I am, I have.

Bipolar Blog Posts, Bipolar Disorder, Blog, Mental Health, Personal reflection /

Do you say I am bipolar, or I have bipolar.

How often do you have to say this? I don’t find that it comes up often enough to worry about it much. Unless we are talking about how we internally think about our disorder, in which case, I think about it constantly. I understand the comparison: people don’t say “I am diabetes,” but they do say “I am diabetic”; they don’t say “I am a broken arm,” but they might say “I have a broken arm.” Yet, just as likely, they may say “I am injured.” Would we stop them and say, “You’re not injured, you have an injury”? If we believe it is a lifetime chronic illness, then once we experience the symptoms, get diagnosed, and accept that we have to manage it for the rest of our lives, it becomes a part of us. I don’t think that whether you say “I am bipolar” or “I have bipolar” affects the person you are telling. How they handle that information is based on their attitude toward mental health. If we are saying it a certain way to reframe it in our own minds, is the reframing to remind ourselves that it wasn’t our fault? Is it because we have a stigma about it? A person might say, “I have HIV,” or “I am HIV-positive”; either way doesn’t lessen the severity of that statement for either the speaker or the listener. I know that a person with cancer doesn’t say “I am cancer,” but when they beat it, they say “I am a survivor.” Which is what you are. You are/have bipolar, and you’re a survivor. Ultimately, since it is your illness, your responsibility, and perhaps even your gift, call it whatever makes you happy.

Your Manic Depressive Friend,

Conrad

When Mania Hijacked My Dream: A Journey Through My First Bipolar Episode

Bipolar Blog Posts, Bipolar Disorder, Blog, Mental Health, Personal Journey, Personal reflection, Podcasting /

For 15 years, I’d been chasing a podcast dream. My friends, my second cousin, and I had been creating comedy shows, pouring our hearts into something we believed was special. We might not have found mainstream success, but we had passion. Then came the Okay Taco Company – our attempt to merge our podcast with a business venture.

March and April of 2023 changed everything.

It started on Groundhog Day, when we opened our Route 66 taco shop. That second night, something fundamental shifted inside me. I describe it like being hit by lightning – a moment where my brain’s circuit breakers blew, and I felt like I’d died and been reborn.

The mania crept in slowly, then consumed me entirely.

I started exercising obsessively. Not just regular workouts, but extreme, punishing routines. Running stadium stairs with my eyes closed. Sprinting miles on railroad tracks. Pushing my body to impossible limits, feeling like I was battling some internal demon.

My mind became a kaleidoscope of delusions. I believed I was a reincarnated Native American warrior with a cosmic mission. Every coincidence felt significant. The triangular shape of our property, the town’s devil mascot, even the songs on my AirPods – everything seemed like a message from the universe.

One morning, dressed in a Spider-Man hoodie, I ran to my children’s school. I kicked a ball over the fence, danced on the school’s devil mascot statue, and felt like I was fighting unseen spiritual battles. When police stopped me, I was convinced I was facing a life-or-death spiritual test.

Our taco shop dream ended. But my podcast dream? That survived.

I was diagnosed with bipolar 1 in April 2024, understanding retroactively what had happened to me. Now, I’m sharing my story – still creating, still connecting, still chasing that podcast dream that has always been my true passion.

This podcast is my way of turning a challenging experience into something meaningful. A way to connect, to understand, and hopefully help others who might be going through similar struggles.

My journey isn’t about the destination. It’s about keeping the dream alive, no matter what obstacles appear.

Reliving the Storm: My First Bipolar Manic Episode

Bipolar Disorder /

When I look back on my first manic episode, the memories feel surreal, like scenes from a movie I can’t decide if I starred in or just watched. It was chaotic, cosmic, and deeply personal—a whirlwind of emotions, energy, and confusion that marked the beginning of my journey with bipolar disorder.

