Posted at 11:34 AM on June 25, 2008
by Bob Collins
(14 Comments)
Filed under: Health
A passage of her book that Marya Hornbacher read on MPR's Midmorning this morning, described pretty well why I tend to think people who battle depression and bipolar disorder are some of the most courageous people among us.
Here's the hell of it: Madness doesn't announce itself. There isn't time to prepare for its coming. It shows up without calling and sits in your kitchen, ashing in your plant. You ask how long it plans to stay, it shrugs its shoulders, gets up, and starts digging through the fridge. But even that implies some sort of lag time between the arrival of madness and the actual experience of it.In the early years, it's like a switch flips on and though only a moment before you were totally sane, suddenly you've gone mad. But as you learn to manage madness, you begin to notice sooner that it's on its way. I lick my finger and hold it up to detect the direction of the wind. Madness is in the air. I can smell it like I can smell snow. It's in the vicinity though I don't know where or long it will be until it comes.
The trick is to shut the gate, throw sheets over the roses, go inside, lock all of the windows and doors and go to the basement and sit on a chair and wait. Sometimes these preparations are enough. The locks on the windows and doors are tight, you've taken the medication faithfully, you've exercised to induce a sense of Dopamine calm, you've put every lamp in the house in your office and flipped on the light box (it mimics sunlight for people who get depressed in winter.),and the room is lit up as if by floodlights and you're so hot you're working in your bra.
You've stayed off the coffee, you've taken the supplements, you've worked starting at the same time for the same length everyday. You've interacted with human beings at least a few times this week. You've gotten yourself to the point where you can sleep in the normal timeframe from night until morning, and your mornings are not a horrible struggle to stay out of bed, and you make the bed so you aren't tempted to get back in it. You check off the entires on the list that runs your life.
But sometimes the system fails. Maybe it's a chemical shift in the brain that the medications don't block. Maybe it's a stressor in your life that you didn't expect. Maybe there is no reason and you're just going mad for the hell of it, but you try not to think about that because that would imply that no matter what you do, no matter how tightly you batten the hatches, madness can get in.
You wake up one morning and there it is, sitting in an old plaid bathrobe in your kitchen, unpleasant and unshaved. You look at it, heart sinking. Madness is a rotten guest. You can tell it to leave 'til you're blue in the face, you follow it around the house, explaining that it's come at a bad time and could it come another day?
Eventually you give up and go back to bed, shutting the door. But, of course, it barges in and demands to be entertained. Before you know it, it has strewn its stuff all over the house, and there are sticky plates in its bed and it has refused to change its sheets. Madness lounges all day in front of the TV, watching Oprah, and munching on a bag of chips, and drinking milk from the carton and getting crumbs between the cushions of the couch.
Soon, your life revolves around it. You do everything you can to keep it comfortable because you don't want to upset it. You tiptoe around the house and wait for it to leave. In most cases you wake up one morning and it's gone. There's minimal damage. You pick up its mess and get on with your day. But sometimes it settles in to stay. Immediately it is all demands: it starts bossing you around, interrupting your conversations, refusing to let you out of the house. The phone stops ringing. Soon it's just you and madness. You circle each other like boxers, throwing punches to the jaw, but sometimes it takes round after round and you lie on the living room floor, unable to get up.
It refuses to let you sleep. You run out of food. It draws all the blinds and stands peering through the slats. It convinces you you're in danger. It says that people are coming and they will hurt you if you let them in.
Soon, madness has worn you down. It's easier to do what it says than to argue. In this way it takes over your mind. You no longer know where it ends and you begin. You believe anything it says. You do what it tells you no matter how extreme or absurd. If it says "you're worthless," you agree. You plead for it to stop, you promise to behave. You are on your knees before it, and it laughs.
A rather frightening account.
you would have to be mad to want to sit and watch Oprah.
Thanks for sharing this beautifully written excerpt.
Brain disease (mental illness) is invisible but as debilitating as other more socially-acceptable diseases manifesting with physical symptoms.
Kudos to this author for bringing this medical condition out in public and talking about it so lucidly and unashamedly. It's encouraging more people are talking about it, Congress is considering legislation, and that new treatments are running in clinical trials. Being able to manage it, instead of it managing you, would be wonderful. It's tough for everyone involved who has to deal with it.
