David and Bipolar Disorder

I “get” David. I think he would “get” me. I’m talking about the David, the one who killed the giant, the one who became King of Israel, the one who committed adultery with Bathsheba, the one God said was a man after His own heart, and the one that wrote many of the Psalms.

I see what David was like from his very personal writings, the songs and poems found in Psalms. His writings tell of his total despair and hopelessness, quickly followed by joy and hope in God. David goes from:

“Listen and help, O God. I’m reduced to a whine and a whimper, obsessed with feelings of doomsday” [Psalm 64:1; The MESSAGE]

to:

“Be glad, good people! Fly to God! Good-hearted people, make praise your habit!” [Psalm 64:10; The MESSAGE]

in a matter of seconds, definitely within a few minutes.

Despair – Euphoria – Depression – Joy – Hopelessness – Hope – Doubt – Confidence.

This pattern is so familiar to me. If there were therapists and psychiatrists in David’s era, would David have been “diagnosed” with Bipolar? I can look at this in a few ways.

For instance, I could say that the extreme moods are “normal” and that David was able to be safe (from himself, especially when depressed) by trusting God. So, if I trust God like David did, without doubt -- oh, wait David did doubt at times – I should be okay. I don’t need therapists, psychiatrists, or medicines; I just need faith.

Or I could look at it and ask, “Would David have had an easier time, with fewer mood swings, less despair and doubt, if he had the benefit of a therapist and/or psychiatrist?” It is not that I don’t believe God can heal me, completely, from my alcoholism, diabetes, and Bipolar Disorder. He can! Again, He can! Yet, sometimes He doesn’t. I don’t presume to know the mind of God. That is preposterous, utterly absurd.

I don’t know why He hasn’t healed me, but I do know He has protected me, provided help, and used me in the midst of my struggles. He uses our distress and troubles to give us the empathy needed to help others with similar distress and troubles. [2 Corinthians 1:3ff]

David’s accounts of his “issues,” of his “symptoms” bring me encouragement. He gets me. And, I can follow his example and help others by getting them.

Writer's Block

Writer’s block. Block or not, I must write. That’s what the writers at the Writers’ Conference said. I’ve read books on writing. They all say ignore the supposed block and write. (One of my favorite reads about writing is The Right to Write, by Julia Cameron.)

I have found that when I feel like I can’t think of anything to write, I am avoiding something. This week I’ve been avoiding some things. One psychologist I talked with told me that I am addicted to anything, and everything, that will allow me NOT to feel or deal with my emotions. There are the obvious addictions: alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, shopping, gambling, and food. There are the less obvious. Some even seem to be good for us. But, when moderation is not enough, even those good things can become a way to distract from the real issue(s) – usually, for me, the emotions. Reading, listening to music, cruising the internet, Facebook, sleeping, “daydreaming,” helping others, taking on too many responsibilities, and even folding the laundry can be ways to avoid feeling and thinking about what is really going on.

This week I’ve been sleeping a lot. I do feel tired. Avoiding is as hard – tiring and time consuming – as dealing with the emotions and thoughts directly. The only possible benefit of avoiding is that, for a time, a short time, there is no sense of pain. Just numbness and emptiness exist in the cave I go to when I’m choosing to avoid. Unfortunately, I can’t stay hidden in the cave. Doing that, while I sometimes think it would be great, is not living. So, just as with a drunk, when the effect wears off, the world and its problems are still waiting. Often worse or heavier or more urgent than before escaping.

So why the “writer’s block?” Writing is a therapeutic tool for me. When I force myself to organize my thoughts into words, then sentences, then paragraphs, a complete idea forms and it begins to make sense. The writing holds the leaking, scattering, swirling thoughts together. This week I’ve been letting the thoughts leak out. I’ve been letting “writer’s block” be my excuse.

Today I will push past the addictions in my life holding me away from fully feeling and realistic thinking about the stuff that frightens me and confuses me. Today, I write. Today, I wrote this. It’s a start.