Went to the beach
today novel chair
they foam white
My friend sits
in the sand novel
in lap saturated
with the sun
I sat for hours
cats in windows
Went to the beach
today novel chair
they foam white
My friend sits
in the sand novel
in lap saturated
with the sun
I sat for hours
cats in windows
like a spy
in my breast
Hoodwinked? A definite possibility. Bamboozled? Most likely. Hornswoggled? Should be considered.
Whatever you want to call it, Mr. Jackson Jr. disappeared six months ago; five months ago Mrs. Jackson Jr. read a prepared statement which delicately described Mr. Jackson Jr.’s sudden absence without divulging the root cause. Mrs. Jackson’s calculated disclosure purposefully neglected any explanation of Mr. Jackson’s bizarre journey from Washington, D.C. to an addiction retreat in Arizona and finally his willful confinement at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. Someone with considerable influence strongly urged Mr. Jackson to depart Washington, D.C. without a peep and bee-line himself to the addiction retreat in Arizona. Certain accounts told of Mr. Jackson reaching out to Reverend Jackson who, it was said, immediately went to aid his son. Upon arrival Rev. Jackson described Mr. Jackson’s condition as serious: weight-loss, insomnia, restlessness, hopelessness, fatigue, and a general feeling of depression.
When I presented very similar symptoms at the pinnacle of my ascension to mania, I was strongly advised to immediately be evaluated by a psychiatrist in order to determine if I was clinically depressed. Were my self-medicating behaviors indicative of a substance addiction? Certainly, especially if that’s what you’re looking for. But a member of Congress with the best health insurance in the country? Did he seek an evaluation from a psychiatrist in Washington? Is it likely that a psychiatrist prescribed an addiction treatment facility in Arizona while ignoring Walter Reed Army Medical Center or the Psychiatric Institute of Washington? Doubtful. Are we to believe that no one in Mr. Jackson’s inner circle was curious as to what other illnesses might Mr. Jackson be suffering when presenting his specific symptoms?
I must admit that a fair percent of public comments insinuate that timing for political gains has been, from the very start, the predominant focus. His alcohol addiction (reason for in-patient treatment at an Arizona Rehab Center), bipolar diagnosis (reason for his transfer to the Mayo Clinic), and clandestine exodus from Washington (to protect his privacy while en route) is, to his discredit, a shrewd, calculated, and well-executed chain-of-events whose purpose, Mr. Jackson’s representatives said, was to seek the best treatment centers for his addiction and subsequent bipolar diagnosis. One month passed before Mr. Jackson’s representatives confirmed he was at a HIPAA protected treatment facility. Then he was transferred to the HIPAA protected Mayo Clinic. Then he ran for re-election without a campaign: no appearances, no advertising, no lawn signs. And he won 64% of the vote! Finally, six months after his twilight departure from Washington, the requested and ultimately expected communiqué was delivered to House Speaker Mr. Boehner in a two-page letter of resignation citing health issues and a federal investigation.
And that’s it.
But. . .if he has an addiction and suffers from bipolar disorder, then his timing couldn’t be worse for his career and the reputation of his family. But then again. . .if it was all a ruse to buy time and strategize his reaction to the upcoming federal indictments, then his actions were dishonest, cowardly, and ignorantly insensitive and offensive to those of us who struggle with mental illness on a daily basis. But what if. . .he is an addict and bipolar and anticipating federal indictments? It’s difficult, even for me who defended him on this very blog, to be sympathetic. After all, he’s a crooked politician who stole tens of thousands of tax-payers money for personal gain, who then fled under the guise of addiction and mental illness to protected locations for six months, abandoning his job, his constituents, and those who voted for him, in order to clean his own house and strategize his legal response and perhaps a plea bargain. Oh, and he’s an addict and suffers from bipolar disorder.
Well Mr. Jackson, I suffer from bipolar disorder and face that fact every single day head on. . .I don’t hide behind it. . .and I certainly don’t break the law and then use my mental illness to garner sympathy.
Truth is Mr. Jackson, you’re a coward, a liar, and a thief. The Illinois politician’s trifecta!
