On Shame & Transparancy

I had an interaction with one of the readers of my blog this week.  He referenced another pastor's blog who also deals with being bipolar.  That pastor chose to write under a pseudo-name and writes about the fears associated with being open about his condition and the potential of retribution.

I have written a lot about my being bipolar on this blog.  I still consider the possibility of serving as a pastor in some way.  But can one be open about one's struggle with a mental illness without eliminating the possibility of being considered for parish ministry?  I envision a call committee meeting where they are looking at two candidates, one of whom has disclosed that he is bipolar, and I find it difficult to imagine a congregation choosing to go with the "sick, crazy pastor" as opposed to the healthy one.  Perhaps my openness about my condition has made me vulnerable to all the prejudices that continue to dominate our culture's attitude toward those with a mental illness.

And yet I write.

A major part of why I write is that I believe very sincerely that unless people with a mental illness such as bipolar disorder are willing to share that experience, the stigma surrounding mental illness will never diminish.  "Bipolar, not crazy!" is one of my mantras.  "No cognitive or physical impairment" was the finding of the doctor who was involved in evaluating my disability claim.  Being bipolar is about experiencing mood swings that are beyond the normal for a healthy person.  It is not about cognitive or physical disabilities.  Such mood swings can be disabling.  That is true.  But lets be real about what bipolar is, and is not.  And there should not be this incredible stigma surrounding it.  It is what it is, it is not what it is not.

I write because there is no place for shame when one is dealing with being bipolar.  When I had to have my mitral valve repaired, I was not ashamed of having open heart surgery.  When I had a torn meniscus in my knee, I was not ashamed of that.  I am not ashamed to have the flu, or that I now have a hernia that needs to be repaired.  I refuse to be ashamed of being bipolar.  It is just another illness among many that has to be treated.

I write to break down the isolation associated with being bipolar.  The shame we too often feel when we experience a mental illness, and the isolation that often envelops us, can be catastrophic.  One of the most meaningful things to happen since I've been writing this blog is to be approached by those who also suffer with being bipolar, or with another similar condition.  They have expressed great appreciation for my writing, and how helpful it has been to be able to relate to my experience.  We are not alone.

Part of me is amazed at the reach of this blog.  The stats page identifies page views from around the world.  Madagascar and Qatar.  India.  Brazil.  What this tells me is that there are people from around the world seeking help to understand their situation.

And finally, part of the reason I write is that I seek to be understood for who I am.  One of the hardest things I've experienced is when people make judgments about me, uniformed judgments, that are simply not true.  Depression and  mania are what they are.  They do not represent personal failures.  A person with a cold, coughs, and has a runny nose.  A person who is bipolar experiences highs and lows, beyond the norm.  In the end, I hope people will not judge the person based on the symptom.

There may be a cost that I will pay for being open about my being bipolar.  It may prevent me from being seriously considered for any position in ministry.  But in the end I believe it is worth it.  Because its only as light is shed on the subject of mental illness that the shame and stigma will go away.  And besides, my manic side is still trying to save the world. . .

Redemption

"Think about this:  How can you turn your liabilities into assets?  That is the key to success."

Those were the words of a dear friend and bishop.  As best as I can remember them.  I was a young pastor struggling with the demands of parish ministry, overwhelmed by some of the challenges, and concerned about failure.  Those words have stuck with me.  Thank you, Mark.

What they speak of is redemption.

I now think of them in respect to my journey as a bipolar person.  How can one convert those things that appear to be negatives, into positives?  How can one's biggest challenges become one's greatest gifts.

As I have written this blog, especially about some of the manic episodes I've experienced, there are times that it seems as though I'm bragging.  I think, though, that it is not so much about pride as it is about a deep seated desire to experience redemption.  To embrace the good that has been present even as I've experienced the extremes of this mood disorder.

Looking back over my life, one of the ways I have experienced mania is that I become utterly captivated by potential and possibilities and unable to balance that with a healthy dose of reality.  The net result is that I have been willing to tackle things that many people would shy away from simply because I was unable to see any reason why I couldn't do it.

I remember a time early in my life at the conclusion of my senior year in college.  One of my classmates who lived next to us shared a desire of his to have a roll top desk.  I was wondering what I would do following graduation as my wife had been hired for a job that required us to delay my entry into seminary for a while.  My immediate reaction to Kevin's dream of having a roll top desk was to say "I can do that!".  And with that, Olson's Woodworking was begun.

