JR

The other day I wrote about a new member of the house who was possibly manic. Without going into too much detail, the house decided that we were not the best fit for his needs.

It was pretty emotional. Dramatic. JR really wanted to be there. He tried so hard to fit in. Went above and beyond in cutting the grass. Cleaning the kitchen. Reorganizing the garage. Taking out the garbage. But his unstable mental state was apparent.

Not pictured – the impenetrable wall to the right of this image

At one point JR broke down. One housemate suggested he go to the infamous “10th floor”. The psychiatric wing of the county hospital. The same place I got put in a chokehold and charged with assault by a behavioral tech.

Oh HELL no. I aint going back there. Last time I was there someone tried to rape me and he got stuck in the neck! He jumped off the couch. I suggested that he take a breather. Smoke a cigarette outside on the porch. I volunteered to be excused from the rest of the house meeting to talk to him.

He was obviously distressed. Triggered by his previous experience at the 10th floor. I could identify with his feelings. I was no fan of that place either. But I spoke to him of my personal journey with mental illness. Some of the pits and spirals of my illness and addiction. My own manic episodes. My psychotic delusions. How I was able to find stability through medication, sleep, and support. I explained to JR the difference between my manic spirituality versus my current relationship with God. He felt like I was “reading his mailbox”.

By the end of the conversation he felt more at ease. We discussed a gameplan. Get a hotel room. Go see a provider. Get on the right medication. Get to work. Get on the right track. After a few weeks of stability I could try to help him find another Oxford House to go to.

I agreed to take him to a motel. He wanted to go to the cheapest one closest to his job. When I saw the location I remember hearing it was a bad neighborhood. Knowing my own triggers I asked a housemate to ride with me. I’m glad I did.

When we got to the place I felt bad for JR. The place stunk like weed. There was somebody drinking on the stairs. A homeless man was sleeping under a tree. How is anyone going to stay clean at a place like this?

I gave him a hug. Told him I was praying for him. That he was my brother and that I loved him. To be honest, I don’t know if he will make it.

So many times I had been in JR’s position. So many people who loved me who tried in vain to help me. Who could only watch in horror as I self-destructed. Destroying everything in my path. The anti-Midas touch. Such a heartbreaking situation for everyone involved. Tonight I saw a small glimpse of what I put my loved ones through.

Tonight also reminded of my time as a peer support. I remembered my experience working with struggling individuals. There is no saving someone. There was no saving me either. All I could do today and in the past was talk someone off a ledge. Guide them towards the right resources. The rest was up to them and God.

What is the solution? How do we help these lost souls? Where do I fit in? I ask God these questions with no tangible answers. My one comfort is that God is sovereign. He carried me through the tough times. Sometimes the rough stuff is what enables God to form character. Even with every tragedy in my life there has always been a silver lining.

Because of my own hardship I was at least able to help the house handle a delicate situation. I was able to help JR calm down after feeling triggered. Share some insights. Some resources. What happens next is up to him and God. But mostly God.

God, watch and care for my lost brother. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.

Watching myself

There is a new guy at our house. He got here a couple of days ago. Initially he was going to stay on our couch. But he has bronchitis. Coughing a lot. We asked him to quarantine before becoming a member. He received a COVID test yesterday. Still waiting on the result.

He is interesting to say the least. His first night here he wanted to sleep on our porch. The house decided to let him stay in the garage. His first night he completely rearranged the garage. Created a little bedroom space in the corner. Today he mowed the lawn.

He talks fast. He talks a lot. He talks about being on fire for Jesus. That he has been healed from his bipolar and doesn’t need to be on meds. He hung up on his mom when she was being “negative” about him being hyperspiritual.

All of this hits close to home. He appears to be in the midst of a manic episode. The hyperactivity. Hyperspirituality. Rapid speech. Overstepping of boundaries. The other members of the house can feel something not quite right with him. They don’t have the experience dealing with someone with mental illness.

I could sense something unsettling when he first arrived. Something about him didn’t sit right. I mentioned that he might be manic or hypomanic. We agreed to give him a chance. None of us wanted to see him homeless.

There’s a growing feeling that we may have made a mistake. But he has yet to do anything blatantly wrong or against the rules. He seems to be sober. He should be able to start paying rent tomorrow. He doesn’t really follow the boundaries of a quarantine. But neither is much of the state of Texas for that matter.

A couple of my roommates and I had an in-depth discussion on how to address certain issues. One of them is he doesn’t consider himself an addict. He claims to be healed from all afflictions through God. But one of the tenets of Oxford House is self-identifying as an addict. Pursuing a life of recovery. Another issue is his mental health. He said he was receiving mental health services. Yet he doesn’t take medication. There can be severe ramifications to these issues.

These types of situations can be somewhat stressful. It can become tense. Drama. Just comes with the territory of living in a sober living house. Fortunately I have a little experience with bipolar and mental illness. Not quite an expert. But I can identify the signs.

It feels like I’m watching myself a bit. I can remember feeling on top of the world. Talking until I was blue in the face. On fire for Jesus. But then I became Jesus. Hopefully it doesn’t go that far for my housemate. If it does we are in for a little adventure. I hope that I can assist him in getting help if needed.

A part of me just wants to watch it all unfold. Sit on the sidelines. It is draining just talking and thinking about it. It brings up old, painful memories. But considering I have this experience I know I can’t just be a spectator. There is a human life here. Someone who may be sick and getting sicker. He needs assistance. I just pray for the wisdom to help guide and support his recovery in the right manner.

