I was hoping that the day would turn out well, in spite of how it was progressing. And maybe I was trying to bargain with God: that I would surrender to Him and that in return He would make my day a blessed one after all.
It was not to be.
Ten o'clock. The mania had been roaring for some time. About this time I plummeted back into depression. It was what ever since the symptoms first began nearly a quarter century ago I have called "the Dark Fountain". Winston Churchill called depression his "Black Dog" that hounded his steps wherever he went. Mine is the Dark Fountain. When it erupts it sends dark viscous fluid seething across my neurobiology, and it takes a supreme effort to fight against those black waters or else drown in them. And it has come close to drowning me completely at times... make of that what one will.
Today around noon I could almost hear the Dark Fountain bursting forth. Could almost feel the waters creeping throughout my brain. And then it stopped for a little while. Enough to post on Facebook that I needed prayer, from whoever might be reading my words.
Several people responded, and I am very thankful that they did. I believe in prayer, now more than ever. Prayer is nothing more or less than talking with God in a personal way. He hears our prayers. He may not answer them as we would like for Him to... and trust me, I have prayed to Him many times over the past two and a half decades to relieve me of my own "thorn in the flesh" (as Paul described his own ailment). He hasn't done that. I doubt He ever will do that. Not on this side of the veil, anyway.
Maybe God needs me to have a mental illness. It's a way of keeping me humble, of having to rely upon Him, and to rely upon the prayers of others. It would be a pretty sad and miserable world if we didn't lift each other up, somehow or another. But again, I digress...
One o'clock. Two. Three. I was SERIOUSLY fluctuating. It was almost making me physically sick. I've been trying to eat healthier lately (because, hey, it's time to admit the truth: I'm no longer in college and it's way past time that I start eating like a responsible adult, so no more frozen pizza for awhile) and later on a friend suggested that maybe this episode was triggered by my turning to healthier food TOO suddenly. I suppose it's possible. There can be any number of triggers of a manic or depressive (or both) episode. Sometimes there's no apparent trigger at all: they just happen. I mention this now, just openly wondering if the change in diet is what precipitated this latest bought with bipolar disorder.
And then, almost as suddenly as it began... the episode stopped.
Well, it was more of a tapering off. Fortunately that occurred quicker than an episode usually does. I could literally feel the episode coming on and now I could feel it abating. Like a hurricane that passes over a beach, the rain decreasing until there is a measure of peace.
The episode was over.
Cost to me: a day's lost wages. And I needed that work.
The alternative however, would have potentially been much worse.
This is what it is to have a mental illness. But the good news is that it is controllable, to some considerable extent.
I no longer believe that I'm too dangerous to be with others. Including colleagues on the job, wherever that may be. Nor do I believe that I would be too dangerous to be in a relationship with someone, if God were to ever bring a woman into my life (and I would never cease to be thankful to Him for that if He did).
I'm not the person who I was a decade and a half ago. I think about the Chris Knight who existed then, who was struggling to fight against his own mind and losing that battle ever more with seemingly each passing day. That Chris is long gone and in his place is the Chris who was always meant to be here. Someone who can love and be loved. Who is a hard worker, without depression being a regular hindrance. Someone who isn't going to go out on eBay one night and buy two hundred dollars of LEGO models, just because he saw The LEGO Movie and decided he needed to recreate those characters on his desk.
It's not a perfect life. But it never will be, for any of us. We each have our burden to bear. Sometimes it's just more apparent than others. I should be thankful, about mine. I've never turned to drugs or drink to make myself not feel numbness incarnate or to stifle the excess energies. I've never been homeless. I've been blessed with a wonderful support system of people who sincerely care about me, just as I care about them. When I was in southern California I got to see many people who were not so fortunate. They were obviously mentally ill, had no permanent places to sleep at night, whose meager belongings fit inside grocery carts that were no doubt stolen from supermarkets.
In a different reality, that could have been me.
I'm not thankful enough. To God or to the people He has put into my life.
I truly hope that someday I can make amends with the people who I have hurt, which stemmed from this disease.
That is the true burden of bipolar disorder that I bear.
Maybe God can make that be so.
He has done miracles before. He can do it again.