At the time, I didn’t have the words for what was happening. All I knew was that something inside me had shifted in a way I couldn’t ignore. It started during a stressful time: the grand opening of a restaurant my cousin and I had poured our hearts into. Amid the chaos of orders and customers, I felt a jolt—like a lightning bolt had split me in two. My knees buckled, my vision blurred, and for a moment, it felt like the old me had died, replaced by… someone else.

From that moment, my mind raced like never before. Ideas about the universe, life, and my place in it came flooding in faster than I could process them. I was alive with energy, even as sleep became a distant memory. I started connecting dots that didn’t necessarily belong together, finding meaning in coincidences and symbols. One night, I became fixated on an app showing constellations and planetary alignments, convinced it was speaking directly to me.

Looking back, it’s easy to see how detached from reality I was, but at the time, it all felt so real—so right. I believed I had uncovered universal truths, that the stars were aligning just for me. It was as if the universe itself had chosen me for some grand purpose.

Mania, as I now understand it, can be intoxicating. You feel invincible, like you’ve cracked the code to existence. But it doesn’t take long for that feeling to spiral into something darker. My delusions led me to irrational decisions, sleepless nights, and overwhelming guilt once the episode began to fade. I questioned everything: Could I have stopped this? Was it my fault?

Since that time, I’ve been on a journey to understand and process what happened. Therapy, medication, and self-reflection have been invaluable tools. But even now, I grapple with the trauma and shame of that time, both for what I experienced internally and for the impact it had on those around me.

Sharing this story isn’t easy. Part of me wants to hide it, to pretend it never happened. But I know how isolating it can feel to go through something like this without anyone to relate to. That’s why I’m telling my story—to let others know they’re not alone.

Mania is not a superpower, nor is it a curse. It’s part of the bipolar experience, and while it’s deeply challenging, it’s also something I’m learning to navigate. If you’ve ever experienced something similar, know that you’re not alone in the confusion, the self-doubt, or even the humor that can arise from these surreal moments.

I’m still figuring it all out, but I believe there’s value in sharing the messy, unpolished parts of our stories. If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts or experiences. Let’s continue this conversation together.

– Conrad

 

Understanding Bipolar Disorder: My Journey with Bipolar 1

Bipolar Disorder /

In this episode of Touching Tornadoes, I take a deeper look at the three major types of bipolar disorder and explain how each is defined in the DSM-5, the manual that healthcare providers use to diagnose mental health conditions. This is an essential topic, as understanding the different types of bipolar disorder is the first step toward getting the right treatment and support.

The Three Types of Bipolar Disorder

Bipolar disorder is typically categorized into three types, each with its own unique symptoms and diagnostic criteria:

  1. Bipolar 1 Disorder: This is the most severe form of bipolar disorder, where individuals experience manic episodes that last for at least seven days or require hospitalization, along with depressive episodes that last at least two weeks. These manic episodes can severely impact daily functioning and may include symptoms like extreme irritability, racing thoughts, and impulsive behavior.
  2. Bipolar 2 Disorder: People with Bipolar 2 experience hypomanic episodes—less severe than full mania—along with depressive episodes. While hypomania doesn’t cause the same level of impairment as mania, it can still be disruptive to a person’s life and well-being.
  3. Cyclothymic Disorder: This involves periods of hypomanic symptoms as well as periods of depressive symptoms, but they don’t meet the full criteria for a hypomanic or depressive episode. The mood swings are more moderate but can still cause distress.

Each type of bipolar disorder affects people differently, but the common thread is that managing mood swings—whether they’re highs (mania or hypomania) or lows (depression)—is key to navigating life with bipolar disorder.

My Diagnosis: Bipolar 1

For me, my diagnosis of Bipolar 1 Disorder has meant dealing with the extreme ends of both the manic and depressive spectrums. I’ve experienced manic episodes that are intense, overwhelming, and at times, dangerously impulsive. These episodes can leave me feeling like I’m on top of the world one moment, only to crash into a deep depressive state the next.

