A Manic Mom & Bipolar Brother
My Mom burst into my messy room and said, “Mike, wake up, I need you to drive me to the ER, I think I am having a heart attack.” I wasn’t quite yet 16 years old and I had my learner’s permit. I had just enough knowledge behind a wheel to be dangerous. I remember jumping out of my bed and throwing on my shoes and in no-time I was making my way to King’s Daughter Medical Center. I was terrified that I was losing my world that night. After 3 hours of testing it was determined that my Mom had just had an anxiety attack. One of dozens that would land her in the hospital throughout her lifetime, and the first one that I felt personally responsible for helping her fight off.
Fast-forward to August 25, 2018 when my Mom was taken to the St. Francis Hospital in Bartlett, TN for what appeared to be a minor heart attack. While inside the hospital she would go into cardiac arrest and for 5 minutes I would stand in the hallway listening to her monitors indicate that she was lifeless. All of time stood still in those five minutes and I was transported in my mind into a world of confusion, chaos and Christ-focusing cries for help. Those two moments are defining days in my Mom and I’s journey together. I was always the one by her side when she was facing difficulties in life. I was the child that honored her wishes and followed the family faith, entering into ministry and marrying a wife that my mother loved dearly. I was the child that was always where I was supposed to be, the rule follower. I was her favorite.
More than that, I was her “Boogety Boo.” The child that brought her calm and peace amidst the storms of life. I’ll never forget the first time I witnessed my Mom have an emotional breakdown in the Columbus Children’s Hospital. I had just come out of open heart surgery and it was too much for her to see her baby hooked up to so many wires. When my brother John went off to Marshall University I was the “last one standing” and I did everything in my power to love and honor my Momma G. In my heart of hearts I had always wished that I had a more “normal family.’ I had felt the sting of having no father for quite some time, but I never let on to the depression and anxiety within my own heart. I never wanted to trouble my Mom with any of my physical ailments and that is why I did my best to always put on a front that I had it all together.
I believe that my mental breakdown in June of 2020 became too much for my Mom to handle, and when my family and I moved to Florida to start over, I am certain that the uncertainty of her world came crashing in on her. On November 24, 2020 when she was taken to a mental hospital against her wishes as her paranoid thoughts were growing more and more grandiose by the minute it was a sign that her mind was unraveling. The truth is, my Mom’s battle with hypertension and anxiety her entire life was something that made anxiety and depression common friends in my own mind. That was her disposition, and it was mine too.
Though she had her many problems the truth is my Mom was my hero. She was the one who always was there for me. She was my #1 fan and my biggest cheerleader in life. She never had much belief in herself, but she had a great deal of faith in me.
As I noted before, she claims that she was saved in the last few years of her life, supposedly after seeing something in Lisa and I that she did not have. I find it hard to believe that the tears she cried and the prayers she prayed in my childhood days were not personal and sincere. She was a woman of many faults, but she was a woman of great faith. She walked big. She was big. But more than that, she loved big. Though a simple woman in character, in kindness and empathy she was second to none. When the November 2020 election month progressed she grew more and more agitated over the thought that people were tapping her phones and listening in to her conversations. She became paranoid. In reality, it was the first time since my father’s days that she showed signs of having a major mental health condition, beyond anxiety. If she did in fact have bipolar or schizophrenia then a few things are true. The percentage chances of me and my brothers having it would go from 10% (with one parent) to 40% (with both parents), and she did a great job fighting off the ebbs and flows of her feelings with prayers, Scripture and faith.
Either way, there is no denying the fact that my Mom was released from a mental hospital less than 24-hours before she was found dead. She refused to take any medication in those moments and in the end my brother Scott was displaced from what he knew to be a safe space.
A BIPOLAR BROTHER
Of all the Taber boys Scott is the most unbecoming of us. He isn’t as pretty as our oldest brother, Thom. He isn’t as big as our 6’6” weight-lifting brother, John. He isn’t as tall as me, 6’9”. While physically he has never been the star of the family, spiritually and emotionally I believe that he had the lead role growing up. Of all my brothers’ approach to the family feuds erupting weekly, Scott’s was the most honorable in my eyes. He would take his Bible and he take off down the WillowWood country roadways. I remember vividly his peacemaking spirit and the fact that he would return from his runs and sneak into his bunk bed above mine.
