
Bipolar 1: THE MANIC INTRO
āIf you’re going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you’re going to be locked up.ā -Hunter S. Thompson
Bipolar Blues & Manic-Depressive Madness.
Donāt make me angry. YouĀ wouldn’tĀ want to see me angry.
I reached for the glass of water and swallowed the pill. I try to remember to take it the same time every day, but Iām not always successful. I take pills in the morning. I take a pill in the afternoon. And I take pills in the evening. I have the option of taking an additional pill at bed time to shut my brain off, but itās highly addictive, so it scares me. The lithium has ruined my thyroid, so I take another pill for that. If Iām not careful, it can also can ruin my liver, brain and kidneys. Thatās just ONE of the harmful drugs Iām on. You might wonder why Iād take something that could kill me? Itās because that without it, I will destroy everyone around me.
I am so fucking fucked, itās fucked up.
There. Thatās about my entire story in a nutshell. I am broken. Completely broken, And like shattered shards of glass, anyone who comes near me walks away bleeding. So, I have become more and more of a recluse, afraid to have friends or relationships, because I know Iāll just end up destroying the people I care about, which kills me inside and makes me—once again—want to kill myself.
Itās a fantastic pattern, isnāt it?
And thatās what being bipolar is.
Whatās so frustrating is that Iām a good and decent person. Mostly. And hurting others is NOT what I want to do, but it IS what I do. My heart breaks all the time for what Iāve done. Living with myself is a form of torture some days. Iām tugged back and forth between wanting to love people and wanting to protect them from me.
Iām a humanist. I believe in equality for all and treating people like you want to be treated. When I turn into the Hulk and canāt abide by this – then I have to live with the results of the disaster Iāve caused that I can barely rememberā¦but the damage is all around me – it makes me want to curl up and die. Hurting others whom I love and having no control over it makes me want to kill myself because thatās the only way I can make it stop.
The truth is something Iāve had a hard time putting down on paper. The reason is because when Iāve gone back and read what Iāve written, I think I sound like an asshole. I tend to glamorize my stories if theyāre for the public unless Iām writing under a different name or anonymously. Ā Iāve realized I sound like a jerk for thinking some of the thoughts Iāve had.Ā If I were on a reality show with some of the things Iāve done, Iād have been voted off first. But regardless of how I may come across, I promise to tell only the truth on this page. Clearly, from my chosen career path, Iāve never been much to give a shit what people think. If I didnāt have a thick skin, Iād have crumpled up and cried myself out of the business ages ago. As Iām getting older, I care even less.
I know there are more out there just like me. Ā What I DO care about: helping others. So here I am, naked once again. Except this time, Iām really stripped down to nothing.
āMy pain is self chosen. At least I believe it to be. I could either drown. Or pull off my skin and swim to shore. Now I can grow a beautiful shell for all to see. The River of Deceit pulls down…ā āMad Season
I think that anyone who is bipolar has considered suicide at some point.Ā Living with this illness can be just too much to bear at times.Ā Bipolar disorder has the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. Some studies have determined that as high as 50% of people with bipolar attempt suicide, and 25% are successful.Ā I donāt think even most types of cancer carry that much risk.
Itās a good indication of just how difficult this disease can be.

A common misconception is that you can ābecomeā bipolar, or something can turn you that way. No. You canāt. Itās strictly genetic. You either were born with it, or you arenāt. End of story.
My friends are pretty clueless as to what bipolar disorder is or how bad it can be. Sure, people know the term. But they have no idea what it IS. Iām going to tell youā¦no matter how fucking embarrassing this is. Because people should know, instead of saying, āThis weather is so bipolar!ā without having a clue as to what it actually means.
If I meet someone who is familiar with it, they usually tell me someone they knew had it while rolling their eyes and saying, āThey broke up. He was bipolar.ā

Itās staggering to me that people have to wonder why we kill ourselves. They know nothing about the disorder, have no clue how to respond to episodes, donāt bother to educate themselves, just dump people on the side of the road who have it and then tell all their friends why itās not their fault. Well, if you donāt know how to deal with it then maybe it IS partly your fault.
Would we tolerate this with Autism, which is also a highly difficult disorder? Or is there a push for education and awareness? People who have bipolar disorder severely enough can qualify for disability because it can be impossible to hold a job, so itās something the world should know more about.
That said, I will fully admit that those who love us and stick by us are saints.Ā We are not easy to live with and it takes a certain type of person or an awareness and knowledge how to deal with it and how not to take things personally. To those who hang in there, I applaud you because there are so few of you. The majority of the world walks away and washes their hands clean. You pretty much have to go into āsilent modeā when an episode (thatās the official term for it) happens and just refuse to take it personally no matter what horrible things are said or what expletives are screamed at you. Itās not you. It never is.

