I'm in the midst of reading Manic by Terri Cheney. Over the summer I decided to start reading memoirs by people suffering from bipolar disorder, but was pretty surprised to find there wasn't much out there. I finally found myself leaning over the counter at a local Books-A-Million, asking, bluntly, "Do you have anything written by someone with bipolar disorder?" I'm sure it was a strange request for them, but they produced Cheney's book and I've been reading it in the haphazard way I usually read books - in the five minutes I have before a doctor's appointment, or on the toilet.
At first, there wasn't much in the book that I could relate to. Cheney was a powerhouse LA entertainment attorney who worked with the likes of Michael Jackson and Quincy Jones. I'm just a freelance writer. Cheney writes a good bit about her money, connections, and success. I drive a 1997 Chevy and live in an apartment and don't have any big celebrity friends.
Cheney was also institutionalized more than once and attempted suicide numerous times. The suicide part I could relate to, having semi-attempted to off myself a few times as a teenager. Of course, my "attempts" were cries for attention, whereas Cheney really, truly wanted to die. And, to date, I have never been institutionalized. I've always thought my life has been crazy thanks to the BP, but now I feel incredibly boring by comparison.
So I've been reading this book and it's a great read, and I'm thoroughly fascinated and entertained, although I don't feel like I could ever sit down with Cheney as a girlfriend-sistah-child. There is only one thing I've been able to relate to so far...
Throughout the book, Cheney talks about how often she thinks of death, constantly wanting to be free of her troubled mind, always plotting her own demise. This part I could relate to. It's not the sort of thing you generally admit to people, but I'm admitting it now - I get this. It's nothing I've experienced lately. I've been pretty healthy for over a year, with few hiccups and certainly none I haven't been able to overcome. But it wasn't that long ago that I experienced the same things Cheney writes about as far as the constant obsession with death.
I would often drive through my town - a very rural and sometimes wooded area - thinking how easy it would be to drive my car into a tree at 100 miles per hour with no seatbelt on. At times I envisioned other ways of offing myself, right down to the nitty gritty details. It was a constant monkey on my back, a thought that was with me everywhere I went. Even on "good" days when I didn't feel particularly depressed, the thoughts still entered my mind at the most inopportune times.
What stopped me? The things that stop most people - too many people to love and be loved by, an underlying hope that eventually things would get better...fear of going to Hell. The last one was the biggie for me. If you give your life to Jesus, and then decided to end it, how does that go over with God? After all, I'm a Christian, which means my life isn't really my own anymore. I've had many people give me many different answers to that question but, in the end, I didn't want to find out the hard way.
I haven't finished this book yet, but I realized something tonight: death is my measuring stick. I haven't had those thoughts in a long time - I can't even remember exactly how long it's been. Like I said, I'm sure it has been at least a year.
But now I know that if I ever start thinking that way again, it's serious, and I need to ask for help.
Oh, and incidentally... if anyone knows of any other good reads, let me know.
Pin It
0 comments:
Post a Comment