One of the side effects of having a manic episode
is grandiose feelings, etc. A great deal of bipolar persons that I’ve had full
in-depth conversations with report that in addition to the high, too high
self-esteem that yes, it feels very spiritual, religious to be in mania. I have
some thoughts on this that I’d like to share.
Why things end up feeling soooooooooooooo very awesome, God-like for me is because I’m rapidly processing myself and having epiphanies right and left. I see very clearly who I am, why I do the things I do, where I picked up my habits and behaviors and how to change the things that need changing in my life. I feel right, sane, intelligent. Except for the ‘sane’ part all of that is true for me.
While manic I get excited by the ideas, new goals, all the ways I can improve myself, the only problem is I want everyone around me to feel the same way. When I can and now do remember that I’m making choices for myself only, IE, I’m the only person who can and needs to change, NOT everyone else in the world. It would be nice, which is why I have that big, big, big, dream of world peace in my lifetime, but as Ghandi is often quoted as saying, I can only, “Be the change I want to see in the world.”
I find I’m kinder, more generous, and charitable close to a manic episode. I also can be angry, volatile, and a complete and utter bitch. I take the time to identify people in my life who are helping or hurting me. I usually cut the latter from my circle quickly after any hospital stay/manic episode.
I’ve come to see having a manic episode as walking, living in a lucid dream. I view mania as my subconscious on display without filter for everyone I come in contact with to judge and see. It was after a hospital visit from my following actions during mania that I identified the dysfunction in my relationship with my alcoholic father and decided to cut off all communication with him when he was drinking. I sent this email to the CEO of the company I was working for at the time and copied my father:
That is the creatively edited email copied from my sent items box. I edited out the name of my boss and the company. At the time I wrote the email I felt it was the
right thing to do. It was even a completely 'sane' thing to do in my mind. I couldn’t see how manic I was and I couldn’t help myself at
that point at all. Instead of controlling my mania, I let that job take the
priority. Although I saw a therapist a few months prior, I worked instead of
going to her recommended psychiatrist so I could get back on medication.
It was in the aftermath of all this that I realized I could not pull myself out of a full blown mania without psych medication. I don’t even let myself get close enough to it anymore. Once I know that it is coming, I immediately surrender the power of my decision making over to a trusted family member, my aunt, my father’s sister. At that point, she makes all decisions for me and I accept them quickly without complaint now.
So, cutting my father out of my life was very simple for me and at the time easy to do. I would have spoken with him at any time as long as he hadn’t been drinking, not even a single glass to take the edge off. He was very aware of the new rules pertaining to our relationship.
When he went into the hospital in February of 2011, he and I spoke for a bit, because his hospital visit was life threatening. Also, he wasn’t drinking at the time, so per our agreement we could and did talk. His doctor told him if he quit drinking immediately, he’d live. His liver would and could repair the lifetime of drinking damage, only he needed to change/drop his habit immediately. As we spoke he reminded me of something I’d told him shortly after I graduated from college. I’d said, “You know, Daddi-o, you’re the most functional alcoholic I know.”
It was an insult intended to make him think about his choice to drink. The problem was as I later learned he’d taken it as a compliment and used my words to justify continuing to drink. He often credited me with being smarter than him, calling me his 'Superior Daughter' and himself my 'inferior father'. During the February 2011 conversations I clarified my meaning, but he’d already set it in his head despite his recent DUI arrest that it was still and always would be a compliment.
As far as I could tell, my father, Wilson Henry, Jr., was unable to quit drinking or seek help from his alcoholism for the remaining time he had left above the ground. He lost his battle with alcoholism December 10, 2011. At the moment of his last breath, which, unfortunately for me I watched thanks to my stepmother, I had an overwhelming sense of relief. When his life journey ended I bounced between anger and then quickly hit acceptance of his death. We had our forgiveness talk 24 hours before he died. I had a lot of things that although I thought I’d forgiven them, I really had not, until that moment when I gave up my right to be right.
So as he lay dying saying things such as, “When I get out of here water is going to be my main drink,” and I heard him pleading to still be allowed to drink alcohol in the statement, it was then I finally forgave him for telling me he wished I’d been an abortion during a heated conversation over pro-choice/pro-life. At the time he didn’t realize or care to know my viewpoint stemmed from my cousin’s successful suicide earlier that year because she thought she was pregnant. It was only after his death I gained a new bone to chew on with my father when I learned he’d written me out of his Will. It took less than 24 hours for me to hit acceptance of this when I decided to attempt another bankruptcy filing.
