After reading this through before pasting into my blog, I almost wasn’t going to post this entry. But then I realized that this is an excellent opportunity to display my own flaws and weaknesses because some of my posts may seem “preachy” (and I’m barely even qualified to give my own self advice, let alone any of you), but I’ll leave this up to you to read or not. It’s a very raw look into my life which I often keep hidden behind a mask. I apologize in advance there is no real scripture in today’s post. Some days The Holy Spirit just knows what we need even if we don’t actively seek it that day.
It’s been a hard fought day. It isn’t some strange phenomena for tears to fall from my eyelids, but it is out of the ordinary when they’re a result of loneliness. Given how I feel about living alone and being in a quiet atmosphere, you should be asking, “Chuck, how can you cry about being lonely when you enjoy being alone so much?” The short answer to that is, there are stark differences between the act of being alone and the object of loneliness.
On the same side of the coin, one could hypothesize I brought this all on myself. And while you’d be correct, it was not a feat won all by it’s lonesome. I speak often about how it feels to be autistic, and while that’s such a huge part of my life (especially as I get older and older), it isn’t the single most thing which causes me so much affliction. I don’t talk about bipolar disorder too much because for the majority of my adult life, I have denied it. Sure, there have always been the problems presenting themselves in the fashion which wreak havoc (sometimes more than autism) in my personal life. But I hate to admit it due to the stigmatic effects it has in society today. I’d be closer to the truth if only I just offered this window of transparency to my readers. And after today, I feel it’s the perfect opportunity to come clean with how it makes me feel. And while surely it is not all of the baggage I carry in my mind–for there are other things which make me a large part of the broken world which you are cut from similar effects–today I’ll focus purely on the mental health aspect. That’s a big enough pill to swallow. Which that in and of itself is an oxymoron for the world of Chuck Franklin, because I haven’t taken a single mood stabilizer or antidepressant since just before Christmas of 2017.
Before I begin, let me address what bipolar disorder and mental illness is not.
- It is not God given.
- It is not learned behavior.
- It is not ‘just an excuse’ for acting irrationally.
- It is not fun.
You might think that list of four things should be self explanatory… an inherent production of common sense. Then there’s the first one. No, I don’t believe in a God who harms His children.
While we were created in His image, I choose to believe that mental illness is brought on by the fall of man which dates back to Adam & Eve. I believe that we have certain differences which are a result of the flawed world that we trample.
It’s caused by genetics and the consequence of environmental impacts and since it’s just like any other DNA trait as is human brilliance or red hair, God uses it as a tool. Nowadays, I choose to think Mental Health is nothing more than a circumstance which God decides to use under His supervision to bring us closer to Him and to measure when our issues can be put to some greater positive use of helping or relating with others.
Bipolar disorder or any other mental illness (note, you will never see or hear me label autism as a disease) is not learned behavior. While we certainly are exposed to it on a daily basis whether we realize it or not, I keep the hope in the fact that my brothers and sisters in Christ don’t use it as an excuse for our occasional bad behavior. I’d also think that neither of us would (in our right minds) choose to act out in anger or agitation. Unfortunately though, since we are so not perfect, it happens. Some are better at identifying their feelings or emotions and can assess better than others and cool down before heating up. But sometimes, we’re all just bound to ‘snap’ and it just ‘is what it is’ every once in a while.
I also hate to break this to anyone who thinks this (and you’d be surprised how many people I’ve heard say this) that bipolar is fun. I’m sorry, but I don’t find joy in spending night after night after night awake researching new subjects or exploring my creativity through paper crafting, or writing, or spending long nights watching movies and taking two hot showers sometimes in an eight hour period just because my brain won’t shut off and let me sleep like the rest of the world. I find joy in those interests most during the light of day. And, I don’t find pleasure in starting new projects or interests on the flip of a dime. But it happens so much with me, I cannot count on one hand how many times I’ve switched interests. On Monday, I can decide that I’m going to take up baking, so the next day or (instantly, as in the pleasures of online shopping) I venture on a spending spree to get new pans and utensils which are necessary to baking. By Friday, I’d have lost complete interest in baking when I meet the demise of my horrible talent at fixing something that another person would dare identify as edible. And in those days in between, I can shockingly survive with two or three short naps the entire week.
The sporadic and messianic zeal of conquering a brand new concept or hobby one minute, then losing interest in whatever half brained idea I’d dreamed up the next, clashes directly with my autistic disdain for change and crave for routine based living.
During these periods of pure mania, I’m generally at the peak of my elated self. I’m so confident and happier than a dog basking in the sun, then usually after an entire day of headaches and throwing my fists in thin air (which typically occur after a week or two from when the mania starts), I plunge straight into the depths of my already sinking mattress. It’s days like this which my mind becomes haunted by the consequences of my behavior. Shame and guilt elude my every thought and I feel the sting of loneliness. It’s in those transitions of rage and anger which I’ve pushed away family members and friends. Now don’t get me wrong, I have arrived at the acceptance that God has cleaned out my inner circle of friends for great reason. However, I am to blame for some of the relational woes and it’s days like this when I shake my head at how unfair mental illness is.
You probably find yourself thinking that I could just try medication again. I should attend rigorous therapy. I should interact with others in person more. And for a typical person, all those could be great suggestions. But like I mentioned above, my mental illness battles the faulty brain wiring and I have a real-life cartoon of the devil on one side of my head and an angelic entity on the other. Medication hasn’t worked in the past, and trust me when I say this, eight years ago when I found out I was both autistic and bipolar, I’d began the entire circuit of medications. They just don’t work for some people. And since moving back to Colorado, I’ve yet to find a suitable therapy provider who truly understands the full scope of my mental health needs without judgment and preconceived bias. Grand Junction leaves much to be desired in a clinical perspective. Much like our doctors here, Western Colorado is full of therapists/psychiatrists and barely any of them measure up to the brilliance which I’d once had in Indiana. They just don’t get it.
So as I lay here, bereft of real gumption to get up and do anything productive, I revert back to my first paragraph. Some days just have me crying tears of regret and loneliness. It’s in these moments which I can’t escape the confines of hell which satan has placed me in, because even if I did have a spouse in my life to bring the physical comfort God wants for me, I’m sure I’d find some way of pushing them away too.
The Heart Mechanic 