"Unfazed by reality" probably best describes my attitude at that time.  You see, it never occurred to me that someone who had not done any woodworking to speak of since seventh grade shop, and who had no tools whatsoever, who knew nothing about furniture or cabinet design, or construction, or running a business, or anything else about that endeavor -- should have any reservations.  It was full steam ahead.  I convinced Kevin to buy the desk from me, and set about buying tools and learning how to build one.  The next thing I did was to convince an interior decorator in town to order four more desks. I took on remodeling jobs, knowing nothing about construction, and learned to 'fake it till you make it'.  (Did you know that if you have no clue how to build something, you can inquire of a county building department about the building code, and get a good idea, based on the requirements of the code, how to proceed?)  In addition to furniture & cabinetry, I would do electrical, plumbing, build an entire house, a boat, develop a senior housing project, etc., etc,.

To a certain extent, this same attitude accompanied my entry into ministry.  The reality is that throughout my years in school, I excelled at things such as geometry and mathematics,  But I was sorely deficient  in spelling, writing, and, quite frankly, petrified by public speaking.  It simply never occurred to me that my total lack of proficiency in the language arts, not to mention my being a painfully shy introvert, should in any way curtail my desire to enter the ministry.  Looking back with the knowledge that I have today about being bipolar, I recognize the role that mania has had in much of what I've done.

What could be seen as a major liability in life was in fact, one of my greatest assets.  Part of my writing this blog is to find a sense of redemption in the midst of this mood disorder.  When I was first diagnosed with depression, a colleague, Steve, responded by saying "Without depression we would have never had an Ernest Hemingway." He went on to say, "Though were it not for depression, we might have had Hemingway for a while longer."

Living with the extreme mood changes that are part of the bipolar experience has resulted in an unresolved tension.  It is at one and the same time, a sickness of unbridled optimism, creativity, and zeal for life -- and at the same time a sickness unto death.  In the end, one either learns to ride the waves and in them find the meaning and purpose of a redeemed life -- or be overcome by it.

And faith alone makes the difference.

Cravings

Some days the cravings are bad.

I just want it.  A manic episode that is.  I want it so bad.  I'd say I want it so bad I can feel it, but that's just the point, right now, I can't.

Perhaps it seems strange to you that one like myself would crave a manic episode.  They're supposed to be bad, after all.  So bad some people must be hospitalized for their own protection.  And yet the craving is there.

My manic phases have been enjoyable for me, even if they have caused my wife significant concerns.  But even she has not always had those concerns.  Mostly, she has stood by my side and watched as I did my thing.  Prior to my diagnosis she probably just thought I was just off doing 'my thing', pursuing yet another grand goal.  And the thing of it was, I was successful enough during those times that its hard to dismiss it, or for that matter, for the uninformed to even have a clue that I was in a full blown manic episode.

I've written before about how during a manic episode I developed an assisted living facility at my congregation.  The thing is, I turned a vacant lot, a $15 dollar contribution, and a $5,000 grant into a 15 million dollar senior housing facility with 87 units.  Not only did I do that, but I tried to replicate the effort elsewhere.  I was on a roll.  There was no stopping me.  People may have had a lot of thoughts about what I was doing, but no one was questioning my sanity.  I'm a good manic.

There was an incredibly intoxicating feeling that went with it all.  The possibilities felt limitless.  I felt incredibly potent.  There was an overwhelming sense that this was my mission and purpose in life.  And, I suppose, to an extent it was.  I mean, hey, when the dust cleared there was in fact a senior housing ministry in place, and a mighty fine one, at that.

But then the high I was riding came to an end.  Life didn't just return to normal, it crashed.

I subsequently had another very definable manic phase, when I decided to leave the ministry and re-establish my woodworking business.  There are other times, less pronounced, that I notice manic thoughts come racing through my mind.  They usually pass once I identify them as "manic".  Damn.

I say "Damn" because one of the things that being diagnosed as bipolar has done is to deprive me of the opportunity enjoy the manic highs and run with them.  No more soaring with the eagles.  Any time I approach that experience there is the not so gentle reminder that this is a psychiatric condition.  The dampers are shut down.  Instead of people saying "Go for it, Dave!" they now wonder if I've taken my meds.  That's depressing.

Some days I feel as though in the name of emotional balance and stability I've had to surrender a part of myself, and specifically, a part of myself that made my life seem worthwhile and worth living.  Where I once would experience feelings of great potency, now it seems impotency rules the day.  And the "balanced life" is not all its cracked up to be.

So I live with a craving for something I know that it is not in my best interest to ever experience again.  But part of me hopes that the medications are not effective, and that one day, I will soar again.  A good manic episode can lift one's spirits, after all.

I don't know what else to say, other than that the craving is there.  A powerful craving.

Inheritance

Our first grandchild was born this week.  Wow, what a good time that is.

As with any new parents/grandparents, there is this immediate reaction that takes place.  "He looks just like his father."   "I think he's got his mother's nose."  This, of course, is one of the wonderful things about a new life coming into the world.  Throughout the coming weeks, months, and years there will be that journey of discovery that is both a recognition of those inherited traits and tendencies, and those things that  make each child unique in their own right.

