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.

Take the wheel

I’m getting closer to getting a car. I have a vehicle in mind. It is from extended family. A trustworthy source. It’s reliable. Well-maintained. It’s even luxurious in some ways. Very reasonable price. A really great deal actually. All good things.

I actually have been praying about a car for awhile now. No, I haven’t been asking God for a fancy car. I don’t usually pray for material things. But knowing my past, I realize the importance of giving this matter to God.

On more than one occasion I’ve gotten a car and then lost it due to my mania. One time I gave away a new-to-me Jetta to a drug dealer. Another time I traded in the family Civic for a new Alfa Romeo. It got repossessed only a month later.

In both cases you could say that the car was a trigger. Having a car opens up a world of possibilities. Positive and negative. For someone with bipolar and manic tendencies, a car can take me to places I don’t need to go. Places that were difficult to get to in the past become easily accessible.

Therefore it is important for me to tread lightly. Exhibit caution. Yes, I prayed for the right car to come along. But here comes the real test. A new world to explore. Much potential for positive things. Work opportunities. I can see my wife and son more easily. But also the shady parts of town and unhealthy people are just a few minutes away now.

How can I stay in a recovery mindset and keep myself safe? A few ideas have come to mind. One way is to be deliberate with my car usage. Use it to get to in-person weekly therapy sessions. Have a set twelve-step meeting schedule. Organize times with my wife and son on a regular basis. Carve out time for playing basketball with my roommate. Reconnect with healthy friends.

Another thing that I have already put in place was to share my location with my close family. I know it’s not for everyone. But for me, it is an extra level of accountability. Sure, invasion of privacy could be a point of contention. But in my life today there is no place I go where I wouldn’t want people to know about.

My goal is honesty. Sharing my location is a tool that encourages this sort of transparency. It makes me think twice before going someplace unsafe. It could help build trust with my loved ones. And if it lets them sleep better at night knowing where I am, it’s worth it. I owe them that much for putting up with me and supporting me all these years.

I know that getting a car can be a tool used for my downfall. It has happened before. My family has asked me, am I ready for a car? I’ve had the money for several weeks. I was waiting for the right car. The right timing. To answer their question, I believe I am ready as soon as I acknowledge my limitations and create the appropriate safety nets.

I guess that time is now. God, let this car be a tool only for your purpose. I had to add that only. I can’t afford for it to be for anything else. But I also look forward to this next step in my recovery journey.

No complaints

My life is great today. Really great. No comparison to where I used to be. No comparison to life in rehab. Jail. Homeless. Hospitals. On life support.

I’ve been trying to live my life with a grateful heart. Most days it works. Even in the moments when I have to do something I don’t feel like doing. Clean up after someone else at work or home. When something doesn’t go my way. I get a less than stellar tip. My reward is in heaven.

But I’ve noticed a subtle change the last couple of days. I had a few difficult customers. A few times I didn’t get the best tip. A moment when I really wished I had a car. Recalling a moment during a house meeting that I had to dig through the trash because my housemates let the liner fall into the can.

It started with a thought. Man if I had a car I wouldn’t have to sit in this hot car. I can’t believe those girls thought that was a good tip. Then during the meeting someone mentioned having to take out trash everyday. I just blurted out unprompted about the trash can incident.

Where did that come from?

Just a couple of days ago, a coworker of mine gave me a great compliment. I apologized for not re-stocking everything I had to the night before. You don’t have to apologize. You’re one of the best servers here. You’re an asset. A team player. You never complain.

I remember feeling a sense of pride. My hard work isn’t going unnoticed. But then just a day later I’m noticing just the opposite of what my coworker said. I’m beginning to complain.

While that isn’t typically seen as a big deal for most people, I realize that it’s not a healthy practice for me. Living with a sense of peace and contentment is vital to my recovery. Complaining in my head and especially out loud signals a breakdown in my recovery. Somewhere I’m discontent. Somewhere I feel like I deserve better.

Where in reality, my life is great. Really great. Of course things can always be better. It’d be nice to have a car. I wish I could spend more time with my loved ones. It’d be great if I had a job where I didn’t have to wear my body down. But I need to live life on life’s terms. On God’s terms.

So I must remind myself that things are the best today. I have a relationship with my family. I have a relationship with God. All my needs are met. Slipping down the path of ungratefulness and discontentment for me is poison. Instead I must in everything give thanks. Not just when things go my way. Everything.

It is not easy. But living this way gives me a fresher perspective of God’s hand in my life. Even the trials I’ve endured is for my growth. For God’s glory. I’m more than okay with that. No complaints.

Short circuit

Tray of drinks in one hand. A to-go order bag hanging from my finger. As I move, the weight of the bag shifts the balance of the drinks. I am wearing a Diet Pepsi.