I would be in my bed pretending to be asleep and on more than one occasion I remember Scott taking to his place in his bed and then verbally crying out to Jesus to protect Mike from the torment of our house. He would pray for my protection and ask God to spare me the hurt that he was himself feeling. When someone asks me how I came to Christ I always speak of the influence of my Mom’s pew-drenching tears and my brother Scott’s bunk bed prayers having an initial Christ-ward impact on my psyche and soul. I loved Scott with a special love and I always felt a safety around him that I didn’t feel around my other brothers.
As a rule follower and a studious person whose family was not well-off financially he was frequently targeted by bullies at his school for the Goodwill clothes and cheap accessories. While Thom did his best to defend Scott, there was only so much he could do to watch over his younger brother. And when Thom moved to Florida before Scott’s senior year it was something that shook Scott to the core. The next year, when Scott finally graduated high school, he headed to a small Christian college in Kentucky to pursue a degree in Math or Engineering. Everything in his life seemed to be looking up when we went to visit him. I remember he, John and I playing against college guys in 3-on-3 pickup games and winning with ease. My brothers always did their best to make me feel like the superstar and those visits with Scott were some of the best moments of my childhood filled with ping-pong battles, cafeteria meals and hours in the gym. I loved going to see Scott.
On the other hand, anytime we had to leave to go back home I remember sinking into a deep depression. I had a special love for Scott and wanted nothing more than to stay there with him and continue enjoying the college life experience. It was like this for the first 3 years. But in his 4th year something happened. Scott’s mind and thinking got mixed up and before we knew it he had gone from making straight A’s to flunking out of college in his senior year. It never made any sense, and for the next 3 or 4 years while I was in high school I have very few memories of what Scott was doing. He wasn’t living at home with us and he wasn’t at college.
It wasn’t until I went off to college myself that I would run back into Scott who was homeless and needing a place to stay. So, I allowed him to sleep in my dorm room for 48-hours at a time (that’s all you could stay in one week) and then he would head back to the local shelters and spend his nights with others who were hurting and in need of financial help. The only problem was, Scott had the same inheritance money that I and my brother John had. All he had to do was go to school or work a decent job and he could receive enough financial assistance to more than pay for his living expenses. However, by the time he was in his mid-to-late twenties he was already out of touch with reality and unwilling to allow us to help him properly. Scott would eventually end up living with my Uncle for several years, and then moving in with my Mom for over a decade.
It was there with our Mom that Scott would spend much of his adult life until she passed away in 2020. The plan prior to her passing, and prior to my mental breakdown, was always for him to come and live with my family after Mom passed away. However, having lost our job in 2020 and having been walked out the back door of the last 2 churches with no explanation of why, it has become clear that Scott living with Lisa and I was not the best option at those points in time. In November 2024, when Third Baptist Church gave me a $20,000 raise, I was convinced that God had brought us to a stable place that would allow us to take Scott in and give him the care he needed. However, 10-days later when they fired me after I shared with them my bipolar diagnosis from 2020 this thinking has taken a major shift and we can no longer provide for my brother’s care at this time. The stress and weight of his care has fallen greatly on the shoulders of my cousin and my oldest brother at this point in time and I am prayerful that God will help us to stabilize ourselves to a point where we can once again be considered as potential caregivers.