Like Autism has its wide spectrum, so does bipolar disorder in a sense. Manic episodes can range, as can the severity and types of bipolar disorder. I am Bipolar 1, which is extremely manic with crazy episodes. I have a more severe rapid cycling version of bipolar disorder. Insane stuff that makes Silver Linings Playbook look exceedingly tame. When left untreated, these episodes happen more frequently and can scar the brain and cause tissue loss. I was up to several a day at one point. Mine are deranged, yet no one sees them except the people who are absolutely the closest to me. Even semi-close friends canāt see me being bipolar. Many donāt even believe it when I tell them, because outwardly, I can be so friendly, outgoing and sweet. Thatās my other side. And it IS genuine. When the very few people in my life donāt give up on me, itās always the same reason when I ask why they donāt piss off for their own self-preservation: āBecause you have a good heart. Youāre a really sweet person most of the time.ā
Most of the time.
This is part of the reason Iāve always had pets who are much more than just an animal to me. Theyāre Therapy Service Animals. Without them, Iād be lost. They are there licking the tears and ready to curl up against my leg when everyone else leaves.

I canāt stand the fact that my illness can dictate every aspect my life, but I do not want to be a āvictimā to it. Iāve decided that the question is this: Am I bipolar? Or do I HAVE bipolar?
As soon as I got on medication, my family relationships improved drastically. Every person in my family has stopped speaking to me for a length of time at some point in my life. Friends, too. I thought it was them, of course. But the common link was always me.
This was my motherās last mission when she was diagnosed with cancer – to get her unstable, uninsured daughter to the doctors and have her mental health sorted out. And she did. She looked me in the eye and said, āThis is why Iām still alive after three years when they gave me six months. God has given me this purpose, because I need to take care of you.ā
My father was bipolar. It was called manic-depressive then. He had multiple suicide attempts and reckless behavior until he finally succeeded in 1997. After retiring from the Army as a flight instructor, he became a firefighter in California and battledĀ wildfires by plane. One day, he flew his OV-10 Bronco into a Hollister mountain. “Pilot Error”. Sure. He called everyone to say goodbye the day before. There wasn’t enough of him left to fill a large envelope. He once said to me, āIāll never be happy.ā Dad was the most honest, fair person Iāve ever met. He was such a good person that despite being a massive fuck up, he had two funerals; a west coast memorial where heād lived for a few years and an east coast one where he grew up, and all three of his ex-wives attended. He also self-medicated with alcohol to the point of being an alcoholic, which is why Iāve mostly been afraid to touch the stuff. To me, itās all a drug. Meth or liquorā¦itās all the same. If it alters you to where youāll kill or hurt someone else, itās a drug.
One time, in full mania, because my mom kept arguing instead of knowing how to shut down in order to dismantle it, he grabbed a BB gun and shot her in the hip at close range while she was doing the dishes. It broke the skin and had to be dug out. My little brother ran under the kitchen table, curled into a ball and started screaming. I ran into the laundry room. We all ended up there and my dad grabbed a hunting rifle. He aimed it at my brother and I. My mother shoved us behind her. Last minute, he lowered it and shot through the floor. My brother and I would look up through that bullet hole into our house from the basement until we moved. Another time, I slammed the bathroom door. I was about eight or nine. I can’t remember why. He broke the door open and I was behind it. The bottom of the door wedged up over my foot, breaking all bones on top. They never took me to the hospital. My uncle said this was a regular Friday night. It’s no wonder I grew up always ready to fight or defend myself. As awful as those stories sound, when my dad was being good, he was great. Really great. But when he wasn’t, he was scary as fuck. I realize now that I never knew if he was going to snap and kill us or himself, and that’s the environment where I grew up,Ā
Their fights were legendary. Eventually, he left. My mom would have stayed with him forever. She was one of the loyal ones. He took me, my mother got my brother.
My step-mother and IĀ had been squabbling non-stop. He called us into the dining room, loaded a pistol with one bullet, spun the chamber, pointed it at his head and pulled the trigger. I left after that. Russian roulette was the last straw. Heād been raising me since the age of twelve off a military base in Alabama, but my senior year of high school, I moved back to Philadelphia. Living with someone who is bipolar – it was a challenge.
Those with bipolar disorder are much more affected by environment and energy than most. Colors, sounds, arguments, negativity, the news, room decorā¦you name it. Ā Theyāre very in tune with whatās around them and will react. Thatās why all of these things need to be considered and controlled.
Not one person around me had ever figured me out. My mom and grandma had always known something was wrong, but theyād taken me to therapy only to have me misdiagnosed as clinically depressed or with anger issues.
You know how you feel thereās something wrong with you your entire life, but you just donāt know what it is? No? Well, thatās what Iāve felt like since I was a young kid. Is it cancer? Am I dying? Why do I feel so horrible and tired when I do everything right? Why do I get sick so easily? Why do I have bronchitis all the time? I eat well, I get enough sleep, I donāt do drugs or alcohol, I work out and do plenty of cardio. I was exhausted to the bone. The doctors were telling me I was perfectly healthy other than asthma. So I began to think I was a hypochondriac and everyone around me agreed and began teasing me about it. But I still knew deep down that something was integrally wrong.

