Why Speaking Bipolar?

The story behind the Speaking Bipolar blog.

Speaking Bipolar originally started as a joke. It was a simple conversation with friends while sitting in a parked van. We laughed about the unique challenges of communicating with bipolar disorder.

In that moment, I decided I was going to write a book to serve as a mental illness translator. The start of that book is now the most viewed post on the blog. I never finished that book, but it’s still something dancing around in the back of my mind.

I am blessed to know several people with bipolar disorder. I say “blessed” because I have a circle of friends who understand the twisted things that often roll around in my head. With them, I can be my real self and not be judged.

Okay, so maybe they might judge me, but at least I know they understand where the craziness is coming from.

For a long time, the idea of writing a mental illness translator never got further than being a joke. My bipolar friends and I laughed about it, but a big part of me doubted I would ever do it.

Mental illness was a silent passion of mine. I didn’t tell most people about my bipolar diagnosis, but part of me wanted to help others to understand the illness.

A Joke Turns Serious

For many years, I lived in the bipolar closet. My family and close friends knew of my diagnosis, but outside of that circle, I rarely spoke of it. I even ordered those who knew not to tell anyone.

I can’t say if that was the right choice or the wrong choice, but it felt necessary.

Life has a way of changing us, whether or not we live with mental illness. Watching my own changes and those of the people I knew made me realize it was time to speak up.

Some years ago now, a friend of mine committed suicide. He was not the first person I knew to take his life, and sadly, not the last. In fact, there are about fifteen people now on that list.

His death was different, though, and it still haunts me day and night.

For a long time, I knew my friend was fighting some sort of mental illness. A few times, I tried to broach the subject, but he quickly dismissed me. He didn’t want to talk about it. I knew he was struggling, but I never forced the issue nor insisted he seek help.

I was struggling to survive bipolar. I didn’t feel I had the right to push anyone else.

During his last months, circumstances kept us apart. We had not spoken for months, but I was hoping there was going to be a renewal of our friendship soon. I didn’t know how bad things had gotten. Neither did his family.

One Call Changes Everything

It was just another day at the office when I got the call. My friend’s brother had found him earlier that morning. Within hours, our entire circle of friends knew, and many of us were grieving together.

My friend was gone, and there was nothing we could do to change it. The pain was terrible, especially as I thought about how I could have encouraged him to seek treatment.

I saw his elderly mother a short time later. The news of his suicide destroyed her. Her health took a serious downturn, and within a couple of years, we lost her as well. I believe she willed herself to death. She had suffered much loss in her life, but losing her favorite son that way, she never could recover.

My friend stayed in my mind night and day. I saw his face before me constantly as I searched for answers. How could I not have known how low he’d gotten? Why wasn’t I the one who could’ve saved him?

Facing an Internal Truth

Then there was another terrible truth that tormented me. Thoughts of suicide were not uncommon for me. The short story is I am one of those people who live with constant thoughts of killing myself. I always have a plan.

Now, before you call a medical professional to have me committed, please understand that right now I have no plans to act on hurting myself. In fact, I can’t ever imagine reaching a point where I would end things. However, there is some comfort in having the plan.

If you’ve never felt suicidal, that probably makes little sense.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. There are a lot of us, many with bipolar and many with other mental illnesses, that always have a plan. Thoughts of suicide have always been part of us and don’t go away no matter how much fun we are having or how big our smile.

We don’t talk about this truth often. Many of us never talk about it at all. Those of us who do only share those thoughts with a small group of people - a group who also understand the unhealthy need to have a plan.

For us, it’s just part of surviving bipolar.

When my friend died, a twisted part of me was angry that he had died and not me.

There’s nothing wrong with my life. In fact, things are going really well. Mostly, I am a happy guy. Still, a part of me was jealous that he died, and I had to keep fighting my battle.

Trying to Turn a Negative into a Positive

As the weeks and months went by, something new grew in my mind. I couldn’t go back and save my friend, but I still had life in me. Maybe I could help someone else.

My friend wasn’t the only one suffering in silent pain. The number of suicides among people I knew reminded me of that fact. When you consider that for every successful suicide, there might be dozens or more failed attempts. Others stop themselves in the last seconds, and no one ever knows their story. The number of people suffering is staggering.

I had to do something to help those people. If I could help just one, my life would have meaning. If I could help save just one person, any struggle would be worth it. Maybe I could let go of some of the pain of losing another friend to such an insidious enemy.

A Blog Is Born

My life is very busy. I work full time and am an active community volunteer. I care for my aging parents and try to maintain my house and yard.

Besides bipolar disorder, I live each day with chronic illness. Bipolar creates enough struggles, but I am also blessed to live with Familial Mediterranean Fever, a condition that causes constant pain and fatigue.

Getting out on the streets to help people isn’t an option. I can’t start a foundation or a crisis helpline. I have no funds to speak of and little energy after I finish the day’s necessary activities.

As time ticked by, though, I realized maybe I could help others another way. Maybe, just maybe, by sharing my story of surviving bipolar, another man, woman, friend, or child would get help before it was too late.

I’ve always enjoyed writing, and the words come easy. The question was, would I be brave enough to share my story with the world? Could I live my bipolar life for all the world to see?

Do I Have the Courage?

Living with mental illness is a struggle. It colors every interaction you have and dictates most of your activities and decisions.

All too often, people view you differently when they know you have a mental illness diagnosis. This is also true for many, if not all, chronic illnesses, but for years, I thought it was specific to mental illnesses only.

Bipolar can become your entire identity. Not by choice, mind you, but it can become the only label that people associate with you. It’s for that reason that many people living with mental illness seldom, if ever, talk about it.

This is something we all need to work on changing.

Add to that the false belief that mental disorders are a sign of weakness or a lack of faith. Men especially face this challenge, and far too many don’t seek help as a result.

I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to face the stigma, to meet the disapproving looks and comments, to be identified as being mentally ill.

But the more time that passed, the more I knew that if I could help just one person, any discomfort I might suffer would all be worth it. The blog, Speaking Bipolar, was born in that instant.

Fighting On

I started Speaking Bipolar in the spring of 2018. It was terrifying to hit publish on my first post, but I fought through the fear and carried on. In time, I wrote for other sites such as Medium and The Good Men Project.

Speaking Bipolar is about the real me. The experiences I share are genuine experiences, things that really happened in my life.

May these words provide the comfort and validation you’ve been searching for.

Until next time, keep fighting.

Scott Ninneman