The Sting of Shame.

I was 20 years old and spending the summer months after my freshman year golfing when I had my first manic episode. It was weird because I had been doing so well. My grades were great and my coach increased my golf scholarship due to good play. Things were going so well that I decided to go on a trip to the East Coast to visit family and play my sport. During my stay I began to have long periods of zero sleep. My speech was forced and rapid. I practiced incessantly and wore myself out until I left Pennsylvania three weeks later.

When I got back to California I should have been exhausted, but my energy knew no bounds. I couldn't be convinced by my golf pro that something was wrong. My behavior became more and more bizarre. I thought I was invincible and took risks that I never would have attempted in my right mind. My golf pro had let me borrow his sports car and I remember driving  recklessly and at high speeds. Fairly soon after a period of over the top behavior I began having delusions of grandeur. I was a star golfer, I was going to be famous and nothing was beyond my reach. I was convinced I was able to understand the mysteries of the universe. I wasn't just smart, I believed I was brilliant. I believed all this with absolute certainty. Finally my pro called my parents who were in Pennsylvania, attending a reunion. They flew out the next day and after seeing my condition promptly took me to a psychiatric hospital.

I spent 6 weeks in the hospital and was administered Lithium. Lithium was the first drug of choice in those days for manic depression. I was eventually discharged and told by my psychiatrist that if I took my medicine I'd be O.K. When I got home I found out the truth. My coach at San Diego State had pulled my scholarship and told my teammates not to contact me. He told them I had had nervous breakdown and it would be better for me and them if we all just moved on. I never received a phone call or a get well card. I was diagnosed with manic depression (now called bipolar disorder) and I was just starting to experience the stigma that came with it.

For the next year, I went to a psychiatrist and a therapist to try to cope with what was happening to me. I was understandably depressed, but the depression worsened and I struggled to function. I was living with my parents and they and I didn't know what to do about it. We were taken by surprise by my episode and now we were being held hostage by it. On Lithium I gained weight and experienced muscle weakness. I tried to stay in golf shape but it was difficult at best. I continued to play but practiced at a golf course where nobody knew me. I ceased to have contact with past friends and didn't even continue my lessons with  my long term golf pro.

Finally we had the idea to apply at Cal State Long Beach and try out for the golf team a year after being accepted.  It was required to sit out a year after a transfer, so I went to classes and practiced until I finally was able to make the team. I continued to struggle with depression but for the most part ignored the symptoms and forged on. The year went well academically and golf wise and I received a scholarship for my sophomore year. During that season we competed against my old team and it was sweet justice that we placed higher and I came in third. I thought I had manic-depression beat.

What I failed to realize was the absolute power of mental illness. It had interrupted my life and would continue to do so for many years to come. The dominant feeling I had after my first episode, and the one that has followed me throughout my life was shame. I learned to keep quiet about my illness because of the ignorance and insensitivity of others. There is such a stigma surrounding mental illness. Imagine what it was like 25 years ago! I didn't talk about my absence from golf or college. I told the new people in my life that I had never really liked San Diego, or that I had "taken a break" and wanted to concentrate on academics. I lied out of shame. Intuitively I knew that there was a stigma surrounding mental illness and I was better off staying silent. There was no way I was going to be honest and admit that I had lost my mind and was now struggling  with depression. Shame had shut me up.

Twenty five years later and after my most recent episode, I continued to participate in self-stigmatization. I fell silent when questioned about my mental illness. I made up excuses for lost time and isolated. Even though I have had extensive experience with my mental illness and know it's not my fault, I was still reticent to talk about it. It is only recently that I have started to speak out and more importantly write about my experience with bipolar disorder. It is too painful to stay ashamed, and it is impossible to live a full life when cut off from others.


I know that there are millions of people suffering from mental illness and even more who love and care for them. It  is my hope that I can offer support through this blog . I know what it's like to suffer the shame of mental illness because of stigma. We should talk about the diseases of the brain both individually and as a society. We need to talk about help and hope.