling at church. It never ended. On top of that, there were some things that happened at the church that affected my family in a way that still haunts me to this day.

When one thinks of church, this should be a place of refuge. A place where you can go to be safe and loved. I didn't feel love and I certainly didn't feel safe. I knew that every time I stepped through those doors I would have to put up with the same crap I dealt with at school. I honestly can't tell you how many times I went home in tears. And I was not the only one that experienced this hurt. My parents, who are my heros, were treated in a way that no one should ever be treated. There is no need for details, but the day we moved out of that town was the best day in my life.

Over the years, I have kept all that hurt buried so deep down that I sometimes forget it's there. I started to become somewhat bitter and learned not to trust people so easily. My views of the church were slowly starting to sour...not just that one church, all of them. They were all the same to me.

At a young age, I started wondering where God was in all this. I slowly began turning my back on the one thing I'd always had. My faith. As difficult as it is to relive all those experiences, I now know that this is the time to share my story.

To be continued...