The symptoms of Bipolar 1—such as racing thoughts, impulsive actions, and periods of deep sadness or hopelessness—have had a profound impact on my daily life. It hasn’t been easy, but acknowledging these symptoms and learning to manage them has been a crucial part of my journey.

Medication and Management: Hope for the Future

When it comes to managing my bipolar disorder, medication plays an important role in stabilizing my mood. I’ve worked closely with my healthcare provider to find the right combination of medications that can help me manage the highs and lows without overwhelming side effects.

But medication alone isn’t the entire solution. Managing bipolar disorder requires a holistic approach, one that includes therapy, self-care, and finding coping mechanisms that work for me. I’m learning to live with my diagnosis and use it to guide me toward a healthier future.

There are still challenges ahead, but I’m hopeful. The ups and downs are tough, but I’m committed to doing what I can to manage my mental health and continue pursuing my passions and goals.

Thanks for Listening and Subscribing

I want to thank you for tuning in to this short episode of Touching Tornadoes. If you’ve found this episode helpful, please subscribe and stay tuned for more insights into life with bipolar disorder. I’ll continue to share my experiences and the lessons I’m learning along the way.

In the moment

Bipolar Disorder /

I think one of the most difficult things is staying in the moment. It seems to me that most of the time I am either thinking about things that happened in the past, because almost everything that I see hear or watch reminds me of something. Or I think about what I should be doing or have to do in the future. So although I’m in the moment, my present is either the future or the past. I don’t feel like I’m letting the past dictate my present or future, but often it is difficult to think that if my past has led to this moment, it would be a good indicator of the future. Unless things change. The only person who can change is me, but then I think am I changing things enough. Or in the right way, or how do I know what I’m changing. Or am I changing anything. I’ll keep thinking about this in the future, and remember I posted this. So I suppose that this thought will continue for my future presents. I’ll try not too. We will see if it changes.

Saved Through the Storm: Rediscovering Faith After My Bipolar Diagnosis

Bipolar Blog Posts, Bipolar Disorder, Faith, Mental Health, Personal Journey /

It was the second day at an inpatient facility when I became certain the other patients were plotting to assault me and ultimately murder me. A couple of days earlier, I had been taken to the ER because I couldn’t bring myself to a place of calmness or clarity. I was a danger to myself. My mind was stuck in a relentless loop of failure, and I couldn’t see a way forward—a way where everyone wouldn’t be better off without me.

This was a new and terrifying experience. I had never felt this intense, nonstop sense of failure and worthlessness before. A voice inside me told me I didn’t matter, that I had screwed everything up, and that I was a burden. I was coming down from a year-long hypomanic phase, punctuated by a couple of periods of complete mania. I had recently been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and had only just begun to understand what those terms meant.

At this point, I had been prescribed several different medications and had been abruptly switched or pulled off others due to my reactions. Looking back, I’m unsure whether the thoughts I was having or the state I was in were entirely my own or if the medications were contributing to the confusion and mixed state I found myself in.

To say I wasn’t myself was an understatement. But because I was reeling from the whirlwind of transitioning from mania to depression—and grappling with the lifelong label of bipolar disorder—I wasn’t sure who I was anymore anyway. I was stuck reliving my manic moments, consumed by shame and guilt, knowing that my wild behavior didn’t reflect who I truly wanted to be. I had to remember every person I had come in contact with over the past year during those manic states.

By the time I was at the facility, I had wrapped myself so tightly within my own mind that I believed I was there to pay for my mistakes. In my mind, the reason I had been taken there was for retribution. I thought the patients were actors, pretending to be patients, all of whom had heard my story and been hired to make me pay for my sins. I believed the staff would turn a blind eye and allow the patients to have their way with me.

On the first night, I managed to survive, but on the second night, I froze. I was certain that if I fell asleep, the ex-military operatives posing as patients would dismember me as punishment. I stayed awake the entire night, sitting on the edge of my bed, terrified that any movement or rest would trigger their attack. I heard them murmuring through the halls, banging on walls, and whispering details of my manic episodes that only my family could have told them.