Ever since I was a teen, there were always thoughts & plans of suicide. Cutting my arms up and down with knives and blades just to see how deep I could go. When Iām not tanned, you can still see those silvery scars. Depression so exhausting, I just canāt seem to sleep it off. Being self-employed with a strong work ethic, I never missed a booking. I would drag myself out of bed, cry until the very moment I got on stage or to a shoot, clean up my makeup, paste on a dazzling smile and get through it. Not one person ever knew. I was a professional to the coreā¦and it made me hate myself even more at times. Why couldnāt I just be myself and be left alone to heal? Not have to go out there and expend energy I had to pull out of my ass because there was none to begin with.
I was also misdiagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. This is why I walked away from WCW and never pushed for WWE. I was too exhausted to travel like that. The non-stop, all hours, always delayed traveling is what kills you with WWE and WCW. Itās brutal. When I got off the road with WCW, it was so bad; I was tested for Lupus multiple times and told I had an auto-immune deficiency. I was offered a contract with WWE and had to politely turn down, too afraid Iād never be able to keep up or stay healthy. They gave me two more tryouts after that and I took them, but knew Iād never be able to work for them. People who are in great health who can get by on four or five hours of sleep suffer tremendously. Iād probably have been hospitalized after a few monthsā¦and I know that about myself.
I was misdiagnosed again as clinically depressed and given an anti-depressant. Thatās the absolute worst thing you can do to someone with bipolar disorder. It swings them severely manic. Things got worse. Whereas I was occasionally alienating people beforehand, I was now ripping everyoneās heads off in my life over things so small and unimportant, I couldnāt even remember it was that made them stop talking to me in the first place.
You hurt everyone around you. You hurt yourself. And for the longest time, you have NO idea whatās wrong with you, just that you donāt feel in control and you donāt feel ārightā.Ā With bipolar, your mind speeds, thoughts come faster than you can compute at times. I always carry a notebook so I can write things down. My brain never shuts off, so sleeping is extremely difficult. When I do, I donāt feel like I did. Ā Then there was uncontrollable anger.
Jordan finally figured it a year and a half ago. In 2009, he said he was leaving, that he couldnāt live like thisā¦then Mom was diagnosed with stage-four cancer a week later. He bit the bullet and decided that going at that time wouldnāt be the right thing to do. But he gave me an ultimatum while we got āseparated while living togetherā: That my violent behavior and impatience was unacceptable, so get fixed or else. Out of desperation to not have another failed relationship, let alone one with one of the nicest people Iād ever met – and to not be my father – I started seeing a therapist with him who casually mentioned that I should get a brain scan and perhaps the behavior was being caused by bipolar disorder. He started researching it while I traveled back and forth to Philadelphia to take care of Gram and Mom. The more he researched, the more it all clicked together. I took two tests and scored off the charts and was finally correctly diagnosed.
It was a huge relief to finally know what was wrong after all these years. Dealing with it mentallyā¦thatās been a whole ānother issue. There is no cure. This will never go away. I will be on medications until the day I die. Which could be sooner than later thanks to a host of issues that come along with this like respiratory problems, severe sleep disorders (due to racing thoughts and lack of being able to actually shut off and ārestā) B-12 deficiencies and the aforementioned torture of living. Iāve been seeking as much information as possible and have become a bit of an expert on this topic. Iāve also been searching for others who are going through the same thing. I read other bipolar blogs-what these people are doing to themselves and others, saying, thinkingā¦and for once in my life, I feel a little bit normal. Not normal, NORMALā¦but normal in that there are others that are like me out there. Good people with a shit disorder that turns them from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. My only real choice in this matter is to elect to live as healthy as possible, eliminate as much negativity from my life as I can and watch my surroundings. Plus be on point for when something is coming on.

