INTRODUCTION
My name is Joshua Walker and I am Bipolar. Actually, my exact diagnosis is Bipolar Disorder Rapid Cycling … but we’ll cover the technical terms later in this book. If you know me, you probablly know that I am not the type of person to sit down and write a book. In fact, the thought of books really scares me to be quite honest. I didn't write this book because I wanted to, I wrote it because I felt like I needed to, that there was a real need for a book like the one you are about to embark on. As a 27 year old with Bipolar Disorder the resources that exsisted that spoke my language were few and far between I have read many websites, books and articles about Bipolar disorder but few of them spoke to me like I would have liked them to, spoke to me like I felt like I deserved. As a result, I hope what you'll find in these pages is a perspective about Bipolar Disorder that is enlightening and hopefully you'll have a "aw-ha" moment where something clicks no matter what the reason may be for reading this book. First, let me, give you a bit of a background and yes, an entertaining story to compel you to read further.
During my sophomore year of high school I was selected to be the Student Producer of the Quaker Valley Musical. The year was 2002 and the show was the ever popular, Music Man. As the Student Producer I was responsible for promoting the show, putting together the program, ordering t-shirts and sitting in on the many rehearsals to do anything the Director of the show asked on a daily basis. Preparations for the production, as you can imagine, began months ahead of time and as we neared opening night, the rehearsals stretched longer and longer. Now I cannot recollect exactly how many times I had watched the cast mime Seventy-Six Trombones but on this particular evening, I was antsy and just couldn’t bear the thought of one more parade. As most of my work was completed and everyone was pre-occupied with set changes, I made an executive decision to sneak out of rehearsal early and head home. Putting my plan into action, I called my mom (I was 3 months away from obtaining my license) who said she would be there after running a few errands.
I guess this is a good time to tell you, that I am also diagnosed with Attention Deffecit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). Anyway, if you know one thing about those who share my malady, waiting/downtime is totally undesirable. Taking on a mini-challenge (something to occupy my mind), I began to pace, back and forth. The wall was six feet from the ground in front of the stone school façade. No longer was I enjoying a calm, cool night in March but instead I amused myself by mind-traveling to the stale and stifling atmosphere of a Big Top Circus. Yes, I was a tight rope walker (no pun intended), concentrating on placing one oxford clad foot in front of another. In keeping with the several intense weeks of choreography I had witnessed, I mimicked the high-wire hoopla of the acrobats. Reaching the wall’s end, I would turn, my arms poetically agile and my feet alight. I was an aerialist and I moved with a highly practiced grace seldom viewed on static concrete structures. Gaining confidence after several repetitive roundabouts (the wall was a mere 6-8’ long) I increased my speed. Unfortunately, a large gust of wind – or maybe it was the lack thin leather soles – and my artistic acrobat gave way to an awkward plunge. Gone was the fictional safety net common to high wire acts and in its place was the realistic rubbish receptacle. Upon the large stone base sat a plastic lid. As if in slow motion, I attempted to regain my balance utilizing the garbage can as a minor detour. Years later, I can still hear the snap of the lid designed to keep out the rain and not a large teenager. The circus scenario was still alive but now, rather than the adroit acrobat, I was the comical clown, perched rear-end first in the bowels of the trash can, barely able to breathe and worse, completely unable to move.
Now what? It was too dark for a passerby to notice me, my mom wasn’t due for another 20 minutes and the fall had left me gasping for breath. Sheer teenager terror rose from within and choked me: what if the cast and crew caught me in this embarrassing position? The garbage gods were with me on that fateful evening; my cell phone was still within reach but my mother's cell phone didn't have service as my calls went straight to voice mail. Pause…did you ever have one of those moments where you believed you thought things through and came up with the most logical answer, only to regret, many years later, your actions? Thus it was with me. When the 9-1-1- operator implored “what’s your emergency?”
I felt confident the police would free me from my confines and I would be on my way with none the wiser. Despite gasping for air, I was forceful and focused in my directions. “Ma’am, I am stuck in a garbage can and while it’s not exactly an emergency, I do need some assistance to pull me out.” Surely the operator was new; she sounded like she hadn’t heard this before. Clarifying the situation, her voice sounded disbelieving with a bit of humor sprinkled in for good measure. “I’m sorry sir did you say that you are stuck in a garbage can?” I replied with a simple and regretable, "yes." Soon she connected me to another operator who went through the same motions and actually accused me of prank calling the emergency line. Highly excitable at the best of times, it was magnified at the impending High School crew’s release drew closer. To my credit – for this truly was one of those moments where people typically lose all sense of dignity and ease – I had enough sense to request that my rescuer refrain from using lights or sirens upon their approach. This was not an emergency, merely an embarrassing escapade that needed a helpful hand. No need to broadcast my mis-step to the w-o-r-l-d!! With nothing left to do but wait, I sat back (again, no pun intended) to wait for assistance.
