Then because of the racing thoughts and clinical depression I was accurately diagnosed with bipolar disorder. However, when I felt better, I stopped taking the medications and eventually I became delusional. I believed I was Jesus and people were trying to find and help me. I began looking for my name in the Bible and in newspapers.

Eventually, I believed someone would find me if I drove my car erratically. Instead, the police found me, smashed my car window, and dragged me out of my car. I was arrested and taken to Cook County Jail. I was there for about five days where I was put in restraints and bullied my other inmates. Later, two guards pushed me out the front door of the jail with no shoe strings or belt and told to “behave myself”. I was arrested again because I missed my court date for the driving incident and returned to jail where I was again for a few days. While incarcerated, an inmate hit me in the head with his shoe, and I needed stitches. I was released when a couple who once took me in, paid my bail. Terrified by the experience, I took medications for a long time, but eventually, I stopped and I became delusional a number of times.

For example one of my delusional episodes took the form of my believing I was the fifth Beatle. I believed the Beatles were trying to find me. First, I performed a ritual by sitting in front the TV while repeatedly playing a John Lennon record. For many hours I obsessed over the words until the music somehow matched what I was seeing on TV. The lyrics and music represented good and bad people. Then I cleared all the garbage from the front of my apartment, so the Beatles could land their plane. In addition, I threw all my belongings in the dumpster to prove my loyalty and commitment. Hours later, I put everything back and cleaned my apartment until it was spotless to again prove my sincerity. Finally, while listening to a Paul McCartney album I heard the lyrics “And the grey goose flew away.” Then I saw my shadow on the wall. I knew they weren’t coming. Somehow the episode ended, and it was one of the loneliest moments of my life.

So over a six year period, I was admitted to a number of private and state mental health facilities for months at a time. Every time I became ill, I would blame my family, my job or other circumstance instead of recognizing I had a serious illness. I believed if I didn’t take the medications, then I didn’t have the disorder. It would seem obvious that I needed medication, but I still resisted for a number of reasons:

First, I considered mental illness to be a character flaw that demonstrated a lack of faith and strength. Secondly, the media with words like “nut job” and “psycho” were words I couldn’t identify with. Third, medications were seen as magic beans that solved all problems. Almost never did I get credit for all my hard work and self-sacrifice. In addition, the medications allowed me to have appropriate speech and behavior, but I often still felt miserable. But most importantly my pride would not allow me be follow through with the medications.

So acceptance, for me, became a long process. I finally began to understand that if I ever wanted to stay safe and lead a normal life, I needed to take medication and drastically change my attitude and lifestyle. I needed to recognize that bipolar disorder was affecting my career. I also needed to take therapy more seriously. Medication became a mandatory part of my daily routine. I began to understand that when I became ill, others would have to make all my decisions, and I could end up anywhere. In addition I would have to start over from scratch with medications, employment, housing and relationships.

At last, I finally understood that bipolar disorder is a physical illness with psychological symptoms. So, the illness wasn’t my fault, but it was my responsibility. I needed to get over my pride, to take medication and therapy seriously.

Therapy became very important because it helped me understand my family dynamic and to sort out my experiences with mental illness. This meant figuring out some kind of resolution for my conflicts with my parents and unraveling my thoughts and feelings that occurred when I was ill. Therapy also helped me figure out how bipolar disorder was affecting my relationships and my life, especially my feelings of anger, frustration and depression that interfered with my ability to work and maintain normal social relationships.

Over the years, I’ve had a number of wonderful psychiatrists and therapists, who have helped me to stay healthy and improve my self-confidence. They also consistently encouraged me to write creatively. Medication and therapy have made all the difference for me, but it still has been a difficult task to lead a productive life.

Recovery, for me, has been a lifelong process. Since there is no cure for bipolar disorder, I constantly need to monitor my thoughts, moods, and behavior, and generally take care of myself. Medication has been an indispensable part of my long term recovery.

However, I also have a support system. My primary support is my wife. When I explained my illness on our first date, she didn’t abandon me. Gradually, we worked together on our relationship to help me with my anger, anxiety and feelings of insecurity. She has also been accepting of my limitations, such as my inability to travel to places overnight, and my need to stay with friends on visits for only a few hours at a time. In addition, we have discovered that often there is no apparent objective reason for my anxiety. It’s simply the brain chemistry problems at work, so there is often no blame or fault involved.

Other members of my support system include some family members and my psychiatrist, together with a number of positive coping skills that have helped me to stay out of hospitals and to lead a productive and fulfilling life.

One of these coping skills includes meditation that helps me with racing thoughts, anxiety, and painful memories. Meditation has also helped with my spiritual growth. Another important coping skill is physical exercise that helps me transform nervous energy and anxiety into productive activities like doing chores and hiking in the woods. As a coping skill, creative writing has helped me express my feelings, find closure for difficult experiences, and has helped redirect delusional thinking and behavior into safer and more productive possibilities for my creativity. Since I am intelligent, but have a great deal of trouble with stress, it was hard to find a good job with no stress. Creativity writing has given me an outlet for my creative intelligence that I couldn’t get at work. Other coping skills include following a daily routine, getting enough sleep, and remaining socially active. When I am in a routine I’m less likely to become bored, obsessive and worried. When I get enough sleep, I don’t become irritable and mistake tiredness for being symptomatic. Being socially active helps me think about others and forget about my own worries.

For most of my life, I was required to hide my illness from others including employers and friends. Once I told tell them I couldn’t “untell” them. So I rarely risked it. With support groups and sharing my story, I have made new friends and have continued learning more about my bipolar disorder from their experiences and knowledge.

Finally, it is my belief that mental illness is still widely misunderstood and that there still exists a lot of stereotypes about its causes and treatment. This includes society as whole and even individuals who struggle with mental health issues