Part of the delight of being a new parent/grandparent is knowing that the torch has been passed to a new generation.  What combination of gifts, personality traits, and physical attributes will a child be shaped by?  A mom and dad, and by extension, the grandmas and grandpas, pass on so much that will shape that child's life.  Some of it is nurture.  Some of it is nature.  All of it shapes who we are.

In the midst of the excitement of a new birth one always tends to focus on the positives.  And yet there is the shadow side as well.

After undergoing both open heart surgery to repair a mitral valve, just like my dad had to have done, and after having knee surgery to repair degenerative damage similar to what my mother suffered with in her knees, I lamented that I had inherited my dad's heart and my mom's knees.  It would have been much better to inherit my mom's heart and my dad's knees.

We returned from the hospital and our first visit with our grandson, and then, prior to bed, I took my medications.  And I wondered.  What gifts from grandpa are written into the genetic code of this precious young life?

There are of course, things I'd love to pass on.  I imagine a day when Jasper and I will work away in my woodshop on some marvelous little creation.  I'd love to be able to pass on my craftsmanship.  Music has always been important to me.  Will he raise his voice in song, or play the tuba?  What about the ability to create in other ways, to envision possibilities, to do new things?  And I wonder about things such as the faith that has shaped my life.  Is that a legacy I can share with my grandson?

And then, I take the pills.

There is a genetic component to bipolar disorder.  None of my children have been diagnosed with this disease yet.  But then neither was I until later in life.  My prayer, of course, is that of all the things I might share with my children and grandchildren, bipolar disorder is not one of them.  I would not wish the violent mood changes on anybody.  Not the manic highs, nor the dark valleys.  And certainly not the harsh transitions between the two.  As I contemplate this, I pray for his mom's genes to be dominant in this area.  I pray for that for each of my children, and now for my grandchildren.

And yet, amid all the concerns, this one thing I know.  That even if the little one is bipolar, and one day experiences the swings from manic highs to depressive lows, he will be loved.  His life will remain precious.  Amid all the struggles that may come, there will also be a giftedness.  And he will be a child of God, created in the image of  God.

And as I imagine that possibility, I am reminded to accept it as a reality in my own life as well.  Being bipolar has shaped my life.  But it need not diminish the value and worth of my life, for that is a gift rooted in God's grace.  Created in God's image is finally the only thing that matters.  It's that part of our DNA that is the final word on our life.  The struggles that we have may have shaped who we are -- but that we are, and whose we are, and our intrinsic value are all a gift of God's grace.

Courting the Devil

I wonder how alcohol was first discovered. I suppose it would have begun by accident, you know, as in someone discovered making juice out of grapes and then the grape juice did what grape juice always does, and a love affair was born. One article I read states that "there was a single genetic mutation 10 million years ago that endowed human ancestors with an enhanced ability to break down ethanol." "The scientists noted that the timing of this mutation coincided with a shift to a terrestrial lifestyle. The ability to consume ethanol may have helped human ancestors dine on rotting, fermenting fruit that fell on the forest floor when other food was scarce."

Actually, I imagine it might have been laziness that motivated people to consume the fruit that had fallen to the forest floor, instead of climbing up the trees to pick the fresh fruit. And then there was the discovery. How many rotting apples would have to be consumed before people realized that this affected their moods? And how long did it take before our ancestors recognized this as "good medicine"? Imagine the first time our ancient ancestor got pissed at his mate, stuffed himself on rotting apples, and returned to the cave with a silly grin on his face. . .

I drank for a number of reasons. Early on I suppose it could be said that I drank for the taste. Beer and pizza just tasted good together. Soon, I couldn't imagine one without the other. But as opposed to my wife who can't stand the way alcohol makes her feel, I quickly came to crave the feeling that alcohol produced.

Being bipolar means that mood swings are largely out of one's control. Alcohol gave me control. This runs counter to much of what we think about alcoholism. Isn't alcohol addiction about the loss of control over our drinking? But alcohol gave me control of my moods.

One drink and I experienced a lightening of my mood, an easing of tension.  Two drinks and there was the pleasurable buzz.  A flight of ideas.  Letting go.  Loss of inhibitions.  A feeling that anything is possible.  And then as the drinking progresses, a pensive reflective mood sets in.  Then the pensive mood shifts to a melancholy feeling.  And finally there is a descent into despondency. And in the end, one sleeps.  (Note:  My psychiatrist always says that one doesn't sleep under the influence of alcohol, one passes out.  I, on the other hand, maintained that "passing out" was only when one involuntarily lost consciousness.  It is a distinction that my alcoholic mind clings to.)

