I needed to understand the indicators of Bi-polar Disorder. Through study I have found some of the symptoms to be: grandiosity, irritability, the desire for danger, the disrespect for authority, lack of need for sleep in mania cycle, and the disorientation, physical stiffness, suicidal tendencies, and need to sleep in the depressive cycles. All of these signs apply to me. I learn when and how the disease is triggered. I follow and understand the cyclical pattern. Through review of the journals I keep I see the cycles occur on a pattern of four to five weeks and begin with irritability including a lack of interest in food. Stress is a key trigger to many of us who have mental disorders. It is for me. I could see that when the stress of work, driving, or dealing with everyday life becomes too great I start to fall into a cycle more rapidly than expected.

We who suffer from mental disorders can help society understand that stress, to which we are extremely sensitive, is a killer for all people, and how it affects us is a bellwether of how its negative effect is detrimental to all persons.

The people who attend the Bi-Polar and Depression Support Group I attend weekly are very knowledgeable about their conditions. Each person knows his or her symptoms and related illnesses. Some have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder in addition to their primary mental condition. Some are Schizo-affective, have Attention Deficit Disorder, or have hypochondria. What is interesting is the awareness of each person for his or her condition, the acceptance for each other person’s condition, and the willingness to help each other person in any dilemma that he or she may face. All of these people speak about how in the group setting with others like themselves they feel safe and accepted. They do not sense their self-esteem lowered, their voices unheard, or their ideas unaccepted. Nikki, a gracious woman and the only African-American in this mixed group of whites and Asians, states that she feels more accepted amongst the mentally disordered than in a company of African-Americans.

Michelle, a bi-polar woman unable to find employment any place in normal society, volunteered to help at the hospital where our group meets. She was offered a position to assist the hospital chaplain. She came to the group asking for our encouragement. Only one day had passed since she began her duties. She now talks of how our group helps her listen to the patients and meets their needs in silence or with just a few encouraging words. Michelle asks our advice on what she might do more to help. We tell her that she is doing fine, we admire her efforts, and she should be proud of what she is doing. Our society benefits from hearing the gentle voices of these helpful people willing to reach a hand to one another, and to anyone in need.

When I walked into my first meetings with these people, I knew I had found my home. In the hospital I was just a patient amongst other patients struggling to get better and get out. In the outside world, like all mental patients, I felt alone until I found my brethren in the meetings of the mentally disordered trying to keep sane in an indifferent and hostile world. I found people fighting a whole host of problems: low self-esteem, the effects of medications, arrogant doctors, ineffective clinics, no health insurance, no income, the problems of dual addictions, the loneliness from separation or misunderstanding of family, and the desire to commit suicide. These people were trying to make it in the world and be aligned with God. I found people who could help me and whom I could help.

The Dual Recovery Meeting I go to is not large. Twenty people at the most show up on a Monday night. The meeting is an offshoot of the 12 Steps program from Alcoholics Anonymous for persons with problems with mental disorders and drug or alcohol issues. Each person at the meeting shares his or her issue for the week. Often it concerns a struggle to stay clean from illegal drugs. People with mental disorders often use illegal drugs to self-medicate when prescription drugs are not available. This is the case for many of the homeless. Formerly homeless people recycled through a mental hospital are often in attendance at our meeting. Deborah, a severely depressed African-American woman, just recently discharged from the hospital and one of the formerly homeless, discusses her current struggle to stay clean. She has relapsed on crack cocaine many times. She says she is feeling hopeless and in denial about her disease. “I am killing myself looking for God,” she states, “but somehow this time I didn’t use. I became awake and thankful to God.” When my turn comes to share I turn to Deborah. I tell her that she has a gift from God. “In the pit of hell you are able to see a way out and that is special. Not everyone is given that message. Sharing that message with us helps us all,” I say.

In a small way I am trying to help the people I can. As I help them they help me. My self-esteem was diminished by hospitalization. Helping others invigorate their own self-esteem helps mine. Helping mentally disordered people stand up for themselves against government bureaucracies, indifferent clinics, and doctors has become one of my missions. I tell my bi-polar and depressed friends they must insist doctors hear them out when they speak of the negative side effects of medications. Too many of the mentally ill take a passive position in relationship to authority. They assume they must be wrong when they feel bad after taking a medication and the doctor refuses to listen. I tell them this is the wrong approach. I have a good relationship with my doctor, who listens to me; we work as a team on what medications work or don’t work. I tell others they should expect no less.

I make myself available to help other people in my family of the mentally disordered. I talk to them on the phone when they are in need, and I assist them in other ways when I can. I go to them when they are in trouble. I try to think of ways that I can be more of God’s messenger to society, that it may see us as less a threat or a problem and more a resource. I recall seeing a demented man ten years ago under a bridge frothing at the mouth dancing a jig, waving his arms in the air, yelling into the sky. I watched as the police surrounded him. They pulled out their nightsticks, surrounded him, and beat him to the ground. I felt sad. This man was obviously mentally ill. He would end up in jail, probably go untreated, and be returned to the streets. I wondered then if I could have done something to help him, but at that point I myself was undiagnosed and knew nothing of my own gift. Now everything has changed for me. I would like to do things to help men and women like him see their specialness so they can use it for their own benefit and pass it on to others. I believe their peers, we the mentally disordered, who have been helped ourselves can show them a loving God.

I believe that the mentally disordered need more advocates who speak for them. I wish to be one of those. In the Bible’s famous parable, the father prepares a feast for the prodigal son, giving him the gift of the fatted calf to consume. The responsible elder son is unhappy that this son, who wandered away into a life of strangeness, has returned and is given a valuable gift. I would compare the mentally disordered to the prodigal son and society to the elder son. We, the mentally disordered, gladly share our gift from God with society. Society should rejoice that we, who were lost, have returned.