The medications have been an ongoing chemical experiment. For someone who is holistic and doesnāt subscribe to western Big Pharma policies of āa pill to cure everythingā it was a real slap in the face. I resisted at first. Admittedly, they have helped tremendously. At a cost, of course. Ā The main medication is an anti-seizure which doubles as an anti-psychotic. This acts as a mood stabilizer and its main side effects are moderate to severe back, neck and joint pain. To a beat up wrestler with back, neck and joint pain, this is not fun. But itās a lifesaver. However, Iām even more drained now. Ā I have an inbox full of emails I donāt have the energy or drive to answer. Half the time I donāt feel like talking to anyone. I have to force myself to see friends. And those awesome manic highs I used to have where Iād write all night? Gone. Iām on so many prescriptions, it freaks me (and my wallet) out. However, I feel clear. For the first time in my life, I can think clearly instead of emotionally. There isn’t any more ridiculous fighting.
When I get my medications refilled, I affectionately call them my “crazy pills”. For once, I can choose to flip out if I want to. Or not. But I have choices, which is a first for me. Despite the damage already having been done, things around me are more peaceful and I’ve spent a lot of time this year apologizing to people in my life that I’ve hurt. Some have accepted it. Others never answered. Iām OK with that. I just wanted them to know how sorry I was for any hurt I caused.
While most of humanity can only access a small portion of their brains, thereās a valid theory that those who are bipolar can access much, much more. This is why theyāre usually of quite a higher intelligence and extremely creative. This is also what causes the racing thoughtsā¦and the irritation and impatience with others for not being able to keep up. In my case, I can sometimes do complicated math in my head in a split second without thinking about it, or while the girl at the cash register is still struggling to figure out how much change to give me. If I’m not exhausted from not sleeping, that is.
Thereās a positive flip side to being manic, too. Being able to stay up all night and work very creatively and productively. Arguing efficiently. Most bipolar engage in a lot of risk taking, which can be a good thing, because we donāt have the fear others have to keep us from experiencing life. Like a nude photo shoot on the roof of Caesarās Casino in Vegas, or leaving everything behind to jet off to Japan for a few months with absolutely no capability of speaking Japanese. We also donāt take shit. As much as this can work against you, if you can control it, it can certainly work in your favor.
As with anything, thereās always a silver lining.

However, if you canāt control your inner Incredible Hulk, it will control you. Youāll ruin yourself and others like an IED explosion. Bipolar people not only have health issues and often die young, but they also tend to have issues such gambling, promiscuity, drug and alcohol abuse, debt, spending, violence, making (often bad) decisions that are purely emotional, on top of the fact that we perceive things differentlyā¦the list can go on. You can destroy everything you are in a single weekend.
Worst of all is that you black out. Much of it you donāt or canāt remember. All you know is that thereās a huge fucking mess around youā¦and youāre not quite sure how it got that wayā¦but you have a terrible gut feeling it had to do with YOU. The flip side of THAT is the depression that sets in afterwards, which is another story.
Bipolar Trivia: The symbol for this disorder is the ācomedy/tragedyā theater masks.

So.
How fucked up am I? Well, it goes beyond smashing coffee mugs, although thereās been plenty of that.Ā I’veĀ gotten into more fist fights than I can recall. With both females and males. Iāve kicked out not one, but two car windshields in fits of rage. I pulled a guy out a car at a stop and pepper sprayed him and his friend in the face (and myself in the process). I jumped on stage at a huge live rock concert and threatened to beat the shit out of the mic check guy because he was being rude. (He really was.) Iāve ripped a car door off its hinges, punched holes in walls, thrown tables and sofas over. Iām strong anyway, but I become scary, super-human strong when Iām manic. I wreck shit. Iāve spent a lot of money fixing and replacing things.
Ever since I was around eleven or twelve years old, Mom used to call me Jekyll and Hyde. My family went through buckets ofĀ SpackleĀ I told my mom that she was the āworst fucking mother everā while she was dying from cancer. Yeah. I did that.Ā Iāve said the horrible things to the people I love, the ones who love me. Iāve driven many away for good. Ā I almost killed my dog when she was a puppy. By accident.
Thereās more, but these are a few of the stories Iāll tell you about.
This has been my entire life for as long as I can remember. Donāt make me angry.
There is a saying that life isnāt black and white – itās shades of gray. And this is generally true except for bipolar disorder. Itās always black or white.

I have soft spot for The Incredible Hulk. I get him. Heās smart. He does what he feels is right at the time, despite the destruction. And he canāt remember it afterwards.Ā Then, dejected, he retreats away from everyone to be left alone. He is classically bipolar.
In The Avengers, there was a scene where Dr. Bruce Banner was entering into the battle as himself and the others were worried that he needed to turn into The Hulk first. The insinuation was that he needed to get angry first to make the transformation. Dr. Banner smiled back at them and said that the secret to his control is that he is always angry.
There is no cure for bipolar disorder. People are delusional if they think there is a way to fix it. But learning control – thatās the key.
This started out a blog just for me, for my sanity-if I have any of that left. Then I told a few people about it and they kept pushing me to write and publish it. Some were also bipolar.
This blog got VERY long, very fast. This is just part of it.
Thereās more. Much more.
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NEXT:: BIPOLAR 2: THE DARK SIDE –Ā https://aprilhunterblog.com/2013/11/05/chapter-15-bipolar-2-the-dark-side/
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