Through
the Fire
By
Angelica
The
flaming started with my husband’s suicide. His father had been
bipolar and we knew it was a possibility for John. But we never
expected to be diagnosed simultaneously. We had the same doctors, but
I was hospitalized for what was supposed to be one year.
I
was drugged almost to death. I’m very sensitive to medication. My
mother and husband waited two weeks for me to recognize and speak to
them. My thoughts kept flying away, but I managed to say “Hi.”
Mom got me out AMA (against medical advice).
At
this point John wanted a divorce. I dove into fear mode. We had three
kids to raise and I only had one semester of college. What kind of
job could I get? At this point, I could barely go to the grocery
store. By then, I was in and out of three hospitals. Medications
ruled again.
John
racked up $122,000 in debts in two months. The judge did not grant
him custody of one of the boys. His lawyers were exasperated with
him. He quit his job. He had essentially no friends. The kids and I
got the house. Thus, the suicide. Ironically, he received a job offer
that same afternoon.
I
went to support groups and endeavored to stay out of hospitals. I
never went to a grief support group, but we all should have. I was
off medication and did alright for one year. I met Chris in that time
frame through a computer dating service. I told him I was bipolar and
had three children, none of which seemed to bother him. We married
six weeks later.
Unbelievably,
Chris was diagnosed with bipolar several years later. He forged
through his job until he was 59, then went on disability. We
graciously allowed for each other’s shortcomings. We didn’t worry
so much about money as much as we demonstrated our love for each
other. It wasn’t all roses, but the love grew and grew. We have
been married for twenty-seven years.
I
painted, wrote, crocheted and did needlepoint through the mood
swings. I adore colors and am fascinated by words. When I painted, I
focused on colors, shapes, shadows and light. Words were invisible to
me. One night, I was painting a piano and flowers when a big storm
stirred up. I paused. Then I decided if it were my time to go, I
would go with a smile. I kept on painting with a quiet joy.
Whenever
I was writing my book, all worries and concerns were gone. In a way
it was traumatic, yet in another way it was cathartic and left me
drained. I was still happy to finish it twenty years later.
Two
years after meeting Chris, I found my guru. Jesus had been my first
teacher, but I wanted a physically embodied teacher. Baba’s
teachings were a lot like Jesus’ only phrased differently. Instead
of the Golden Rule, Baba said, “Help ever, hurt never.” I was so
happy that I trucked off to India to see him. I spent two months
there. It was heaven. I saw Baba in darshan (the seeing of an avatar)
over 100 times. He didn’t speak to me there, but he did later in
Canada.
When
He saw my finished book, He said there were a lot of Vedic truths in
that, and how could I sell the truth? So, I promised to only gift
them in the future. It was a big test. I always wanted to be an
author and sell my books to raise my level of living. I guess God
decided differently. So, I accepted that with just a whimper.
Around
the same time I met Baba, I also lucked out with a great
psychiatrist. His vote was out on the God issue, but he was so
caring, I knew God loved him. After several medication cocktails, he
hit on the right one. He was surprised how the low dosages were so
effective for me. Gratefully, the sparks went out and I stabilized. I
haven’t been hospitalized in eight consecutive years. Thank God.
One
morning, Dr. T leaned forward and said, “I learned something.” I
was all ears. “I learned that you don’t need so much medicine.”
“I
told you so…”
“No,
I learned that all my patients can have less medication.”
Amen.
Now,
one son has bipolarity, and the beat goes on.
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