Author Robert Jameson was leading a very successful life as a husband, recent PhD graduate, and professional chemist when he first noticed feeling somewhat abnormal. As stresses mounted over time, Robert slowly approached one of the most significant moments in his life. After a stunning and unexpected admission from his sister, Robert's actions began to spiral out of control, culminating in his being diagnosed as bipolar. The struggle with mental illness can be a long and arduous one. Robert describes his journey to wellness, from his collapse to his eventual successful transcendence to health. He describes how his desire to be well and his drive to seek out nontraditional recovery methods eventually led to his success. Following the inspiring tale of his own journey, Robert has detailed a comprehensive self-help guide to recovery. This guide seeks to help those suffering from mental illness or their friends or family interested in helping someone recover.
Transcending Bipolar Disorder
My Own True Story of Recovery from Mental IllnessBy B. Robert JamesoniUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 B. Robert Jameson
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4697-8480-9Contents
Preface.........................................................................................xiAcknowledgments.................................................................................xiiiIntroduction....................................................................................xvChapter 1: Lead-up and First Hospitalization—Breakdown....................................3Chapter 2: Second Hospitalization and Aftermath—Picking up the Pieces.....................13Chapter 3: Third Hospitalization—Power Overload...........................................23Chapter 4: Fourth Hospitalization—Confrontation and Standoff..............................35Chapter 5: Fifth Hospitalization—Victory..................................................49Epilogue........................................................................................59Foreword........................................................................................63Chapter 6: Newly Diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder................................................65Chapter 7: Some Thoughts on Hypomania, Mania and Psychosis......................................67Chapter 8: Dealing with and Overcoming Depression...............................................71Chapter 9: Transcending Bipolar Disorder: Strategies and Exercises..............................77Chapter 10: Advice for Those Trying to Help.....................................................87Conclusion......................................................................................91
Chapter One
Lead-up and First Hospitalization—Breakdown
There's no limit to how high you can go. —Ken (my boss).
It's hard to know where to start the story about the effects of bipolar disorder in my life. The roots were very deep. Problematic trends accelerated and started to blossom in 2001, and the illness bore its evil fruit in 2002. I would say 2001 was when I started to go off the rails in a serious way.
To give a bit of background: I married my wonderful, beautiful wife, Linda, in 1998. I finished my Ph.D. in 1999, and after another short stint working at a university for a year and a half, I began my career as a professional medicinal chemist at a pharmaceutical company in Montreal in January 2001.
I was excited about the job; it was my dream job, and I worked hard at it. Sometimes there was quite a bit of pressure, but it was a relief to meet the deadlines. Despite my hard work and the praise of my superiors, I felt that I was not very good at the job. This was a stress that began to mount as the successful year went by. I began to feel like I needed an edge. Along with this was the sense that I had professionally climbed to a plateau: I had earned the PhD I had been seeking for five years, and then I landed the job I had wanted for many years. So what now? I decided to try to become a director at the company, but it was a goal I wasn't as passionate about. I began to seek something else, something less tangible.
I had been wearing glasses since grade four. I became interested in recovering clear eyesight without the need of glasses, a claim being made by some doctors and alternative/New Age medical practitioners. During the course of reading about this, I learned of the claim that psychic powers could be augmented as well, and I hoped that this could help me perform better in my career. Seeking out psychic abilities for such a selfish purpose would lead me into trouble and destabilize my grip on reality.
I performed a series of eye exercises on a regular basis. One of them was to wear a patch over each eye in turn, for at least a half hour. When I used my left eye and covered my right, however, I found that I would get very tired and had difficulty in keeping my weaker left eye open. I learned that if I drew pictures while wearing the patch over my right eye this tiredness would not occur. The content of the pictures I would draw in this way, however, was gruesome and disturbing. I think it best not to describe the grotesque contents of these pictures, but they were a sign that something was wrong with my psyche. I was shocked to find that my mind had produced such pictures.
By the end of 2001 I had completed the first year of my pharmaceutical career. I felt unsuccessful and was afraid of the performance rating I would receive. I was becoming obsessed with improving my eyesight, which hadn't made much progress. I was having trouble sleeping some nights, worrying over minor problems or events at work.
I received a shock in February 2002. I received my rating for my performance of 2001—and it was outstanding. One might imagine that this would be a pleasant surprise, but it was not whatsoever to me. I was told by my boss, Ken, "There is no limit to how high you can go in this organization." This unsettled me greatly. I had an inferior view of myself relative to others in the company and felt I didn't fit in very well. Although I wrote earlier that I had set a goal for myself to be a director, part of me did not want it. I wasn't even sure I wanted to keep working in the industry. It also created added pressure for me to live up to a rating that I didn't feel I had earned and didn't have the ability to match. I was starting to crack.
So these were the first cracks in my sanity. Next came the hammer blow.
* * *
It was a cool Thursday evening in March. Linda and I were relaxing in the front room of our modest apartment, watching television. At about nine o'clock I received a phone call from my sister. She had some news that she wanted to tell me in private. I still remember how she told me.
"I have something to tell you. Uncle Calvin ... was not a nice man."
In my head, as soon as she told me that and before she went into detail, I frantically thought: No, anything but this! She told me he had sexually abused her while she was a child, thirty years ago, and she had only remembered it now, under hypnosis during therapy.
Then another thought came to me: perhaps he had sexually abused me as well. I asked, "Do a lot of pedophiles molest both boys and girls?" I thought she would know this since she was a psychologist.
"Most pedophiles"—she spat the word out with disgust—"choose only one sex."
We talked for a half hour. After I got off the phone, I told my wife my sister's news, and I wept. I wanted to be loyal to my sister and support her during this awful time. I also wasn't sure what my parents' reaction would be, and I wanted them to stand by her as well. I wanted them to believe her, but I was not sure they would.
I didn't sleep that night, and the next day at work was really difficult. I wondered whether people around me were sexual abusers or had been sexually abused as children. I was angry at the world around me.
Friday night we drove to visit Linda's family in Toronto. It was a welcome oasis of peace away from the insanity I was facing. Perhaps if I had received that call on a Sunday night and had to face a full work-week without respite, I might have been hospitalized right then. The news rocked me to the core, and I was barely able to function.
When we got back from Toronto, I talked to my parents. They were really...