I wrote a comment earlier and it was omitted. I was being quite honest in saying that the previous description of an individuals mental disease should be taken seriously in that they really could hurt themselves or others. Was the author institutionallized at some point ? I am not trying to be mean but put emphasis on the fact that the "free to roam" mentally ill affect other peoples lives in their behaviors.
yes it is an illness but when their maddness (behavior) is affecting other peoples lives to an extent where the welfare of others is jeopardized then that individual should be institutionalized. Maybe they are not physically hurting others but mentally, financially, socially?......that person with that illness needs to be watched -always.
OK
Lets just take these two paragraphs and their description. If you had a family would you want your children interacting with people who are going through this:
/It refuses to let you sleep. You run out of food. It draws all the blinds and stands peering through the slats. It convinces you you're in danger. It says that people are coming and they will hurt you if you let them in.
Soon, madness has worn you down. It's easier to do what it says than to argue. In this way it takes over your mind. You no longer know where it ends and you begin. You believe anything it says. You do what it tells you no matter how extreme or absurd. If it says "you're worthless," you agree. You plead for it to stop, you promise to behave. You are on your knees before it, and it laughs./
This is not a description of someone who should be free to roam or have access to the public through any means, even the internet. I believe that these individuals should be under tight watch and control always.
I might sound uncompassionate but I think that the descriptions above try to soften the threat that these individuals (because of their illness), place on society.
I've had the opportunity to attend a reading and speech by Marya Hornbacher, on her Anorexia and Bulimia book, to me she seemed incredibly normal. That's right, I used the word normal. She provides text that gives insight to mental illness that's also relateable for those who have no experience with it. I found her writing to be darker than her actual persona.
My comment(s) is not about the author, who seems to have a grasp of some sort on her mental illness. (And I know I sound callous but that is not where I am coming from). Yes, I believe there are individuals who are treatable. There are also individuals who need to be under constant watch for their ability to pretend to be ok or even pretend to have mental illness.
My heart does go out to those who are afflicted with bipolar, eating disorders, depression and other mental illnesses who want to earnestly heal and participate in social settings.
Kudos to MPR for airing this excellent program. I did not hear the whole program, but will most certainly purchase her book. I grew up with a brother with Bipolar Disorder. My brother and our entire family bore witness to the terror of this physical brain illness. My brother suffered with years of misdiagnosis, doctors that blamed my parents for his illness, social workers who probed in all the wrong places, and school systems that failed to help. My brother is now 28. He still has Bipolar Disorder, but has learned some coping skills, has graduated from college, and now works in a career that affords him the flexibilty he needs to manage his illness.
Many of the brightest and the best in our society have lived, suffered, and contributed to our world while living with this devastating disease.
I believe that God (however we imagine s/he) has a special love for those among us who experience neurobiological brain illnesses (mental illnesses). May those of us on the planet show that same compassion.
Thank you to Marya for speaking out on the challenges of living with a mental health disorder. Kudos to you for facing head on the stigma often associated with having a mental health disorder in order to educate all of us on the challenges one faces and the supports that a person needs to overcome the hurdles living with bipolar presents.
Mental illness is hard for the public to understand unless one has it or has lived with someone who does. Marya describes the challenges very well. I grew up with a mother with Bipolar Disorder and experienced the ups and downs, as well as the immense creativity and intelligence of my mother. Thank you for this excellent presentation
This excerpt encourages me because of the diagnosis of the author. She overcame enough to publish a book. I myself am diagnosed with Type 2 Bipolar Disorder. I've been hospitalized twice and I am perfectly normal as long as I take my medication.
I am not encouraged though by the tone of this woman's writing. She writes as if the "madness" is bound to creep in-- as if there's no stopping it. Medication can help. Therapy can help. Being at spiritual peace and in the presence of those who encourage you can help. They can actually help you enough that you can function as if you don't have an illness.
You just have to get over the obstacles created by your past actions that accompanied your disorder.
I'm making it far with Bipolar. I actually don't notice symptoms anymore except the occasional racing thought that even "normal" people have and an easily disrupted sleep cycle.
I just have to stay disciplined. I have to stay in fellowship with those who encourage me. And I have to draw close to God.
That's my story.
My creative side is writing too. I write modern day parables. Contact me if you would like to read one.
parablesoftoday@gmail.com
c ... you are completely ignorant and obviously have never had a relationship with someone with a mental illness ... you should really know more before you post.
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