Bob R’s Story
“My name is Bob, and I am bipolar.”
I can say those words easily now – in fact, I say them frequently when talking to others about mental illness – but for years I was in serious denial about my condition, and the amount of pain it was causing me and my loved ones. Bankruptcy, divorce, getting fired – I spent years denying that each catastrophic event in my life had anything to do with my mental state. I was even in denial when I found myself, at age 29 and fresh out of the psych ward, crashing on a couch in my old fraternity house because I had nowhere else to go. How deep was my denial? Just a few hours before, on my way out of the mental hospital, I had tossed my lithium in the garbage.
That’s major denial, folks.
I wasn’t always bipolar. In fact, I had an idyllic, all-American childhood, growing up in Lower Burrell, Pennsylvania with a warm, loving family. (Years afterwards, I found out there was a family history of bipolar disorder – more on that later.) I played sports in school, had many friends, and graduated valedictorian of my high school class. After high school, I went on to get a degree in chemical engineering from Carnegie-Mellon University, and an MBA from the prestigious J.L. Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern University. I had friends. I had a girlfriend. I had job offers. The future looked amazingly bright.
In 1981, I married my fiancé Joye, and we settled in Chicago, working for different divisions of American Hospital Supply. Two years later, we welcomed our daughter Lauren to the family; a few months after her birth, the company transferred Joye and me to Stamford, Connecticut as a package deal. So far, so good, right? But soon after the move, the first warning signs of my illness began to appear. Unhappy with the new job, I started to feel anxious and depressed, and saw a therapist who prescribed antidepressants. I left AHS and found a job with a graphics company.Then, in early 1984 I had a life-changing moment – although it didn’t turn out the way I expected. I happened to see a demonstration of the new Macintosh computer, and my mind clicked into high gear. There was a niche just waiting to be filled – I could become wealthy and satisfy my creative urges demonstrating the new Macintosh computer to small companies.
I quickly became obsessed with my computer concept; day or night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. During a week when Joye took Lauren to her parents’ house, I stayed up 23 hours a day, bouncing off the walls, completely consumed by my fantastic new idea. Little did I know, I was in the midst of my first major manic episode. To me, my super-human level of energy and creativity didn’t mean I was sick – it meant I had a really good idea for a business and was passionate about getting it off the ground. Joye, however, saw things differently. Concerned about my bizarre behavior, she persuaded me to see a psychiatrist, who said I might be bipolar. On the other hand, he said, I may just be extremely intelligent and driven. That’s how many successful people are. I chose to hear only the second part of what he said, and proceeded with the business. Long story short: I raised $300,000 from friends, family, and community members, hired an eager batch of MBA students for the summer, and launched the computer consulting business – without any sort of long-term business plan. It failed miserably, and I plunged into a deep depression.
Things got worse as my mood swings continued, and our financial situation grew worse. Soon, Joye left me, taking Lauren with her. I moved back to Pittsburgh and somehow managed to get a steady job with an investment firm. For a short while, my life felt somewhat stable again. Then – as I spiraled into another manic phase and had little need for sleep – I began going out every night, driving to club after club to see my favorite Pittsburgh rhythm and blues bands perform. I came up with the idea of organizing concerts for charity (never mind that I had zero experience in music promotion.) I felt unstoppable, full of confidence. However, the charity concerts never panned out the way I envisioned, and I ended up losing my 9-to-5 job. Over the next few years, I was in and out of mental hospitals, off and on meds, and moving from job to job. I even did a short stint in jail. And although several doctors had diagnosed me as bipolar, I still hadn’t fully come to grips with my illness.
The slow, happy road back: Sometime in the late 1980s, I was watching Johnny Carson, and the actress Patty Duke happened to be a guest. She spoke candidly about her own struggles with bipolar disorder, and I started to feel a flicker of hope. It was a light bulb moment: Here was a woman who was so successful and talented – and she had this illness? Maybe there was hope for me after all. Maybe I could be bipolar and still be a happy, functioning human being.
In 1989, I began seeing a fantastic counselor, Dr. Debbie, and taking lithium regularly. Lithium works for 60 -70 percent of bipolar patients, and it’s not a fancy drug; it’s an element, like salt. And I found that when I took it regularly – not off and on like I had been doing – it regulated my mood swings. It didn’t eliminate them completely, but it evened me out. I could function like my old self.
For the past 24 years, life has been getting better and better. I eventually remarried, became certified as a CPA, and opened my own business. It’s been a slow road back, but a fulfilling one. I have tax clients who are going through bankruptcy, depression, and bad times – and I tell them my story for encouragement. Taking it a step further, I launched Manic Energy, Ltd. in May 2012. It’s an organization that gives bipolar sufferers and their families a one-stop resource for support, education, and professional help.
If there’s a takeaway message from my story, it’s this: We need to eliminate any lingering stigma about being bipolar. It’s an illness like any other. Look at your family history. Several people in my family – my grandmother, uncle, and cousin – also suffered from bipolar disorder. I’m proud I’ve come back. The help is out there – good counselors and doctors, support for families. The shame isn’t in having a bipolar disorder; it’s in not asking for help.