Three police officers, two fire trucks and one ambulance raced to the scene, sirens blaring, their lights illuminating the still night sky. It was a small town response to a minor incident. Their bewildered stares and what-to-do-next discussions gave way to additional commotion; the high school cast, crew and a few random parents joined in the fray. The legend of the Student Producer stuck in the garbage can was born! The chuckles ceased when it became clear that extraction would not be easily done. I’m not sure what is worse? Being laughed at by your peers or looked upon with pity.
Lacking enough leverage to lift me out, they instead pushed the stone-faced container on its side, allowing not only myself but the gooey and grimey contents to escape. No one was speaking at this point; what could you possibly say? Oh wait - I take that back … the EMT’s decided it was their turn to chime in, recommending that I be taken to the hospital to be checked over. What? Do Emergency Room’s administer tests for humiliation? Crawling on the gurney, it was certain that this would be the most difficult moment I would ever, EVER have to bear. Or was it?
From that day forward, throughout the high school and community for that matter, I was known as the kid who got stuck in a garbage can. Thankfully, the “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” attitude kicked in and while it was definitely an experience - and moniker - that I could have lived without, I rolled with the punches. Prompted often by friends – and friends of friends – I have told and re-told the tale, adding spice to the weaker areas and embellishing, just a tad, the commotion and contortions caused by this calamity. It allowed me to control the situation after the fact in ways I was unable to manage while it was happening. A definite “make lemonade” adventure, I actually won a radio competition for the most embarrassing high school memory when my competition was a girl who tripped in her prom dress…please- if only she knew!
To say that my life is full of “this could only happen to me situations” is a compliment. Learning early, I have adjusted to the glorious and dismal in ways that not everyone masters, especially at such a young age. Hearing that you ought to write a book again and again prompted me to do just that very thing. But don’t let this intro fool you; there will be moments of laugh out loud zaniness, but those stories and lessons are coupled with the difficult lessons I have learned as a part of being “different”. These are the positive messages that I am honored to share.
Being bipolar means riding the roller coaster, thrilled with the climb all the while aware of the steep drop around the next bend. If you share this diagnosis, you will find comfort, knowing not only you aren’t alone but that your behaviors are typical –at least for you and others who also walk the same path. If a family member or friend has bipolar disorder, you will be able to recognize the travails for what they are; difficult to manage mood swings that are dare and defy society’s definition of “normal.” You will be the understanding one who appreciates the desirable and dismisses the dismal. And finally – for those of you whose neuro-transmitters never miss a beat and fire at the appropriate moments, then you are about to learn something new and beneficial which will add another stroke of color to your rainbow.
There are no “initials” after my name and my musings are anything but official. Going from medical doctors to psychologists to specialists to psychiatrists, I have an arsenal of accredited information that speaks to why I do what I do yet it’s not that information that I am eager to share. Technical data abounds - but not much here. Tolerance, understanding and appreciation are current buzz words applicable to politics and religion but often overlooked when it comes to your neighbor next door. I think back on the “trash can” incident and how trapped I felt as my body conformed to the solid structure that surrounded me. Gasping for breathe and panicking at the thought of being recognized, bound me tight in more than physical ways. How liberating it is, even to this day, to laugh along with my audience, stripping away the layers and embracing the unusual. This book is indeed such a public affirmation whose intention is to strip away the layer of mystery that surrounds bipolar disorder and reveals the person that lies within. After all, isn’t that what is most important?
Many people may wonder why me? Why have I written a book about being bipolar and more. I recently got a Facebook message in response to a post that I sent out to my friends encouraging them to check out my bipolar lecture website (www.CrazyLecture.com). The message I received said thank you. I was really touched. She said that a book like what I was doing was truly necessary in today’s society. She said that there are plenty of books out there that have medical professionals that do a great job describing the in and out of being bipolar, but they are doctors most of which have never experienced the actual symptoms of being bipolar. You can talk about driving a car in Los Angeles rush hour, but if you’ve never done it your scope is very, and in this case VERY, limited. The woman said, "thank you for what you are doing. There are a lot of people that you will help through your efforts." It's the millions of people out there like her, that’s why I am writing this book. There is a real need for true life, first hand information in the world of being bipolar. So I hope that with this book will fill a small part of the void that exists and encourage people to look at this disability in a more positive way. If you’re diagnosed bipolar it’s a disease you can’t get rid of, you can make it better, but it’s always going to be there, so why not make the most of it, that's the attitude I have decided to adopt in life.
I think you’ll find that this isn’t a normal book, instead it’s a book about enlightenment. It’s a book about understanding and tolerance. It’s a book about living your life in the best possible way. It’s about being who you are and being proud to say, “I am me!” It’s about changing the way we look at those around us, and changing the way we look at everyday happenings. It’s a book that will not only change the way you look at mental health issues, but hopefully your life as well.
I hope to inspire and educate you and maybe make you think about things in a little bit of a different way. By the end of this book if nothing else I can promise you that you’ll know two things- that I once got stuck in a garbage can and that I like when people call me crazy. With that, we begin…