It dawns on me that if a normal person wants to know how it feels to be bipolar, just chart your moods through an afternoon and evening of heavy drinking.  And then imagine living constantly in that cycle.  Yes, there are those periods when you are at a very pleasant 'high', but you cannot stay there.  The mood always shifts.  This progression of moods can happen rapidly, can last for days, can cycle over the course of years and months.  But unlike inebriation, you have no control of either the pace nor the place that you will find yourself in the mood swings.  There, now go to sleep.

Alcoholism and Bipolar Disorder are frequently experienced together.  For me, it all came down to control, even as I lost control of my drinking.  In fact, I would say that the reason I lost control of my drinking is because I so desperately wanted to control my mood.  In the end, however, all control was lost.  I needed to drink to avoid the very unpleasant feelings of withdrawal.  However my drinking no longer produced the pleasurable high that I so craved.  It short circuited the cycle, and the pleasant buzz gave way to an immediate descent into the melancholy despondency.

It's a devilish deal.  The promise is for immediate, if momentarily relief, but the cost is ultimate and lasting defeat.  When one courts the devil for the promised relief, one never wins in the end.  The alcohol that once helped control one's mood now multiplies the intensity of the mood, and wrests all control from you.  In the end, you've sold your soul to the Devil.  

I find it interesting in this light, that is was the act of eating the fruit of the tree that the Bible says was the original sin.  Just a curious fact.  Perhaps written after "Adam" returned to the cave with that silly grin on his face so many moons ago.

Taming the Tiger

Since being diagnosed as bipolar the lenses through which I perceive my life have changed.  As I look back on significant experiences in my life I am able to identify manic and depressive times, much more accurately than when I am in the midst of them.  Over the years I was much more aware of those times when I was depressed, though even this has not always been clear to me.  However, those times when I was in a manic episode my self perception was not that anything was wrong, but that everything was right.

Case in point:   I recently received a friend request on Facebook from someone who was part of my youth group in one of my former parishes and the memories of that time have been flooding my mind.

In the late nineties when I was serving as the pastor in Baker, MT, the neighboring congregation approached us about forming a parish as they could no longer afford to have their own pastor.  Peace Lutheran in Plevna was a small rural parish.  In addition, they had been conducting services in Ekalaka, where about ten people would gather at this 'preaching point'.  There would be a couple of ways to interpret what happened next, I suppose, and each interpretation is true from my perspective.

A very pious interpretation is that the Spirit was working overtime to do great things.  In light of my being bipolar, though, I also recognize that the tiger was awakened, and my manic side ran with the possibilities.  For starters, in the next 6 weeks we formed a parish, restructured one of the congregation's debt so that we could buy another parsonage, established an internship program and selected an intern.  As I began serving the three parishes something clicked inside of me and I determined that it wasn't sufficient just to lead three different worship services on Sunday morning, but to also preach three different sermons, each one crafted for the individual congregation.

Ekalaka, that small preaching point, really awakened a passion within me.  Prior to going to seminary I had been a member of a new congregational start, and I had determined at that time that one of my goals for my ministry would be to start a new congregation.  Ekalaka was the opportunity.

Now the national church would never, ever, choose to start a new congregation in a remote isolated rural community with a declining population.  It was in part because of this being one of the most unlikely places to be able to establish a new congregation that I embraced the challenge.  One of the ways my mania manifests itself is in attempting to do the impossible.  And so we did.

Worship services were held.  Adult instruction was offered.  A youth group was formed.  On one Easter morning we celebrated the baptism of 10 people, including three generations of one family, one of who was the young lady I mentioned before who befriended me on facebook.  Shortly thereafter, we were able to organize St. Elizabeth Lutheran Church as a new congregation of the ELCA, with somewhere around 80 members, though my memory of the exact number escapes me right now.  I was having the time of my life.  It was one of the highlights of my twenty five years in ministry.  Recently, I was able to return for the dedication of their new building.  Wow, who'd a thunk it!

Now, looking back at that time, I've come to believe that two things are very much true.  First, I do believe that the Spirit was working overtime to do some incredibly great things.  The life of that congregation is itself witness to the power of the Spirit working there.  Secondly, I believe that the tiger which is my manic side, was tamed, and became a tool that the Spirit used to help accomplish these things.

As people seek to understand what it is to be bipolar, one of the things I would most like to offer is that mania is not always a bad thing requiring hospitalization for one's own protection.  It can be.  But that isn't always the case. Sometimes, mania sees the possibilities of what could be, without being limited by 'reality'.  Sometimes mania offers the boldness to go where noone has dared go before.  And sometimes, when the dust settles, the tiger has been tamed, and it is clear that in the midst of it all, God was at work.