The Journey of a Jumbled, Bipolar Mind

It was in 2008 that the doctors told me I was bipolar. I couldn’t believe it, and I thought the doctors were wrong. I was a man on a mission sent by God to change this generation from its wicked ways. I’d been on my second mission trip and received a revelation that God picked me for a specific purpose. I saw clearly in the Devine realm that the spiritual warfare at war in America was real. I changed after my first mission trip to Mexico in 2007. I gave my life to Christ and enlisted myself in God’s army. I felt that I had a mountaintop experience that changed my perspective on life. I wanted it again after my first bout of depression in the winter 2007. I felt that if I went again, I could rid myself of my flesh and become on fire of God.

After returning from Haiti, my second mission trip, the poverty devastated me. On Sunday, we returned, and the leadership presented what we accomplished on our trip to the congregation. During the slideshow, I broke down crying, and everyone was silent as I sobbed for the Haitian people. I made a vow to make an impact on those people one day. I plan to start a non-profit to provide relief to the Haitian people. That summer, I went to California to visit my sister for a month. Everything went well until the end of the trip. I was battling my flesh as my sex hormones were on fire. I was a passionate youth and had a deep addiction to porn. Which contradicted my spiritual life, and I went crazy.

After a restless night of repenting and going through Scripture, I woke one morning, took my laptop, and slammed it against the kitchen table. My sister was mad, and I was angry for being so addicted. Throughout the month, I felt I was being tracked by the government and receiving hidden messages from Facebook and Google. I thought God chose me. I was thinking so fast I couldn’t keep up. Before me was my first encounter with mania. My sister got me help and placed me in an institution for two weeks. I was highly agitated and felt like receiving a hidden message from God, like through the radio.

I wiped feces on the bed and stripped naked, yelling at King David for my problem. I was isolated for my behavior and given Lithium and Depakote to manage my mood. I eventually became a reasonable human being. It was evident by the doctors that I was bipolar type 1, and I was in disbelief because I had studied bipolar disorder in AP Psychology.

So it began my battle with taking my medication and finding the right one. I flew back to Connecticut, and I missed two weeks of school. I tried to blend into the crowd and do my coursework, and I still felt hidden messages were being broadcasted to me. At one point, I thought the devil possessed me, and I was all over the place. I felt signs were everywhere, and they were speaking to me. My teacher was concerned, so she had me evaluated by the school psychologist. I broke down crying, and he wanted me to be assessed by the hospital.

I was evaluated and told I was going to Silver Hill Hospital in New Canaan, Connecticut; I stayed there for a month and was hyper-aggressive. I hated being there, and I was so wound up that they placed me in restraints. I lay there for hours, waiting to be released. I was given a lot of medication to balance myself. I remember having so much energy, and I wanted to escape. They placed me in a padded room to calm me down. It lasted for a few hours, but I was still a tyrant.

Eventually, I was released. I didn’t go back to school and completed half of my senior year by homeschooling. I was a vegetable, and I gained weight. All my power was gone, and I felt numb to the world. That was until early 2009 when my mom told me I didn’t have a disorder and didn’t have to take medication. I followed her instruction, and life became colorful again. I had hope because things seemed normal again.

Liberty University accepted me to be a part of the class of 2013, and I decided to pursue Nursing. Free from medication, I was gregarious and excited to be on campus. I had a big personality and worked hard not to talk about my medical past. I had highs and lows, but I kept it covered. People didn’t suspect I was bipolar, and I never told anyone. It felt good to be away from Connecticut and start over in a new city. I was doing fine until my sophomore year. I experienced psychosis, and I was depressed. My family advised me to go to the hospital, and I did. They placed me on medication again, and I felt my world shrink. I spent New Year in the hospital and lacked hope for the future.

I didn’t get into the Nursing program and ran out of money to fund my education. I returned to school, but I didn’t take the medication. I ended in a full manic episode. I was doing bizarre things and started to break the rules. Somebody eventually reported my behavior to the student council, and they sent me to the hospital for evaluation. I spent the next few weeks under observation and was ultimately released.