Just a brief post via email sending my sincerest appreciation for your recent comment on my blog re: the feature story about me and my living with bipolar II disorder showing up in the on-line version of the Melbourne (Australia) newspaper! Since it’s been two weeks since its initial publishing in the Sunday Chicago Tribune (September 8, 2012), I can only surmise that the story made its way to Australia by way of Cape Hope, South Africa aboard a determined, yet slow freighter bound for New Zealand. Odd, how the most notorious scandals spread across the internet like licentious brush fires, but a story about mental illness, its anonymity, and far-reach takes weeks to reach across the globe.
Please check out her blog: “Buried Words and Bushwa” at http://www.picsandstuff.wordpress.com.
Author & Blogger
(773) 922-6499 (U.S. Residence)
t.m.@tmmulligan.com (U.S. Email)
t.m.@tmmulligan.co.uk (U.K. Email)
Being the subject in a feature article which appeared in the first section of the Sunday edition of a US major newspaper like the Chicago Tribune was wholly a great experience, but also one in which I am relieved is diminishing in attention. Like a child standing abreast the Sundae Buffet Bar at a local eatery piling one bizarre topping atop the last, the news cycle here in Chicago has a short attention span, especially when the subject (me) is an unknown (me).
It was the condition (bipolar); its manifestations before diagnosis; the odd behaviors preceding a mental breakdown; the swath of tawdry details, hateful accusations, and trust-damaging honesty laid bare which piqued their interest. The reporter who, with an eye focused on sensitivity, remained intent to anatomize sequential events like they were the identifiable behavioral ingredients required to produce a blue-ribbon breakdown pie. She often returned to the timeline which, like a mooring buoy, guides a diver safely to the wreck. However, my timeline represented a fall from grace, a clawing desperation numbed by opiates, acts of treason undermining my relationships; and finally, any semblance of sanity or allegiance to life was pitched like an unwanted circular. The drilling for details only struck bedrock when trivial yet salacious activities, freely offered as context, had to be included in the article to highlight the stakes of my all in bet.
Absolutely not! I would not be drawn-and-quartered on page 8, section 1, the entrails of my privacy displayed like human anomalies hawked at second-class side-shows!
I made it very clear: I’m not ashamed nor am I proud of my behavior, the pain it caused others, my professional devastation, the annihilation of trust, or the surrender of an identity. But there’s a difference between honesty and privacy when it involves my life and the lives of those dearest to me. I have been candid and explicit and straightforward. But if your newspaper can’t respect what I say is private, then they must not respect what I’ve determined to be public. In which case they can’t have any of it!
And that stand on my own behalf was my take-away. Before 2008 I always felt like I had too keep going, had to get promoted, had to make six figures, because there was always somewhere to go, a place just beyond my reach that would be better, easier, calmer. And on I went, like so many of my friends, pursuing. . .something. . .
After 2008 that place which had been so important to get to disappeared along with the constant gnawing I heard, and the “coveted by others” baubles bought to fill an expanding void where truth-to-self and character once resided, and year after year after year of acrimonious evaluations designed to hobble my self-worth.
No rhetoric; no sublime style; no lexicons or etymology. Pure and simple disclosure of disquieting issues.
Please, REPOST THIS ON YOUR BLOG. Personally, I prefer privacy over publicity; I exposed my life in the hope that the stigmas of mental illness, obesity, and homosexuality might be reconsidered to be human conditions worthy of respect and empathy.
|Harlan Didrickson poses outside his Rogers Park home. (Chris Walker, Tribune photo / August 17, 2012)|
Or who would get up at 2 a.m., go to Dunkin’ Donuts, then drive to Indiana and back, snacking on Munchkins.
But that’s who he became.
Four years ago, his life was upended by bipolar II disorder, the same illness recently diagnosed in U.S. Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr.
This is not Jackson’s story. People with the disorder — nearly 6 million in the U.S. — have unique experiences with the illness, which cycles between moods of manic energy and deep depression.
“The symptoms of bipolar disorder can be very different from one person compared to another,” said Dr. John Zajecka, a psychiatrist with Rush University Medical Center who specializes in mood disorders.