Definitely a wake-up call. That was me. That could still be me if I’m not careful. Like I said it feels like I’m watching myself. It also means I need to watch myself. Take care of my own recovery.

I’ve been wanting to get more involved in mental health advocacy. I guess I’m getting some hands-on experience.

Burn out

A couple of days ago I met a couple of social workers. They were dining in at the restaurant. We began chatting about the field and mental health in particular. They had been in the profession for over twenty years. I mentioned I was considering going to graduate school for social work.

There response wasn’t exactly encouraging. It’s stressful. There’s no money in it. Burn out is real.

I left the conversation wondering if this was something I really wanted to do. Work with others. Underserved communities. Marginalized populations. Mental health. Addiction. Criminal offender populations. I wondered if my future would differ from their experiences.

Would I get burnt out? Grow tired of the day in, day out emotional drain? Then I realized that their experience was just one perspective. My passion and purpose doesn’t come from a field of my choosing. It comes from a personal journey that is uniquely mine. I didn’t choose this path. This path chose me.

All the struggles. The heartache. The days, months, and years in rehab. In mental hospitals. Behind bars. On the streets. The near death experiences. To the eyes of the world these experience make me a lesser candidate. People in business and politics desire squeaky clean individuals to represent their entities with “integrity”. A criminal record is a permanent scar in these arenas.

Yet my vulnerabilities can become my greatest strengths. I’ve walked this journey. There are others who can draw strength from my story. So many people in the shadows. Hurting. Lost. Afraid. I’ve been there. This is the path I am walking. Maybe I can help light the way a little.

After the rainstorm I found the rainbow. Maybe there will be a pot of gold somewhere there. Maybe there won’t. But my journey is more than chasing material things. It’s more than finding a career. It’s about fulfilling a purpose. A destiny. The meaning behind all the tears. I’ve caught glimpses in the past. I’ve seen a glimpse in my present. Because of that I keep my eyes watching God. Asking Him to increase my vision.

Burning out implies using up all my natural energy. Putting the world on my shoulders. Finding out that I can’t carry the burden. But having faith and trust in God lets me lay my burdens down. I can cast my cares aside. I don’t have to shoulder it on my own. I have a hidden reserve of oil to burn when my supply is gone.

Kanye part 2

After writing yesterday’s post about Kanye, I began to think more. While I was saddened by his fall from grace, I do believe there is a silver lining. Especially for those suffering from bipolar, manic episodes, and psychosis.

If anything there is a massive amount of exposure. Most of the times manic episodes are’t captured on video. Their Twitter rants aren’t all over TMZ and People magazine. But now the public gets an intimate glimpse of what bipolar really looks like. More knowledge equals more understanding. More understanding can lead to more compassionate care.

It could also become a rallying point for the rest of us. Yes there are some who are still judging him and ridiculing his behavior. But maybe it’s time for those who are usually in the shadows to speak up.

Most of the people I come into contact today know very little about my mental health struggles. But because of Kanye’s situation, mental health, especially psychotic manic episodes is now a talking point issue. It opened up the door for me to share a little bit of my story with my roommates. I realize that plenty of people are kind and strive to be empathetic.

In today’s technological age, Kanye’s manic outburst has been captured and retweeted and shared countless times. What if his recovery could be captured in the same way? How many people could be impacted in a positive way?

I pray that he gets the help he needs. That he finds the right balance to help him live a healthy life. That he allows God to heal his mind and relationships. I believe Kanye has enormous potential to be an advocate for mental health. He has a huge platform. I pray that he gets there one day.

But in the meantime I’ll use my much smaller platform. Speak up. Share my journey of recovery. Advocate for myself and others. Do what God puts in my heart to do. Go with God. I’ll let him grow my platform if it’s His will and get out of His way. Who knows, maybe Kanye might even read this one day.

If you’re reading this Kanye, remember, Jesus Walks with us.

I met an icon

It was my senior year in college at Emory University. I was hypomanic. Teetering on full-blown. There was a speaker panel going on in the auditorium. I decided to check it out. I remember initially not knowing who was there, but being drawn to a message of civil rights and unity.

Full of manic confidence, I walked up to the main speaker. I introduced myself. I told him I had dreams of fighting for civil rights. I told him I’d like to collaborate with him one day. He told me that he liked my initiative and gave me his business card:

Unfortunately, the dream of collaborating with that man ended the other day. But John Lewis was an amazing man. A civil rights icon. He walked with Martin Luther King in Selma, 1963. Was a United States Congressman for over three decades. He was awarded the nation’s highest civilian honor, the Presidential Medal of Freedom. The country lost a true American hero.

It’s hard to believe that I once came across such an important figure in our nation’s history. That I had a brief conversation with him. He believed in me enough to hand me his business card. And that was when I was manic.

When I think of all the important people and celebrities I’ve met in the past, I get sad sometimes. What was the point? Why did I shake hands with this man? What did he see in me? Will I ever reach the potential I once believe I had?

While I may not ever become an icon, I do believe that there has to be more to my story. I only pray to have a positive human impact on society one day. Give a helping hand. Advocate in areas I know a lot about. Mental health. Police brutality. Criminal justice reform. Addiction. How much or how little will depend on what God allows. I’m just taking his lead today.