Hi all,
Without getting too preachy, I think that people ought to be nice to one another. However, in the current political climate and the state of America, even in progressive CT, my students are marginalized. I'm in almost every case a frontrunner on a privilege walk. I'm white, male, from a good socioeconomic background, tall, bearded (yes I count that as a privilege not a right) and outspoken when need be. I'm also well educated at a fancy private college (Bates) and then a prestigious public one (UConn for my masters). But through all this I have struggled with Bipolar type II - or manic depression, as it was formerly called.
We had an author at Classical Magnet School yesterday who spoke about how important it was to have authors representing different backgrounds. She spoke to the idea that there aren't very many hispanic authors, and this struck a chord with me. People are ashamed of my disease, because it is vilified in the media and in the public eye. I am no less diseased than if I had need of insulin twice a day, or MS or some other horrible disease. The difficulty with mine is that it is invisible to all those who look, except when I am either very low or very high.
Mania has shaped my life twice. In 2008, I believed it was entirely sane to throw an old computer out of a classroom window to demonstrate gravity. It was my personal computer, and the students helped me clean it up afterward. However, this is just one indicator of my mental state. I thought I could do anything, be anyone, teach any way I pleased and that everybody else would have to get out of the way because this is the new way of doing things. Luckily, I had a principal who valued me, and I had built up enough karma in my 3 years there that he wanted me to get over it and come back. He was wise enough to know that I was generally very good at my job, and very dedicated to the school, but that my problem was something he couldn't have me face while at school. So I got help. Because I'm large and was then athletic, I was placed on the high security floor of a mental hospital, where they placed the violent and deranged, as well as the suicidal. I was none of these things, but I still had to live without a belt, shoelaces, or a shaving razor for several weeks. I picked up smoking, because it was the only thing we could do that was still somewhat fun or social. I made it through, took the pills they told me to take, and after graduating from that floor, had a part time program called the professionals program at Hartford Hospital. All told, I was out of my classroom for at least a month or two, and because my principal was on my side, I still had a job when I got back to school.
In 2016, I took an herbal supplement that was supposed to help my brain stay healthy. It was supposed to help me think better and avoid Alzheimer's, which I'm afraid of because my grandfather and his sister both suffered greatly from that affliction. Unfortunately, it also wreaked havoc on my mind. It made me think, again, that I could change the world and didn't have to listen to anybody else. I racked up thousands of dollars in credit card debt helping others by buying hundreds of dollars of McDonalds to feed folks who were hungry, paying for people at CVS a few times, and helping people who didn't really deserve it too. Again, I was unable to continue at school, and again, I ended up in a hospital wing which took my shoelaces, belt, and pride. I had a few harmless interactions with the law, mostly made innocuous by my friends, family, and others that care for me. Luckily, I had friends who recognized the signs and confronted me before I was all the way gone, where I would listen to reason (mostly). I eventually worked my way back to the classroom, and though I got middle school remediation instead of my normal job upon my return, I did manage to keep my job and not lose what I'd built over a 14 year career.
The other harmful thing that happens nearly every year is winter depression. I generally hibernate like a bear, sleeping more than I'd like, and get less active. With this lack of activity comes some flabbiness, unhappiness and an unwillingness to do anything about it. I'm not mean or ornery, but I'm basically blase - unexcited and unmovable. This leads to me being more boring than I'd like as a teacher, and less willing and less able to explain things to the class in full detail, or loudly, or well - which I'm perfectly capable of - but don't believe I'm good at - during these bouts of depression. In fact, there's very little I think I'm good at at these times. I beat myself up for being too fat, too ugly, too stupid and logey, too uninteresting, or whatever else I can think of to self flagellate. At any rate, this reduces my effectiveness as a teacher, as well as as a person.
I suppose the solution to all of this is resiliency. My psychiatrist has chosen it as the name of his practice, with good reason. Every time a high has made me ashamed of my actions, I have had to persist until I got over it. I never forget fully, but I can stop beating myself up about it. Every time a low has made me think I have nothing good to offer the world, I have had to be resilient until I overcome it and get balance again. Perhaps this is my lesson to offer the world: persist. Be resilient, even in the face of insurmountable odds. It has led me to help educate thousands of students, despite a malady that keeps many from steady work, or from working at all. I could easily give in to this monster in my head, but I refuse.
Anyhow, thanks for reading - I hope it's helpful, or at least interesting, to you.
Have a great day,
Mark
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