It took a lot longer for me to understand that his action was justifiable. As I’ve mentioned before, despite his witnessed and filed paperwork, divine intervention allowed me to inherit even though I’d been written out of his Will. It wasn’t much, but I cleaned up a bit of my debt and am bankrolling myself without second job as I pursue my writing career. There are many sacrifices I make to use this money to explore my creative endeavor.
I sometimes feel as if my father got to where he was going for his afterlife and decided to finally forgive me for some awful stuff I’d said and written to him while manic, IE, he gave up his right to be right, too. When the Will issue was discussed with my friends and family members, I had a family member who knew what I didn’t at the time, that I was out and he thought I needed to play nice with my stepmother, they agreed at the time it was wrong of my father to write me out. So I like to think as a last act, he got to make that one right.
I’d always thought my stepmother and our relationship was solid. So even though she had the Will, I was secure in the knowledge she wouldn’t do me wrong. Before my father died she’d been quietly sending me money behind his back while trying to encourage me to communicate with him each time she did it. What I didn’t know and only discovered through most conversations with her when she would visit me and after his death is that he’d laid a lot of misinformation on her, well his perspective on things, mine were often opposing.
It was after one such conversation with my stepmother after she’d discovered after his death what I knew from finding wine and beer still in their home, that although my father had sworn he’d quit drinking in September of 2011, he in fact had not. When he’d called me up to tell that he was quitting, he was still drinking at the time and his words were often slightly slurred during each conversation after that until he died. So, I knew what other members of my family could not see.
My father and stepmother came to visit me about two months before he died. He was a skeleton of the man I’d known all my life, yet in his head he was in control, powerful, full of high self-esteem and thought himself a god among the living. I found his appearance scary and I pitied him. For the second and last time in my life I sensed the Grim Reaper circling my last living parent, just as I did the summer before my mother died.
Why things end up feeling soooooooooooooo very awesome, God-like for me is because I’m rapidly processing myself and having epiphanies right and left. I see very clearly who I am, why I do the things I do, where I picked up my habits and behaviors and how to change the things that need changing in my life. I feel right, sane, intelligent. Except for the ‘sane’ part all of that is true for me.
While manic I get excited by the ideas, new goals, all the ways I can improve myself, the only problem is I want everyone around me to feel the same way. When I can and now do remember that I’m making choices for myself only, IE, I’m the only person who can and needs to change, NOT everyone else in the world. It would be nice, which is why I have that big, big, big, dream of world peace in my lifetime, but as Ghandi is often quoted as saying, I can only, “Be the change I want to see in the world.”
I find I’m kinder, more generous, and charitable close to a manic episode. I also can be angry, volatile, and a complete and utter bitch. I take the time to identify people in my life who are helping or hurting me. I usually cut the latter from my circle quickly after any hospital stay/manic episode.
I’ve come to see having a manic episode as walking, living in a lucid dream. I view mania as my subconscious on display without filter for everyone I come in contact with to judge and see. It was after a hospital visit from my following actions during mania that I identified the dysfunction in my relationship with my alcoholic father and decided to cut off all communication with him when he was drinking. I sent this email to the CEO of the company I was working for at the time and copied my father:
Subject: Dad You Better Run
Body:
Dad,
Mr. CEO I did see in the fact that you enjoy big game hunting that you were maybe curious about
hunting down a man and killing him. Maybe you would find that fun? I would total
understand if you had a chance to do it you might take it. Um, if you
could take care of a problem for me and not get caught doing it, I'd like you
to meet my dad. If I can get away with one more day I would like to
return to Company on Thursday January 17th.
Now Mr. CEO this is a one time only pass at this, I
wouldn't say a thing if you got it done. The mere fact that I asked is enough to know, enough knowledge of both of us to have in each other's hands.
Um, Dad this is the very reason ignorance is bliss, BTW the moment
you die everything you slaved for your entire life is coming to me.
Love you Daddi-o,
Steph
PS. As you did not attend my mother's funeral, I won't be attending
yours. Thanks for the gift of my life. I just wanted you to have a
heads up, because it's going to be quick.