I went back to school with a scheduled meeting with the student council. They sat me down and gave their decision about my behavior while I was manic. They said I was unfit for school, and I was to be kicked out and banned from school. My heart broke, and I didn’t know what to do and kept telling myself I wasn’t wrong. I felt shame and guilt for what I did, but they decided. I moved back into my mom’s place, dejected.

I spent two years in and out of hospitals. Finally, I landed at St. Vincent’s Hospital in the summer of 2012. They treated me for a couple of weeks. The doctor reviewing my case had recognized me from Silver Hill in 2008. He remembered my case clearly and had a heart-to-heart with me regarding medication. He told me I could have a successful life if only I took the pill. He reminded me that I was bipolar and highly intelligent, and there was hope for me, but only if I took the drug. I complied, and I made it a point to take the medication.

Six months passed, and I packed my bags for North Carolina at the beginning of 2013. It was a new chapter, and I was determined to make it out there. Call it divine destiny or God’s hand on my life. Things were lining up. I found a place to live for only $275/ month and transferred my job to the mall in Raleigh. After about a month of living there, the landlord gave me a 96 Odyssey for free. My good friend, Justin, reminded me that God was in control and did not worry about anything. I found a psychiatrist and went to counseling. I stuck with the psychiatrist for years while living in North Carolina. The counseling lasted for six months. It was a Christian counseling center, and the counselor shared the Gospel with me. I grew up in church my entire life and thought I knew the message. He told me I knew it in my head but not my heart. I worked with him, discussing church, my parent’s divorce, and my condition.

We talked about Jesus and how he saved a dead human being like myself and replaced it with a new heart. He shared that his blood is the most precious and is not wasted. He chose me and gave me a new heart with his blood covering me. He talked about forgiveness and told me that I was wrong for not forgiving the church, my parents, and the doctors. The parable of the servants is what he shared. As the parable goes, a servant owed his master a great deal of wealth, and he was beyond in debt, and it would take him a lifetime to repay him. The master, one day, decided to forgive the debt and set his servant free. The servant was filled with joy and told his friends. But he remembered his servant had a debt. Instead of forgiving the debt like was done to him, he threw the servant in jail, demanding to be repaid. The master heard of this and sought the servant to be jailed. He was perplexed by the reaction of grace he showed his servant. You can read the story for yourself. It’s Matthew 18:21–35.

I was guilty because I withheld forgiveness. He, Jesus, convicted my heart by that parable, and I surrendered myself to the throne of grace. I was also convicted by Jeremiah 17:9, which states the heart is deceitful and wicked; who can know it? It was clear to me my position before all holy and mighty God. I cried my eyes out and accepted and believe in Christ Jesus. Because I believe in Christ, I am saved from hell. More than that, I am forgiven of my transgressions. The elders baptized me towards the end of counseling sessions, and I was able to share my faith with my community.

Life was good. I found a job in sales and started my career as a lead generator. I went to work for a couple of startups after my first sales job. I excelled in my startup position, so much so that I attained the highest achiever award. It came with a twenty thousand dollar bonus, and I paid off my student loans. Unfortunately, that year there were layoffs, and my team was affected. I was laid off in October 2016 and was given a good severance package. I thanked my employers for the opportunity and moved on.
For a couple of weeks, I decided to backpack in Japan with friends, and we celebrated New Year there. It was a fantastic trip, and we explored a good amount of the island, and I want to return one day.

I decided to move back to Connecticut after my Japan trip. The four years in North Carolina were terrific and a huge blessing, and I was in remission with my condition and accomplished a lot. I moved in with friends for about six months until I got an opportunity at a startup in Long Island. It was great, but it only lasted a week. The pressure and stress of the job made me suicidal, and I kept thinking over and over how I wanted to kill myself. I broke the agreement because it freaked me out. I moved into my mom’s apartment until I figured out another job. There’s a pattern in my life that when things are uber stressful, I cycle into a suicidal way. I tried the sales job again, but I had this anxiety to kill myself.