My receipts are soaked. My handheld tablet for taking orders is wet as well. Not again. A similar thing happened a week ago. I poured a whole container of sweet tea all over myself. I fried the tablet last time too.

Both times it was near closing. Exhausted after a double shift. Trying to carry more than my body wanted to. When I brought it to my manager’s attention I asked for mercy. The GM won’t be happy. Those tablets cost $1500 each.

Oh Lord. One broken waterlogged tablet is an honest mistake. Two in one week is too costly to ignore. Best case scenario I’ll get a stern warning. Maybe a write-up. Worst case my job could be in jeopardy.

And things were going so well. I had just made more money in one shift than I would have made in one week working 40 hours at Starbucks.

When I arrived home I went to plug in my ankle monitor. The magnet hooked up but the indicator light didn’t turn on. Strange. I unplug and plug it back in. Nothing. No not this one too.

Thoughts go through my head. I need to contact my lawyer. I should call the 24 hour helpline on the charger. God, I can’t go to jail over this. Not right now.

Then I look closely. Something got stuck to the magnet. A staple. I pull it out. A little spark flickers. Then the green indicator light turns on. Phew. That was a close one.

Another reminder. Sometimes I push too hard. Move too fast. Make costly errors. Don’t pay attention. When that happens I run the risk of short-circuiting my recovery. Something I cannot afford to do. I have too much to lose. If I’m doing this during my work shift I can see myself doing the same thing with my upcoming passion projects. Note to self: slow down.

I should take a break next time instead of wearing myself out. Sit down for awhile. Have some food. Breathe. Meditate. Pray.

I’m bracing myself for the next time I face my GM. But like everything else I give it to God. If I make it through this mini-crisis I’ll need to do a better job of self-care next time.

Great things

God you have done great things. That was the lyric of a song streaming on my Christian music station. Redemption. Freedom. He brought us back to life.

I don’t want to go into too much detail. For fear of “jinxing” things. Or jumping the gun. But it feels like God is doing great things.

I’ve felt this way before. Usually when I’m about to embark on a manic episode. That’s when things aren’t just going great. Things feel destined. In a way the things happening right now feel that way. Hence, the need for caution.

I realize that this is an important time in my life. The balance I’ve created for myself can be swayed by “big ideas”. Grandiose plans. My life is hanging in this balance. If I tip, I could lose my sanity. My freedom. My family. Quite possibly my life.

Hence, I proceed with caution. I can’t help feeling excited. There are some great possibilities in the pipeline. But I must continue business as usual. Medication. Sleep. Therapy. 12 Steps. Faith. I can’t scrap the building blocks of my recovery. Even if there are promising developments on the horizon. If anything I need to double-down on these things to ensure I’ll have the support needed to take my journey to the next level.

So what is the next level? I would say that it would be when I progress from simply surviving to fully thriving. I’m definitely past the point of surviving. I don’t have to budget my commissary account to buy ramen soups. I thank God for this new life.

In a way I am already thriving. My job is great. My family life is progressing in the right direction. Materially I lack nothing (except a car). But I can see self-actualization on the horizon. Living life full of purpose. Living to my potential.

Will I finally get off the rollercoaster? Finally stay stable and achieve great things? Or will I allow another episode to derail my life? Maybe this rollercoaster is just life itself. Full of twists and turns. Sometimes scary. Sometimes dangerous. But a thrilling ride nonetheless. When I get manic I fly off the rails. This go-round I’m making sure I’m buckled in tight.

God, I give you my future. Thank you for this opportunity for you to add to my testimony.

Medication

My journey with medication began when I was 18 years old. Fresh off a turbulent manic episode I was introduced to psychotropic medication. Mood stabilizers. Anti-psychotics. Depakote. Seroquel. Klonapin. Lithium.

I was on such a high dose that I slept through most of the day. When I was awake I felt groggy. I felt like a shell of myself. I didn’t feel creative. I didn’t feel spontaneous.

Yet that was the price I believed I had to pay to stay out of the hospital. My first manic episode was costly. I had to leave college. I didn’t know if I would be able to go back. So I was willing to try anything to get my life back to normal.

Slowly I tapered off certain medications. I eventually I was on a manageable dose of Lithium. But I still didn’t feel like myself. I felt like a zombie. So I would use alcohol and marijuana to feel “alive”. To feel different. The marijuana especially would send me into another frame of mind. Eventually the high THC content of potent weed would trigger a manic episode.

That cycle would continue for most of my twenties. Eventually my mania would lead me to jail. It seemed like jail was the one place where the medication had a chance to work effectively. I was in a controlled environment for weeks. Months sometimes. Years. I was off all other substances.

It was in jail in 2012 when I was finally able to get off Lithium. I began taking Depakote instead. A milder mood stabilizer. I felt leaps and bounds better. But it still had some side effects. I still didn’t feel that creative spark. It affected my libido. In some ways I still felt emotionally numb.