Peace
It was in the aftermath of all this that I realized I could not pull myself out of a full blown mania without psych medication. I don’t even let myself get close enough to it anymore. Once I know that it is coming, I immediately surrender the power of my decision making over to a trusted family member, my aunt, my father’s sister. At that point, she makes all decisions for me and I accept them quickly without complaint now.
So, cutting my father out of my life was very simple for me and at the time easy to do. I would have spoken with him at any time as long as he hadn’t been drinking, not even a single glass to take the edge off. He was very aware of the new rules pertaining to our relationship.
When he went into the hospital in February of 2011, he and I spoke for a bit, because his hospital visit was life threatening. Also, he wasn’t drinking at the time, so per our agreement we could and did talk. His doctor told him if he quit drinking immediately, he’d live. His liver would and could repair the lifetime of drinking damage, only he needed to change/drop his habit immediately. As we spoke he reminded me of something I’d told him shortly after I graduated from college. I’d said, “You know, Daddi-o, you’re the most functional alcoholic I know.”
It was an insult intended to make him think about his choice to drink. The problem was as I later learned he’d taken it as a compliment and used my words to justify continuing to drink. He often credited me with being smarter than him, calling me his 'Superior Daughter' and himself my 'inferior father'. During the February 2011 conversations I clarified my meaning, but he’d already set it in his head despite his recent DUI arrest that it was still and always would be a compliment.
As far as I could tell, my father, Wilson Henry, Jr., was unable to quit drinking or seek help from his alcoholism for the remaining time he had left above the ground. He lost his battle with alcoholism December 10, 2011. At the moment of his last breath, which, unfortunately for me I watched thanks to my stepmother, I had an overwhelming sense of relief. When his life journey ended I bounced between anger and then quickly hit acceptance of his death. We had our forgiveness talk 24 hours before he died. I had a lot of things that although I thought I’d forgiven them, I really had not, until that moment when I gave up my right to be right.
So as he lay dying saying things such as, “When I get out of here water is going to be my main drink,” and I heard him pleading to still be allowed to drink alcohol in the statement, it was then I finally forgave him for telling me he wished I’d been an abortion during a heated conversation over pro-choice/pro-life. At the time he didn’t realize or care to know my viewpoint stemmed from my cousin’s successful suicide earlier that year because she thought she was pregnant. It was only after his death I gained a new bone to chew on with my father when I learned he’d written me out of his Will. It took less than 24 hours for me to hit acceptance of this when I decided to attempt another bankruptcy filing.
It took a lot longer for me to understand that his action was justifiable. As I’ve mentioned before, despite his witnessed and filed paperwork, divine intervention allowed me to inherit even though I’d been written out of his Will. It wasn’t much, but I cleaned up a bit of my debt and am bankrolling myself without second job as I pursue my writing career. There are many sacrifices I make to use this money to explore my creative endeavor.
I sometimes feel as if my father got to where he was going for his afterlife and decided to finally forgive me for some awful stuff I’d said and written to him while manic, IE, he gave up his right to be right, too. When the Will issue was discussed with my friends and family members, I had a family member who knew what I didn’t at the time, that I was out and he thought I needed to play nice with my stepmother, they agreed at the time it was wrong of my father to write me out. So I like to think as a last act, he got to make that one right.
I’d always thought my stepmother and our relationship was solid. So even though she had the Will, I was secure in the knowledge she wouldn’t do me wrong. Before my father died she’d been quietly sending me money behind his back while trying to encourage me to communicate with him each time she did it. What I didn’t know and only discovered through most conversations with her when she would visit me and after his death is that he’d laid a lot of misinformation on her, well his perspective on things, mine were often opposing.
It was after one such conversation with my stepmother after she’d discovered after his death what I knew from finding wine and beer still in their home, that although my father had sworn he’d quit drinking in September of 2011, he in fact had not. When he’d called me up to tell that he was quitting, he was still drinking at the time and his words were often slightly slurred during each conversation after that until he died. So, I knew what other members of my family could not see.
My father and stepmother came to visit me about two months before he died. He was a skeleton of the man I’d known all my life, yet in his head he was in control, powerful, full of high self-esteem and thought himself a god among the living. I found his appearance scary and I pitied him. For the second and last time in my life I sensed the Grim Reaper circling my last living parent, just as I did the summer before my mother died.
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