Manic states leave some people euphoric, others irritable. “There are people who can function their whole lives in these hypomanic states,” though they may lose marriages, jobs and money, Zajecka said.
Depression, too, can appear in a variety of ways. Some sufferers stay in either mania or depression for decades; others cycle between them many times a day. And people respond differently to treatment.
But Didrickson’s struggle provides one look at how bipolar II disorder and its treatment can affect a life.
And he does have one key factor in common with Jackson. Like the congressman, Didrickson, 54, had weight-loss surgery before being diagnosed with bipolar. He had a gastric bypass procedure; Jackson had a duodenal switch.
It became a serious complication in his treatment. The weight-loss procedure, which causes the body to absorb fewer calories, prevented him from absorbing the full dose of his antidepressant medication.
Didrickson’s illness began when he started feeling extremely stressed at work. He considered himself skilled at his job but felt beleaguered by office politics.
“I felt as though I was fighting a lot of fights on different fronts in my life, and that I didn’t have the wherewithal, the energy,” he said. “I was profoundly unhappy.”
He changed jobs, twice. He still felt miserable. And he also felt trapped, having to do work he now found unbearably stressful.
More than 60 percent of people with bipolar engage in substance abuse as they try to self-medicate their inner pain. Didrickson was among them. At night he would wash down some hydrocodone, an opiate he had been prescribed for a back injury, with beer. He would stay up till 4 a.m. watching TV, then take Ambien to fall asleep.
“At 6 o’clock I woke up, got dressed and went to work. I was probably still high,” he said. “Then somewhere around noon, I would crash. I would go to the men’s bathroom, go sit on the toilet and fall asleep.”
His partner, Nick Harkin, a publicist with an entertainment and lifestyle marketing firm, had no idea how deeply troubled Didrickson had become.
But then Didrickson didn’t show up on time for a planned out-of-town getaway. When he arrived the next day, he was morose, secretive and exhausted. “It was a very abrupt shift,” Harkin said. “It was quite obvious that something was very seriously wrong.”
Didrickson was thinking of ending their relationship, he told Harkin. And he wanted to move to California’s Death Valley. He wanted to start a new life.
“I was falling apart,” Didrickson said. “It was this desperate: I will do anything to get out from under this pressure.’ It was like having a heart attack, and if you don’t get out from under it, it will kill you.”
Back home, he called a friend who had once been his therapist. She asked if he was suicidal.
“I was, like, ‘Of course I am. I think about it all the time,'” he said. “‘It’s the only comfort I have.'”
She told him to see a psychiatrist. He did, and was told he had depression — a common initial diagnosis for people with bipolar, who generally seek treatment during a depressed phase of the illness.
The antidepressant the doctor prescribed didn’t work. Didrickson developed memory problems, to the point where he forgot how to do simple tasks like using a phone.
“I could not take a shower, because I couldn’t recall the sequence of activities … turning on the water, stepping into the spray, getting wet, washing,” he said.
He lost 40 pounds and neglected bathing and grooming. And yet there were also times when Didrickson felt powerful, energetic, nearly like a superhero. He could do anything he wanted, no matter how dangerous or destructive, with no consequences.
He ran red lights. He drove the wrong way down one-way streets. “I felt like I was back to being in charge, like I was back to saying, ‘It’s going to go like this because I said so,'” Didrickson said. “I felt kind of emancipated.
“I thought, Wow, this (antidepressant) Paxil is really working.'”
But it wasn’t. A psychopharmacologist gave him a new diagnosis: bipolar II disorder, a form of bipolar disorder with less extreme mood swings.
His new doctor told him to stop self-medicating — Didrickson said he hasn’t had a drink or abused a drug since — and put him on a mood stabilizer. And then began the painstaking process of trying to find the right antidepressant: six weeks getting to a therapeutic amount of a drug, then six weeks being weaned off when it didn’t work, again and again.
“My symptoms came back. I just felt terrible,” he said.
He was still manic, once getting up at 4 a.m. to drive to Lake Shore Drive to look at newly fixed potholes. He spent money recklessly. He spent hours obsessing over the paper stock to use for custom stationery.
