For Now we See Through a Glass, Darkly

I know what you're thinking, “A Bible verse for the title? How pretentious!”. To which I answer, “Yeah, probably, but bear with me.”

I work in retail, specifically selling electronics (high end, low end and every end in between). One day, I had a customer come in in the throes of a textbook manic episode. He was on a “shopping spree”, choosing expensive TVs and laptops with such speed that by the time I got the keys to get the first item, he was on item four. When I got a word in edgewise to ask what he specifically wanted, he became agitated and bounded to the other end of my department to look at video games. That agitation turned to anger when I didn't follow him. At that point, I called for backup in the form of management and store security. To their credit, they calmed him down, at which point, he was depressed and asking for his mother. While my managers kept talking to the guy, I tracked her down in the store and helped get them reunited.

That encounter scared me. A lot. Not because of anything the customer might have done in his manic state, but because he was a living breathing example of what I told my supervisors (the ones who “needed to know” anyway) to expect if I start exhibiting mania. I guess I started empathizing with the kid. He looked to be the same age as me, but was dealing with his illness very differently. I looked at him and saw a reflection. Where I've been, where I could've been, where I could still be. Hence 1 Corinthians and my frazzled nerves.

After the Bible verse, the next thing that came to mind was “Is this insight?” Clinically, I know what lack of insight means, however, my doctors and therapist always seem to connect insight with accepting and understanding the reality of my condition. That's quite the dangerous double-edged sword, I might add (“Oh, you don't agree to our treatment plan? You lack insight. Have an inpatient visit.”), but they haven't taken advantage of it and I've actually gotten some use out of it. What's my insight, you ask? Well, here goes:

I accept that I have bipolar disorder, a serious and incurable mental illness. As befitting a serious and incurable illness, I accept that I will very likely be on medication for the rest of my life (I've seen myself without it.). I accept that there will be side effects to some of this medication. I accept that I could be headed to an early grave if I leave my illness untreated (due to many, many reasons). I accept that this disease has derailed my life so many times, it's hard to get back on the track. I'm eight years in a four-year degree (courtesy of hospitalizations, semesters off and the like), most of my friends from school are already living the first day of the rest of their lives, and maintaining a relationship with the life I have at the moment is laughable. Finally, and this is the most infuriating, I accept that the only time anyone with power seems willing to discuss mental illness is after some entitled, angry moron commits a mass shooting and all I can do is watch in horror as that same mindset is echoed in those around me. I accept all of that. Can I have a drink now?

Seriously, is it any wonder I entertain (passing) urges to drink myself into oblivion? Being drunk is fun, Getting high is fun. Having one night stands are fun. This... this is crap. Given the choice between that terrible insight and a shopping spree, can anyone say the shopping spree isn't a little bit tempting?

I know a lot of this is just howling at the moon, but it's nice to let it all out sometimes.