I dealt with these side effects for seven years. I was still able to thrive in spite of them. But they did cause a ripple effect in my life, especially in my marriage, that eventually couldn’t be ignored. I won’t blame my actions solely on the medication. But it did have a real effect.

When I was locked up again after the last episode and the “incident”, I ended up being put on Seroquel and Trazodone. For the first time since I was 18 I was completely off mood stabilizers. The medicine I was put on helped me sleep and were in the anti-psychotic category.

I realize today that my main issue has always been with psychosis. Yes, I have bipolar disorder. But my mood is fairly consistent. It is only when I allow myself to spiral into mania when I get in trouble.

The medicine helps keep the intrusive thoughts at bay. The I’m-Jesus-it’s-the-end-of-the-world-thoughts. The conspiracy-theory-Illuminati-CIA thoughts. Sure, I might still have certain ideas about the world. But I can shut the faucet off. I don’t follow these ideas down never-ending rabbit holes.

Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing the world with a new set of eyes. I can actually feel. I can appreciate the beauty of the stars twinkling next to the moon. I can feel the sadness from missing my wife and son. I can experience the love of God in a way I haven’t in the past. I can feel grateful for all the positive developments in my life today.

I realize that medication management can be one of the most difficult issues for someone with bipolar. The on-again off-again see-saw. But I can honestly say that it gets better. Things may get worse at first. But life can be worth living again.

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.

A Closed Connection

The other day I wrote about a renewed connection. Someone I had met from my past. Someone who promotes living a healthy lifestyle and is an advocate in a field I am passionate about. That connection is still moving forward. I have another training scheduled for tomorrow morning.

This post is about a different kind of connection.

I was sitting on my bed last night. Finishing up my blog post. Munching on a Nutty Bar. A jailhouse favorite. As was my routine I had an NA Zoom meeting playing in the background. I heard a voice that sounded eerily familiar.

I clicked onto Zoom. I looked at the speaker. It was an old friend of mine. Someone who was once very close to me. We had met years ago when I was living in sober living. When I went down my spiral into mania I reached out to him.

We shared similar interests. Similar belief systems. Especially when I was manic. It seemed like we were connecting on many levels. We were working on a business. We were on the verge of greatness. He encouraged me to be myself. To embrace the lifestyle. Live free and in harmony with the universe.

Little did I know that I was feeding my mania. Going deeper into the rabbit hole. Staying up for days at a time. He tried to help me. But there was nothing he could do. I had been with him just hours before I was almost killed last year.

I hadn’t spoken to him since. When I reached out to him I wondered how the past year had been for him. He was in a twelve step meeting after all. But when we talked, it was apparent we were on two different pages. Two paths.

He was still gung-ho about his business plans. While he was clean from substances his mentality hadn’t changed. Go big or go home. Do or die thinking.

I realized through our conversation that this was a connection I could not reopen. I could see how his entrepreneurial spirit appealed to me in the past. His lifestyle choices. But the person I’ve become over this past year did not vibe with his spirit.

I know what is healthy for me today. I know what brings me peace. I did not have that sense of peace while talking to him. Speaking to him at length served as a sort of barometer for how much I’ve changed since my near-death experience. The things that used to appeal to me seemed so foreign now. It felt like our connection was part of a dream from long ago. I could feel that dream trying to pull me back.

But I enjoy living today in this new reality. A reality where God is present. Not through a series of surreal connections. But through a deep sense of serenity. From constant prayer and daily meditation. From confirmation through God’s word, His people, and His creation.

Before we hung up we agreed that we would lead separate lives. Go on separate paths. We still have love for each other. He is a good person. But some connections are meant to remain closed. And to finally get that closure is a good thing.

Light at the end of the tunnel

I can see it. My recovery is progressing. Everything is improving. My relationship with my family. My wife and son. I’m becoming one of the top servers at my job. I’m close to saving enough money to buy a car. I have a potential opportunity to begin work again as an advocate for mental health. There is a possibility that my case will be diverted to a specialty mental health court.

So many things in the works. Great things. Important things. I no longer am in the pit of despair. Nor am I at the beginning stage. Life is in full swing. A world of possibilities. Opportunity. I don’t have my entire life back yet. But I’m not so far away right now. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I need to remind myself to manage my expectations. To stop and pray. To breathe. I know that I didn’t get here on my own. I rely on many people who support me in my recovery. My family. My mental health team. My recovery supports. God. I remind myself not to get overconfident. Don’t get cocky.

When things get too good I often lose my way. I start taking my life back. Instead of allowing God to piece my life together according to His will.

Breathe. Slow down. Pray. I can’t get caught up in chasing external things. I can’t lose sight of what is truly important. God. Family. Recovery.

All the amazing things happening in my life can be gone in an instant. But I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. After trudging through the mud for awhile, I feel hopeful. Even the mud had beautiful moments. But I enjoy this view better.