The manic states always turned dark, ending with him lashing out at people — usually Harkin.
“When I begin my mania, it’s a great party,” he said. “But when it gets to be months into it, it gets uglier and uglier and uglier, to the point where you really are a monster.
“Mania isn’t happy; mania is crazy,” he said.
No antidepressant worked. Then a friend with bipolar recommended Adderall, the stimulant often prescribed for attention deficit disorder.
His doctor prescribed a standard amount. It did nothing.
So Didrickson took another dose. And he felt a little better.
“I started to feel buoyant,” he said. “I always talk about feeling underwater. I felt like I was finally breaking the surface.”
He didn’t know why he needed a higher dose. But then he came upon online message board postings by people who had undergone gastric bypass surgery and then found that their antidepressant medicines stopped working.
The gastric bypass surgery he had undergone years earlier to lose weight, he concluded, was keeping his body from absorbing the medicine.
Indeed, Zajecka said, gastric bypass surgery can change how people absorb medicines given for bipolar disorder.
The Mayo Clinic statement announcing Jackson’s diagnosis also noted that the weight-loss surgery he had “can change how the body absorbs food, liquids, vitamins, nutrients and medications.”
Didrickson’s doctor would only marginally increase his dosage of the notoriously abused amphetamine. It wasn’t until he switched doctors because of a change in his health care coverage that he got what he found to be an effective dose.
His longtime internist, Dr. Eric Christoff, assistant professor of clinical medicine at Northwestern University’s Feinberg School of Medicine, gradually increased Didrickson’s dosage, with weekly appointments to check his blood pressure.
The depression lifted. He has been on the higher dosage for a year and a half.
“We have never seen any evidence of drug toxicity or high blood pressure,” Christoff said. “He’s really not absorbing much of any dose he’s taking.”
Many people with bipolar disorder are able to resume their previous lives.
“It’s one of the most treatable illnesses we have in medicine,” Zajecka said. “If it’s diagnosed properly and treated appropriately, there’s no reason they can’t get back to resuming a normal lifestyle and their normal goals in life.”
But Didrickson has been unable to go back to work and still has periods of depression and mania, though much milder ones. He manages the house, cooks and has taken up woodworking.
“Going out in the evening can be very, very, challenging for him,” Harkin said. “If we go to a concert or a dance performance and it’s too noisy, he’ll have to leave. If … there’s someone in a film who’s violent or cruel, that’s very upsetting to him too.”
“It’s nothing like I thought my life would be,” Didrickson said.
“The good thing, I guess, is that I don’t hold on to yesterdays,” he said. “That’s a blessing, I think, frankly. But I also don’t have tomorrow. My life isn’t about tomorrow.”
He has gone back to writing, which he did in college. He writes a blog about his experiences with bipolar, under the name T.M. Mulligan. The moniker stands for “Taking My Mulligan.”
“I’m having my do-over,” he said. “I’m taking the second chance.”
I’m a private person by nature, but also an author rummaging through his past looking for experiences which, when written in my style will leap from me and land on you resulting in some degree of change expressed through your thought or action. I don’t write for the sake of writing. I write with purpose; with hope that my style captures your attention; and with honesty so that a kinship occurs as you read and when finished actually feel something whether it be acknowledgement, empathy, entertained, or moved. If you don’t experience any shift then I have failed you as a writer.
So many people know so little about mental illness generally, and Bipolar specifically, that to decline the opportunity to be featured in a full-page story in one of the top five newspapers in the country (not too mention their on-line edition) would be foolhardy. There’s no possible way that I and this blog occupying a little corner of the internet could reach the number of readers that this article will touch.
I have spent ten hours on telephone interviews; two hours of photography here at my home; my partner’s been interviewed, and so has my physician. The process has been, frankly, unnerving and profoundly confronting and nowhere near as safe as if I’d been writing it. But I agreed because too many American’s need to understand that mental illness is a disease. Doctor’s need to understand that a post-gastric by-pass patient won’t respond to medications as expected. Patients living with mental illness need to believe that sharing themselves with others is the only way to dilute discrimination based on mental health.
Please watch for it!