There is a chance that you are thinking, “Mike, you have bipolar, you are not a capable caregiver for someone with schizoaffective,” a mixed form schizophrenia and bipolar. The fact is, some of the greatest psychiatrists, counselors and caregivers for those with mental disorders are those that have suffered well and have learned to not only “overcome” the illness, but also, come back over the river of dangerous days in the past and helped others pass over the waves of their own trials. I was asked recently by my counselor, “Knowing that your sons may battle with bipolar in their life, do you feel responsible or guilty for giving it to them?” My answer to him in that moment was one I share here, “No, not at all. Not anymore than I feel guilty for the gifting and blessing that comes with their quick minds and able bodies. I truly believe bipolar is a gift and a thorn in my life. The reason I traverse this portion of my journey with medication is because I want to be able to share with my boys, “This is the way I traveled in these moments when the illness got too strong for me to manage on my own.” I dare not boast in my weaknesses, only to apologize for these weaknesses as well.
If you spend any amount of time with my sons you will be amazed by how quick witted and highly gifted they are at a plethora of practices. This is one of the realities of a bipolar bend. When the disease is unmanaged it can devastate people all around you. However, when it is identified and nurtured it can be a producer of life and growth. A great book The Hypomanic Edge tells the story of how many great men of American history would have likely been clinically diagnosed with bipolar were they to sit in front of a psychiatrist today. There is no need to move around in shame if you have a bipolar diagnosis.
BIPOLAR PROCESSING: Mental health conditions like bipolar disorder often appear in late adolescence and early adulthood. If my Mom was in fact showing signs of bipolar or schizophrenia in her late 60s this would be a very late onset case of the disease. Due to the fact that it was COVID the level of autopsy information that we could gather was very limited. Also, due to the fact that my Mom never found out who her natural birth parents were it is impossible for us to trace her family history beyond herself. However, with a father that displayed mental health concerns in his late twenties and a mother that battled at minimum clinical anxiety her whole life, the possibility that my brain would have such genetic predispositions to mental health concerns is very high. I am grateful for the love and support of a wife who was able to see signs and symptoms of the disease before anyone else could spot it. She was teaching AP Psych when she came across the section on Bipolar and first suggested this might explain a lot about our health journey together. I am also grateful for a wife that was not scared of these realities in my life. She has always been open to having my older brother Scott come and live with us. The fact that I have bipolar may seem counterproductive. How can someone with a mental health condition help care for another person? The answer is simple. For some, bearing another’s burdens actually helps to alleviate their own. If my brother were ever to come and live with us I would not be doing it on a whim. We would have structures and systems in place that made it a safe environment for everyone to flourish as a family. At this point in time we are not the best option to be his primary caregivers and we are looking into what is available. My brother and I are a perfect example of bipolar existing on a spectrum of severity and social recourses. He has never been able to hold down a job that required any form of communication and leadership, whereas every position I have ever held occupationally has required me to interact greatly with a team of people.
BIBLE PROCESSING: It is my belief that everyone is born with a nature that is fractured from the Fall of humanity described in Genesis 3. My belief that we are all “broken” is something that points to the iniquitous bend within each of our hearts and minds. The word iniquity speaks to the bend within all of us toward sinful desires. While we all are sinners, we aren’t all tempted by the same sins. For some, pornography or anger run rampant in their hearts and minds and is something they must battle with often. For others like myself, anxiety and depression are my natural bends. I have heard many people tell me, it’s okay that I get anxious, that is my bipolar. I am not one that is satisfied with such cynical and clinical interpretations of my anxiety. It is okay that I tend toward anxiety, it is not okay that I get anxious. I must war against the ways of my natural propensities and put to death the deeds of the flesh. Romans 8 tells me that by the Spirit I am to put to death the deeds of the flesh, and in so doing, I will experience life. I will experience victory. The level of my internal struggle does not give me the license to sin. It simply alerts me that the war within my mind will be one that is fought on a bipolar battlefield. I will have landmines that other minds do not have. I will have lookout ladders and escape zones that other minds do not have. I believe that my bipolar battlefield is as dangerous and deadly as any other mental battlefield. In fact, I believe those that Biblically fight mental health well are in a safer headspace than those who go through life completely oblivious to the enemy’s desire to steal, kill and destroy them. I am grateful for my father’s sharp mind and my mother’s empathetic heart, and I am prayerful that I can hand both of these attributes over to the divine working of the Holy Spirit so that God can use me to help others fight the wars within their own heart and mind.