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Calling all angels
Cultivate compassion for the mentally ill
We have a serious problem. Someone we love very much, a man who happens to be the father of my fantastic children, is mentally ill. He is very ill, in fact, and there is almost nothing we can do to help him. As far as we can tell, there are really no answers. Mental illness is as intractable as they come. It’s a little like addiction, with it’s strong component of denial. Anyone who’s loved an addict knows how difficult and frustrating it is to help that person.
With bi-polar disorder, the afflicted are often addicts too. They may be addicted to drugs, some of them, but what I meant by addict is that they’re addicted to the mania. Mania feels good. It’s a high like any other. It’s a high produced by the brain, and it feels great. From what I can tell, and from what I’ve heard, read, and observed, mania feels luscious, fantastic. When manic, you feel powerful, strong. You feel like you’re vibing with the universe.
We’ve seen our B., who is nearly 60, run straight up a tree trunk, only to jump off when the extreme force of his energy begins to falter against gravity. By that time, though, he’s already gotten an incredible distance up the tree. By sheer force of will. And mania.
The one suffering from mania feels they’re not suffering at all. They feel sure they are…
