This Bipolar Life: Stripped bare

I was in a relationship once where I thought everything was great. And I thought he did too. Of course, I speak in past tense now. I often wonder what happened to cause this man to walk away. He knew I have bipolar disorder. I asked him if it mattered. He said no. But I don’t know if I really believed him. He sounded sincere enough, but really? Did he honestly believe that the bipolar didn’t matter? Or was he just trying to appease me before leaving a few months later.

He had his own issues. They truly never mattered to me. Maybe he didn’t believe me-- just like I didn’t believe him. But I do believe he loved me. I certainly loved him. I tried many times to figure things out. Wondering why things ended. Could they begin again. Praying to God that He might make it all better. At least my version of better. But He didn’t.

So I feel stripped bare. Down to the raw emotions trying to find the logic in my life. Not knowing how to allow myself to love someone else. What if the next man loves me but decides to act as the previous one did? What if I just can’t get this one out of my head and heart? And let me tell you, having bipolar disorder is rough. It comes with anxiety, depression, mania, obsessive thinking, paranoia, etc. The journey has not been easy. 

I am ever grateful to this man because I am a better woman having met him. And I am most grateful to my family and friends who have helped me along this interesting, dynamic, and at times painful journey of trying to leave behind a loved one. My Faith in God has truly been my saving grace. We are all human and we all have our struggles. This is one of mine. 

'Til next time,

Arla

After stealing a car at 16, I never wanted to end up in the Bishop’s office again. Ever.

I was a good kid growing up. I followed the rules. As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I only remember having to go to the Bishop’s office once. I was 16 years old. And I had stolen a car- for seven minutes- during a church youth summer trip. My bishop said I must tell my parents about the incident. I did not. I was too afraid. So I held onto my crime- crushing it into my chest- for months. Finally, I was 17 years old and my parents found out from the owner of the car at a church luncheon. My Dad took me to the police station. As I waited in the lobby, my Dad explained the situation to the sheriff asking him to teach me a lesson. Which the sheriff happily did, not understanding that I was an overall good kid, he laid it on real thick. Explaining that I was lucky he didn’t arrest me that very day! I lost my license (from my parents) for a couple months. But my chest started to feel better.  After that experience I never wanted to end up in the Bishop’s office again. Ever.

Yet at age 33 I was sitting outside my Bishop’s office waiting to see him. Scared to death. This time I had sinned and I couldn’t stop. This was not the same as a one time deal of taking a car. I felt compelled, overwhelmed with my sins. What would the Bishop say? What would he think of me? I was so embarrassed. So ashamed. I felt so unloved.

My Bishop listened and said only things that the Lord would know I needed to hear. His counsel was direct yet still compassionate. And I was grateful.

However, I still struggled. When I moved several months later, I didn’t want to see my new Bishop. I felt even more embarrassed and ashamed because I had ALREADY talked to a Bishop, tried to follow his counsel, and failed because I was not better. This time though, I knew my covenants that I’d made with the Lord were at a critical point. At the same time my local church’s Addiction Recovery Program (ARP)- similar to AA only with a foundation in Jesus Christ- had started up. So I began to attend the Saturday meetings. Sometimes I came without makeup and messy hair and other times I came dressed up because I was going out afterwards. But I always attended.

The ARP meetings weren’t enough though. I needed to see my Bishop. I was so afraid to go that first time. With a heavy heart I cried and told my Bishop what had been going on. He listened. When he spoke he said things only the Lord would know I needed to hear. He gave direct counsel full of compassion. I saw my Bishop every month for a year and a half. I reported to him my successes and my failings. I built a relationship with him. He became my mentor. My confident. My friend. He guided me through a very difficult seeming neverending chapter of time for me.

Bishops hold many functions in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. When we allow them into our lives, they will give the counsel and wisdom that we need to hear to right our wrongs and correctly repent of our sins. And if we’re lucky, some of them will become great friends in the process.

I’m grateful that as I prayed for courage to keep my hope and faith, I was able to continue to enter my Bishop’s office month after month until I knew the last visit was indeed the last because of hard work and trust and faith in the Lord and my Bishop. I could not have gone through my repentance process without them.

'Til next time,

Arla