I was taking my medication, but I could use a little more Lithium. I was unstable from 2017 to 2019, going from job to job. I did lose 100 lbs around this time. I decided, in 2019, I was going to move back to North Carolina. I packed my life into my car and headed there in April. I had two thousand dollars and two months to find a job. It was highly stressful, and I ran out of money in June. That’s when I met a friend, Brandon Cook, who was also bipolar. He told me Lithium was no good and I should stop taking it. I listened to him and instantly went into a manic state. I was all over the place. I was taking long walks and sleeping outside. One day, we decided to make a road trip to Virginia. And that was the beginning of the end.
We planned to pick up his girlfriend. We drove through the night, and he was driving, and I was high in the passenger seat. We eventually got to her place, and they left me at a hotel.

They said they would pick me up in the morning, but I needed cash. It was raining, and I waited in the front lobby. I saw them drive off, not knowing when they would come back. I smoked a cigarette and remembered being super horney. I went inside and asked the receptionist if there were anybody to sleep with. She was alarmed, and I stepped out into the front lobby. After smoking another cigarette and coming to my senses, I returned inside to have the receptionist call the police to escort me to the hospital. I knew I was manic, and I needed help.

She did what I had asked, and before you knew it, the police arrived. They were great, and they appreciated my gesture of help. They took into the ER in Richmond. They evaluated me, and they determined that I needed to be institutionalized by Central State. It was the worst week of my life. The patients were super hostile, and I rubbed a guy the wrong way. He targeted and eventually assaulted me. He hit me in the head and threw a chair at me. I pressed charges, but it was scary. Then there was another less functional guy. One day, I tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, and he punched me square in the mouth, chipping a tooth.

I did not have a good time, but thankfully a good friend and mentor, Chris Gerhardt, came to my rescue. He talked with the doctors and told them I was getting worst while I was there. He advocated for me, and I was eventually released.

I stayed at his place for a couple of weeks. I got my car back because of the grace of God. I was shell shock and not able to do much. I went into a deep depression. Chris gave me money to restabilize myself, and I returned to CT. I stayed at my mother’s place again, which gave me time to recover. I was devastated that I was institutionalized again. I made a promise after my 10th time that I would never go back, but that wasn’t the end.

In 2020, I moved into an intentional living community. It was fine and all, but there were a few inner-community conflicts. We tried to resolve them, but it ended where I left the community. I was deregulated with my Lithium and went into another manic state. It was late at night, and a friend and I were on the house’s porch. We made a lot of noise, and my community reported me to the police for the disturbance. We made a mess on the front porch, and when the police came, they said I was going to the ER for the doctors to assess me. Sure enough, I landed back into the looney bin. I needed the help, but I didn’t want to be there.

I stayed at Mom’s for a bit to recover after my hospitalization. Then I found a place in New Haven to live. It was month to month which was good. I paid for rent by driving for Lyft, and I was trying to maintain myself after all the hospital visits. The medicine was challenging, and I was battling a dark depression. I had thoughts of killing myself again and abandoning everything. By the end of May 2021, I had lost my mind and ended up in another institution. By the time I got out, I decided to kill myself. I tried hanging myself but couldn’t find the right place to do it. Then it came to me that I could overdose on my Lithium. I took the pill bottle and swallowed it. I wanted to die, and sure enough, the Lithium would do it.

It must have been the afternoon when I overdosed, and I waited till the evening to tell my roommate what I’d done. I was still alive, but I needed to go to the hospital, and I changed my mind and wanted to live. My roommate drove me to the hospital and soon put me on dialysis. They weren’t sure if I would survive because my kidneys took a beating with Lithium overdose. By grace, I survived and volunteered myself into an institution.

I stayed two months there, and they finally released me at the end of August. I tried working, but it wasn’t very easy. Since 2021, I made one trip to the hospital because of suicidal ideations. It was this year in January, and I volunteered myself and sought help. I wasn’t ashamed and realized the hospital is there to help in a crisis. Never be embarrassed to seek help. We need a hand to support us, and it’s there if we ask.

This blog post was encouraging and helpful to me. It highlights the reality of mental illness and the dark roads it can lead to. I hope my story affects someone and gives them hope. We can survive mental illness if we don’t give up.

Thank you.