Each
one of us is a unique and unrepeatable miracle of God’s grace. My wife is a
miracle to me. My children are miracles.
But
I do not always feel like an unrepeatable miracle of God’s grace sometimes.
Unique yes. Much of the time I feel alone in this world. I mean after all, how
many other people do you know who
for years self medicated with alcohol and addiction and had an eating disorder,
anorexia for six years and recovered from all and struggles with bipolar,
migraine, Parkinson’s and dementia now. But more often I behave as though God
puts up with me because He made me and now He is stuck with me.
Logically
I know this is false, but deep, and sometimes not so deep, inside it nags and
gnaws at my heart, at the security and love I feel from not only others but
also about myself. It creeps into my prayers, into my thoughts, into how I love
and relate to my wife, to my kids, and to me.
Bipolar
disorder is one of the most elusive illnesses we know of. The lives of those
who live with are written like a bestselling mystery novels. The beginning
opens in the middle of nowhere and every page is a twist and turn full of
surprises never knowing what is going to happen next. Recognizing our thoughts
are awry and our judgment is impaired is a risky business for anyone dealing
with a mental illness. It all seems so sensible in our delusional state. We
need to come to the conclusion there is an impairment in our functioning that
prevents us from living life normally. Then again I hate that word, “normal.”
Who says what is normal?
