Roz Long - Creative Journey of Bipolar Disorder

Creative Journey of Bipolar Disorder

Copyright 2012 by Roz Long

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

Cover artwork and design by Ashley Good.

ISBN-13: 978-1478340058 (softcover)

ISBN-10: 1478340053 (softcover)

ISBN-13: 978-1622092734 (ebook)

To my children, Scottie and Ryan.
May there be understanding and hope for those in need.

Gods Mix

If I were a painter

I would paint a picture

This day into evening

Tall trees silhouette the sky

Beautiful colors that have no names

Colors I know I could not mix

Maybe they were mixed by God

Two little birds cross the sky

I envy their freedom

So simply they flutter and float

If I were a poet

I would find some succinct way

To suppose their mutual joy

The birds are probably just looking for some worms

I am not sure what I am doing

In Gods Mix

John Kastholm

Authors Note

Everyone knows someone who is bipolar: a friend, lover, husband, wife, brother, sister, father, mother, son, daughter, aunt, uncle, cousin, nephew, niece, teacher, actor, actress, playwright, poet, artist, dancer, musician, architect, boss, celebrity, etc.

But does everyone or anyone know what bipolar disorder is?

Does everyone or anyone know that there is a high correlation between creativity and bipolar disorder?

The National Institute of Mental Health has published a detailed booklet that describes bipolar symptoms, causes, and treatments with information on getting help and coping. Bipolar disorder, also known as manic depressive illness, causes unusual shifts in mood, energy, activity levels, and the ability to carry out day-to-day tasks. Symptoms of bipolar disorder are severe. They are different from the normal ups and downs that everyone goes through from time to time. Bipolar disorder symptoms can result in damaged relationships, poor job or school performance, and even suicide. But bipolar disorder can be treated, and people with this illness can lead full and productive lives. Bipolar disorder often develops in a persons late teens or early adult years. At least half of all cases begin before age 25. Some people have their first symptoms during childhood, while others may develop symptoms late in life. Bipolar disorder is not easy to detect when it starts. The symptoms may seem like separate problems, not recognized as part of a larger problem. Some people suffer for years before they are properly diagnosed and treated. Like diabetes or heart disease, bipolar disorder is a long-term illness that must be carefully managed through-out a persons life.

I want to share this book with you so that you will begin to realize that having the disease bipolar disorder not only causes pain and challenges but also inspires creativity for a high percentage of this population. With patience, understanding, medical help, and therapy, people who live with bipolar disorder can lead a good life.

Some of my former students and dear friends live with this disease. They continue to inspire me with the artistic journey of my life. I thank them for that.

Roz Long

As I began to write in my journal, I noticed the last few leaves of the oak tree out front flying against my window. Fall would end soon. I felt so alone. My mind suddenly flooded with thoughts of Clint. I missed him.

Clint, a former student, lived in a world where he believed no one would understand his depressed state. He believed that the world would one day self-destruct. Society would destroy itself. No love of life, no dreams, no support, no family, no sounds of laughter. There was only noise. The noise of guns, of rivalry between family members, of conflict between citizens, and of international strife between nations. A lack of trust that weakened humanitys soul.

He was a tender young man who lived in the wrong decade. His soulful mind belonged in the sixties with The Doors, Grateful Dead, Hendrix, Joplin, and the Moody Blues. He was lost in a world of unfaithful people. He was a vision to behold, dressed in the attire of the 1960s movement with his bell-bottom blue jeans, sixties peace necklace, macram bracelet, and shoulder-length hair.

I was privileged and honored to share some time with him. We shared a mystical part of each other. Our destiny was found within the joining of our souls. His was a youthful spirit that will remain alive throughout time. Time can be held for a moment, but the value of friendship will be held eternally. The fond memories of our communication will never die. Love will endure. Those recollections will survive the hands of time. Love will protect.

One eventful day in the fall, I met a student in prison who would change my life forever, a youthful spirit who disliked the world for aging him. A child who abandoned his family because they had abandoned him. A heart so full of warmth that the heat that exuded from his presence could set me on fire. A caring individual who would love like no one.

As I walked into one of the rooms where I would be tutoring him in English for the first time, I sensed his pain of loneliness. The surroundings were dark and full of despair. No windows to share the outside light inside. Dark walls painted grey with the coating color of sadness, lacking any energetic life. A dark shadow of hopelessness wrapped itself around him, a haunting reminder of the gloominess of prison life. This young man of eighteen years, with a slender body shape, was both fragile on the inside and outside, trapped in this environment of futility. It was as if he wanted to be heard, but there was no audience to listen to him. He was placed in captivity like an animal at the zoo, and he could not trust anyone. His lethargic movements showed a human being who had no desire to live. I could understand. A system of justice displaying no justice was a crime in itself. How could society allow young people to be treated in such an inhumane way? Who were the real criminals? Are their parents who abandoned them serving time for their crime of neglect? This young man received the punishment of prison, being the onlooker on his Graffiti-artist friends tagging trains, while his so-called friends fled the scene before they could be caught The police blamed him for all the damages. I became overwhelmed with anger at the thought of his unjust pain. I wanted to scream and shout at the world for this horror of life. Unfortunately, no sounds from within me could be heard. The tears from my eyes became the words of my anger and sadness toward this poor young prisoner. He leaned closer to me, as if he wanted to let me know that he felt my emotions of pain.

As I approached the young man who was sitting on a bench against the wall, his eyes met mine with a yearning for attention. All it took was the twinkle of his eyes, and I knew he understood the vulnerability of human life, the alienation of the human spirit, and the sensitive spirit of two lonely hearts who hear the beat of a different drummer. The beat of a confused, sensitive voice that is so alone in sadness, pain, terror, and solitary confinement.

As I moved closer to him, he started to turn away, as if he wanted to leave my world. But there was a hesitation in his movements. His lack of trust in a stranger was clear. I sensed a secret world of nightmares. I realized patience would be necessary in our relationship.

I glanced at my watch, realizing the minutes were passing too quickly. I realized an introduction was necessary. I am your tutor, I said. I asked the student, Do you find my presence uncomfortable? There was no response except for the lowering of his head toward the table, as if a noose was leading his neck to a guillotine. I asked him, Am I bothering you?