Heroes come in all shapes and sizes. On June 16th the two heroes that deserve the most credit are my two oldest sons, Micah and Noah. On that day when I sent them to walk an unknown trail that was supposed to lead back to me 1/2 mile later I was confident everything was going to be alright. Even with Micah putting up a fight against me. As I think back to the fear that filled his heart my eyes fill with tears to think that I should have listened to him. He was truly a hero that day as he held his brothers close and protected them for the hour and half that we were separated from one another. As a natural leader and lover of family I can’t imagine the torment he faced that day being separated from me for so long, mind wandering and eyes frantically searching for sight of me. Something that would not be reestablished for 11 more days when I was released from the mental hospital that I ended up in.
The second hero, Noah, was the one who literally saved my life that day. After over an hour of frantically searching for my boys, screaming at anyone and everyone I saw to help me find them since I had wandered off the 1-mile trail, I found myself on a stretch of another park trail that converged with a roadway. In my mind I was in a dream and none of what I was seeing was real. I had been going in and out of reality for 60-minutes and I was terrified by the thought that my sons were gone for good. In my heart of hearts, I knew God wouldn’t take my sons and I had screamed as much into the heavens over a dozen times. I had slammed my phone onto the concrete, threw away the $400 cash given to me, and I had cycled in my mind believing I was a modern-day king David, Job, Antichrist, and dog. Remind you, I was going on 6 hours of sleep over the course of the last 9 days, I was overheated, and completely out of touch with reality.
As the path came side-by-side with the roadway on the opposite side of guardrails I remember reasoning in my mind, “God, this isn’t real, this is a dream, I am going to step in front of this car and wake up!” Now, I am not sure what you believe about supernatural voices versus psychotic-auditory voices heard, but what I know is this, in the 1-hour plus of my detachment from reality I didn’t hear a single audible voice until I made that statement. And as if it came from a speaker up in the trees I heard the voice of Mike M., the man who had given me the $400, and he simply said, “NO!”
I kept walking and I reasoned a second time, “God, this can’t be real, you wouldn’t take my kids, I am going to step in front of this ambulance and wake up!” A second time I heard, “NO!”
I kept walking and then I looked up and I didn’t hear another “NO” but I saw my “NO-ah”, and thought, “There he is. There is my son.” I instantly came out of the hyper-panicked mode of not knowing what was real, and I launched into the hyper-focused mode of getting to my son. Only problem was that ambulance was filled with EMT’s that were there because a man was screaming in the park in desperation. Before I knew it, I was waking up inside the psych unit at St. Francis and within a couple hours I was beginning to piece together the terrors of that day, and the days leading up to June 16th.
Had my son Noah not come to look for his Dad I may not be alive to tell my story today. A story of great embarrassment for me, but one of great appreciation and gratitude for my four boys. A day they were forced to do something that no child should ever have to do…protect their dad from himself. In all the avenues of regret that my mind finds itself walking down from time to time, the regret of putting my sons in that situation that day has weighed me down most relentlessly. I am so grateful that my 4 sons were able to make it to their mom that day. I am so grateful that my 5th son was born less that 3 weeks from that day. I am grateful that I serve a God of second chances. I am grateful that God kept me from stepping in front of the oncoming traffic that day and I am grateful that I am alive to share my story.
BIPOLAR PROCESSING: Bipolar psychosis is the scariest thing I have ever faced in my life. The trauma of my father’s death crept into the park that day as I began to think that my dad, Lisa’s dad and another mysterious person were there for a surprise birthday party. In my mind in that park the man who had lost a son to death, Mike M, was teaming up with my wife and they were seeking to spring this celebration on me. These erratic and detached thoughts, coupled with my manic and panicked losing of my sons proved to be too much for my sleep-deprived, caffeine-filled brain to comprehend. Earlier that day I had drank 2 of those “health teas” unaware of the fact that they were filled with twice as much caffeine as normal sodas, something I hadn’t drank in the 12 years of having a pacemaker. Finally, when you couple these factors with the fact that I had neglected taking my Sotalol religiously since my cardiologist was commending my improved health during this season and what you get is a perfect internal storm for a nervous breakdown. With my understanding of my Bipolar condition and my commitment to Meditation, Medication and Mediation, I have gone 5 years with no repeat episode of psychosis. The reason I am writing this memoir is to allow those that can relate to my story, people who may have a family history of bipolar or have traveled a traumatic path to arrive at this disposition, to possibly glean wisdom from the roads I have walked. In this time of my life, I was experiencing great things, and difficult things all in one. My greatest neglect was remembering that I wasn’t going to be the answer to all the problems people were facing. I know now that I am running this risk when I fail to get proper sleep. Sleeplessness is a statement of pride, and it is something that must be combatted in my daily life. I also know that my loved ones are not to be ignored. Had I listened to my wife I would have not been placed on a leave of absence, I would not have been in that park lost, and I would not have caused the heartache and pain that I brought upon my family.
BIBLE PROCESSING: In a recent Christian Bipolar Support Group a person asked if anyone grew closer to God during their manic swings. The response to this question was so very disheartening to read. Without variation most replied, “hyper-religiosity is a symptom of mania” and when the man asked, “But I mean that I really grow closer to God in these seasons” he was met with medical and mental meteors aimed at destroying his belief. I couldn’t remain quiet and allow these people to disarm the very real fact that when someone with Bipolar is on a “manic” movement up, if he or she throws herself into the discipline of the faith then they are likely to grow in their love for the Lord and their understanding of life. I simply suggested that they allow their discoveries to be tempered by the truth of Psalm 127:1-2, “Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it, unless the Lord guards the city, the watchmen stay awake in vain. It is vain to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows for so He gives His beloved sleep.” As a bipolar bent pastor I know that my medicine will not keep me from the ups and downs of life, and as such, it is my duty, as it is every believer’s duty, to discipline my life in such a way that I am able to know God’s love and show God’s love in a way that amplifies truth and grace to all. If I ever grow in my ideas and begin to believe that people need me then I am being led off the path of truth and playing with fire. I can pretend like I did nothing wrong to have this “illness,” but the truth is, I did many things wrong in allowing this illness to damage my family and deter my faith. I ran past “yield” signs that were being held up by my wife and others, and I blew past the “Stop” sign that my son was asking me to hear on that June day. Godly sorrow doesn’t merely produce tears; it produces turning according to 2 Corinthians 7:10. The reason I am committed to my medicines and seeking to move forward is because my wife and kids are worth it. My oldest son is now 18 and that once 11-year-old that came looking for his dad is 16. I am prayerful that God will restore to our family all that this disease and the enemy of our souls has sought to steal from us over these last 5 years.
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