Living with Bi-Polar, a review of Stephen Fry’s documentary, and personal experiences

Living with Bi-Polar, a review of Stephen Fry’s documentary, and personal experiences
Part 1

Here is the video I am referring to. I claim no rights to its content, blah-blah-disclaimer-blah.

I decided to write this commentary on some of my own views and personal experiences in living with bi-polar disorder as I watched this documentary. Initially, I was going to do a type of summation after I watched it, but there are so many things that come to me while watching it, I fear I’ll forget something. So, if in reading this you feel at times it is mirroring the show, well…it is…a bit. I’m sure I’ll go off on a tangent or two, (or ten), by the time I finish. I’m writing this to help put things in context to people I’ve known at various points in my history. My hope is this will not only explain some of my past behaviors, but also give additional insights to others who are either struggling with this affliction directly, or supporting someone who is.

Like Stephen, I never knew what bi-polar was. As a kid I knew I wasn’t “right”, but tried to hide this and play it off for various reasons. The biggest reason was fear. It’s easy to be afraid when you’re a ‘normal’ kid; when you realize how utterly different from everyone else you really are it can be downright terrifying. My fear didn’t just come from the typical worry of social ostracization, but fear of incarceration. You see, my Grandfather on my mother’s side of the family had a history of mental illness. His mood swings and violent temper were hushed legends a child would hear by eavesdropping on unaware parents. Speaking of parents, mine were quite the pair. I’ll skip all that, but there was near constant yelling and anger in my house growing up from the age of about 6 up. There were incessant arguments between my mother and father, and one of his favorite barbs to hurl at my mother was: “You’re crazy!!! Just like your father!!!”

Now even as a kid you know people say things to be mean, and tend to exaggerate. However, my dad would at times ramble on, (when my mother wasn’t around), about how my grandfather was nuts, and committed to the Loony Bin at Woodside Hospital. (Fun fact, referring to a mental asylum as Looney Bin, Nut House, Funny Farm, etc…does indeed NOT make it any less potentially terrifying to a kid).
 As a kid the thought of being committed was WAY more terrifying than any “Nightmare on Elm Street” movie. If you think about it, there were no discussions about nice, pleasant, restful places for people to go to get help. NOPE. They were always portrayed on TV and in books as hell on Earth, and were stocked to the rafters with padded rooms, straightjackets, lobotomy machines, electro-therapy hook-ups, and the rest of Dr. Frankenstein’s lab too.
So, as a kid, there was NO WAY IN HELL I was EVER going to talk to anyone about the problems I had. According to my kid logic, revealing my issues would ensure my lockup and doom akin to a superhero revealing his identity to the world. So I did what the heroes did. I worked constantly to hide myself away in plain sight for the next 20 years…

(Note, I had not finished watching the video when I wrote the last line. I was encouraged and troubled that others had chosen the same path. I may touch on that subject again later.)