Meeting God in Living with Bipolar
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” 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. “
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 of 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 the world 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 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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