Meeting God in Living with Bipolar
The following post was from our old blog. I have reposted it here.
Do you ever pray continuously regarding a particular person or situation and your prayers seemingly remain unanswered? I had read that if you trust in God, He would give you the desires of your heart. But what if your heart’s desire is not what is best for you? If it is not what He wants for you? What if the result of your prayers, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, is a resounding “No”? Do you give up and stop believing and trusting in God? Do you abandon your faith because you did not get what you wanted when you wanted it? Should a child get whatever they wanted when they want it? Should a parent always give a child what they want, or better to give them what they need? Though a parent myself, I had never given much thought to that before.
After years of praying that a relationship be restored (I read in Scripture, “It is not a sorrow like that for death itself when a dear friend turns into an enemy” Sirach 37:2) or that a painful situation would change, like my bipolar disorder miraculously disappearing or scientists find a cure. I wondered “Are you really there? Don’t you know how much this hurts? How could an omnipotent, omniscient God, if He does exist leave me in such despair and dire straits? I had read that “As long as there is life there is hope” Oscar Wilde, but the reverse is also true. “As long as there is hope there is life.” “Time heals all wounds” they said. No, it does not, the pain may lessen over time, but some wounds never completely heal, and like it or not, they leave scars.
Then one day, I happened to open my e-mail and in my inbox was the title “Interview with God.” It caught my attention, as I was questioning my faith, and experiencing a wilderness period in my prayer life. “Interesting title” I thought to myself, as I opened the email and began to read. “God is asked, “As a parent what are some of life’s lessons you want your children to learn?” God replied with a smile, “To learn that they cannot make anyone love them. What they can do is let themselves be loved. (I previously struggled with this one. I could not understand why anyone would love me. I would not let them in and those who tried, I repeatedly would push them away) to learn that what is most valuable is not what they have in their lives but who they have in their lives. To learn that it only takes a few seconds to open profound wounds in those we love, and it takes many years to heal them, to learn forgiveness by practising forgiveness. To learn that a true friend is one who knows everything about them, but loves them anyway. To learn that it is not always enough that they be forgiven by others, but that they have to forgive themselves (This had been another major problem for me in the past) People may forget what you said, they may forget what you did, but people will never forget the way you made them feel “ Maya Angelou. Sometimes, no many times, I took what people said and did, and attached meaning to them that was not really intended.My sensitivity often got in the way, and over time, I realized that I had been my own worst enemy. I could not control my emotions. There were as one woman once commented “more layers on you than an onion.” It was the fear of being rejected that held me back. The fear of risking my heart, trusting and sharing a piece of my soul with others that kept me in limbo for far too many years.
I have known people who have enriched my life on a daily basis. People who make a difference in both a positive and negative way, those who challenged me, encouraged me, inspired me, accepted me, loved me and believed in me, even when I was unable to feel this way about myself. People who have loved, supported, nurtured and guided me were also those who stood by me during the best and the worst of times. With childhood depravation in terms of emotional, psychological and spiritual neglect and a severe fear of abandonment, it took me years to accept their love and stop questioning their motives. I realized that I was worthy and others appreciated and valued me. The problem was my learning to accept, to appreciate, to forgive, to value and most especially to love myself.
Sorrow has been compared to fruit. Victor Hugo wrote: “God does not plant it upon limbs too weak to bear it.” I came across a beautiful Jewish proverb that read: “Thou art great, we are small. Thou art sovereign and we are weak. Thou art infinite and we are finite. Thou art eternal, and we tarry but a little while, but with all Thy greatness and all Thy power. Thou dost bend down low and listen to the sound of our tears as they strike the ground.” It comforts me to know that God counts all my tears. He knows my heart, my mind and my soul. He knows what is best for me. He is always present, especially when those moments arise when I feel that He has hidden His face, or turned His back on me.
Often in the past, I have been enveloped by sadness unable to see my way clear. Held back by the weight of my grief, overwhelmed by the pain of the choices I made, or refused to make, and the people I had hurt, and those who had hurt me. I could not or would not let it go. I did not know how. It was something I had to learn: to learn to love, to live, and to forgive.
When the bipolar struck and I was confined to the darkest regions of hell and submitted to the care of strangers, in a ward of a hospital that was unlike any other I visited before. Whilst there the first time in June of 1989, I recall so much of scripture and running through my brain and the verse, “All things work together for good for those who loved God and who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28 stood out most. I loved God. I was raised Roman Catholic. I believed in angels and admired the saints. I loved Jesus and all he taught and preached. I asked myself, repeatedly, “What good could possibly come of my being psychotic and stuck in the confines of a psychiatric ward?”
Would my husband stand by me through this trial? Would my children still love and respect me? Or would they and other members of our family and our friends be ashamed of me and my illness? Do I hide the fact that I have this disorder and live in shame? Would I be that mad woman in the attic whom nobody wanted to talk about, or visit, or care to be associated with anymore? Should I be angry and rail at God because I have had to live with this bipolar disorder? Is it His fault? Do I blame my ancestors who passed this gene onto me through our gene pool? Where do I go with such anger? Whom do I blame? Is it a curse, or a blessing? At first, as most of us do, I asked aloud, what sin had I committed to deserve this? Then again remembering Scripture and the same question being asked regarding someone severely disabled, Christ’s response, “Neither this man or his parents sinned” said Jesus, “this has happened so the power of God might be seen in him.” John 9:3
During my stay, I began to think that as painful as it was, if I trusted in this Higher Power, this entity many called God and truly surrendered myself to His will, I would not only find meaning in this pain, but would find a purpose for my life and serve others because of it. I came to the realization rather quickly that I was precisely where God intended me to be. As painful as it was, I was fulfilling a part of a plan, that at the time I was unable to see, but knew in my heart had to happen. I never dreamed that I would one day speak in front of audiences publicly regarding mental health, or open websites and support groups. But in looking back, it was all part of a plan God had for me.
During the first episode it was a frightening experience for everyone. Some people insisted it was a nervous breakdown, some claimed I had temporal lobe seizures, some perhaps too shamed to face the possibility that I may be mentally ill, others implied I was possessed. At one point, I felt I was partially possessed, as my mind, heart and spirit fought continuously for my soul. I had to decide then and there to stay in that darkness or follow that light that I knew still existed in me.
I recall in my heart opening the door and inwardly calling out to Jesus to help me through the ordeal. Then a strange thing happened. The fear immediately left me, and I felt such a calming indescribable presence, like a blanket placed about me, a warmth from head to toe permeated my body, and as though being carried up and out of the darkness. It was at that moment I met God and was acutely aware of His presence. Was this “the peace which passes understanding” that I had read so much about in the bible?” From then on, I relied on that faith and that presence when sorrows and fear knocked on my door. I realized through all my traumatic experiences throughout my life that calming presence had been there, but I had not been as acutely aware of it before then. Previously, I was too busy focusing on the darkness and the fear.
That my friends, is my experience and why I do believe in God, I share it with you as it has such a profound impact on my life with bipolar disorder. There are many who will relate to this, and others who choose to reject it. I am not trying to convince or convert anyone. It is my personal relationship and experience.
Lynn-Marie
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