In January 2002 I wrote in my
journal, “I find myself amidst another
attack. It’s odd to refer to it as finding myself since it seems I can never
hide from the pain. It always finds me as some late night stalker tormenting me
following me everywhere I go only to jump out of the corner to make its
presence known. I feel like I have made someone or something mad, to have this
pain hurt so badly. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have no
attacks. To be able to do the things I need to do. Would I get things done?
Would I get better grades? Would I be more pleasant to be around? Would others
tolerate me more? No pills! No darkness!
Life has become like a storm. The pain arrives either suddenly, like
lightening or slowly, as the thunder from a far off storm building its
intensity but instead inside my head.”
I liken my Parkinson flare ups and dementia to my bipolar
episodes. Much of the time I was not aware of their impending damage that was
about to enter our lives. But my wife on the other hand could spot the subtle
changes in me on a minute scale.
I could slowly slip into a suicidal depression before it was
too late. Unknowingly I would find myself almost paralyzed bedridden while my
mind was plagued with suicidal thoughts. Or I could one night go to bed feeling
on top of the world only to wake the next day to have slipped into what I call
the “Nothing Feeling,” a state where I only exist completely void of any and
all emotions. The same could go for a manic phase.
