The Volcano

Posted on February 17, 2009 in Bipolar Disorder Journals & Notebooks Silicon Valley Stigma

Even before I was diagnosed or had a thought of going in for treatment of any kind, I caught it for suffering from a mood disorder. Back at Jupiter, the last real job I held before I went mad. I already was mad. Deeply mad, but mostly in the depressed range. They didn’t like that I dragged myself to work, ashamed of and annoyed with the filthy plastic injection molding factory. Before me there had been a man who committed suicide. The foremen spoke of his still haunting the plant. From time to time, controls on the machines would mysteriously turn and they would say that he did it. They never thought to accuse their own busy-ness, their rush to get from one place to the next. No, this ghost did it. They feared its presence just as they feared the phantom that I became because of my exhausted sensitivity. I wanted more than anything to get out. But being depressed I could see no way out of it.

I had to put in at least three years, I would tell myself, at least three years because I needed to have a position that lasted longer than the temporaries and summer jobs that I had held down over the years. I needed to show that I could hang on.

So I put up with my fellow employees’ imaginings and belligerance, losing not only my mind but also my self-respect. I tried to do too much: I held down volunteer jobs that ate up most of my evening as well as the phony but paying job that occupied me during the day. I exhausted myself, but it didn’t help that my boss occasionally yelled at me or dumped me from my chair or brought me into his office where I would have to sit while he placed telephone calls, ordering plastic pellets and the tiny metal parts we needed to impress in some of the parts. I hated the man with all my heart and prayed for the day when he would fire me.

It never occurred to me to just drop out, to get on disability though I did dream of suing the company so that I owned it all. If I made a mistake on my spreadsheets or got a little excited, the chief of operations would say “You’re losing it”. He lost it quite a bit – another yeller. And I was losing it, losing the integrity of mind that I needed to resist their assaults on my equanimity.

The boss I had at another company previous to this had hinted that she thought I had a problem. Her heart, I realize, though frustrated with me wanted the best of me. I should have taken her hints and got on the meds. In an office where everyone shouted their opinions at one another and blamed one another, it wasn’t a good place to face the facts. After all, the last guy who have crumbled under their care offed himself. They were sorry for his passing, but could in no way fathom that they had worn him down.

So I lived on the brink with a massive depression that I dragged around with me everywhere, a magma blob that burned while never glowing. Just heat of the worst kind, burning my rib cage and making me feel as if death was in the next eruption.

This is an exercise from [amazonify]1587613190::text::::Writing Through the Darkness: Easing Your Depression with Paper and Pen[/amazonify]