Panic consumed me as I rocked back and forth, convinced of my impending fate. The staff checked on me every 15 minutes, as they did for everyone, but I saw their check-ins as mockery. I believed they were reporting back to the others, orchestrating when to attack.

Finally, exhausted and desperate, I gave up. To find rest, I decided to accept my fate. I confessed. I repented. I told God everything I was remorseful for. I thought of every mistake, every regret, and every sin throughout my life. I prayed with all my heart for the fear to stop. I begged for peace.

And then, suddenly, the fear was gone.

I didn’t know in that moment if I had been forgiven or if I was simply ready to let the patients do what they wanted to me. But the thing that actually happened was far more profound: I was snapped back to reality. My hallucination ended. I saw everything as it truly was. The other patients weren’t actors; they were just patients. The staff wasn’t conspiring against me; they were there to help. There was no plot to harm me. Everything I had feared was a creation of my mind, but it had felt so real.

Before that night, I had been afraid to pray. During my manic phase, I had become deeply involved in religion, to the point of believing I was some sort of prophet. When I came crashing down into this mixed state, I wasn’t sure what to think about God or religion anymore. Yet, when I finally prayed and asked for the fear to stop, it did.

That night marked the beginning of a new relationship with God and with myself. It’s a relationship that is still confusing but has become more and more rewarding. Now, I have a connection with a higher power where I am not in charge, I am not in control, and I can ask for all the help I need without fear of judgment. The judgment was over. I had confessed, and I was ready to start discovering who I was and who I am meant to become.

In many ways, I felt saved. Even though I had endured a horrible experience and received a life-changing diagnosis, I knew I could step forward into the unknown. My path was just beginning and continues to evolve daily, but it is faith that keeps me determined to stay well. Faith that God has a plan. Faith that God has provided the right medication and therapy. Faith that there is a reason I had to go through this experience. I don’t know that reason yet, but I’m determined to make the best of it.

AI Tom Hanks

Bipolar Blog Posts, Bipolar Disorder, Creative Process, Humor, Personal reflection /

Finding humor in the world of mental health seems like searching for a haystack on a needle. Apparently lifelong battles with one’s own mind doesn’t always bring out the

The funny side of life—I do think it’s possible to embrace it. The hard part for me is separating my symptoms from my personality. For instance, I know I’ve had periods of mania and depression, but that isn’t me. Yet sometimes, I feel like if I start joking again, those around me will think I’m not being serious enough—like I have to be serious to prove I’m aware of my bipolar brain.

It’s a bit like seeing a divorced person dancing at a wedding. People might think, How can they dance like that? They’re divorced. They should be sad. Divorced people can’t have fun. That’s how it feels. I become hyper-self-aware and think, I better not joke or poke fun—it’ll be like letting my guard down to the shame of my disorder.

I’m working on this. My goal is to be able to share my musings with anyone who wants to listen, to prove that even after a mental breakdown, we can still wake up and make fun of the Today show. It’s our right.

So, look forward to intense arguments and deep thoughts about why it’s totally appropriate to put ketchup on a hot dog or the wild theory that Tom Hanks actually died while filming Forrest Gump and has been AI ever since. It’s thoughts like these that make life what it’s supposed to be—fun.

Chasing Dreams: Overcoming Obstacles in Pursuit of Passion

Bipolar Blog Posts, Bipolar Disorder, Mental Health, Personal Journey, Personal reflection, Podcasting, Uncategorized /

I know we have to put in the work. I’ve heard all the sayings, and I’ve bought into the notions. I’ve put my head down and plowed ahead, dreamed big and kept it to myself. I’ve dreamed big and told everyone. I don’t know if there’s a secret to success, but I do know how to blow up a project—my last attempt at pursuing my passion proved that.

I thought that if I created something familiar, like a restaurant, I could embed my passion within it and gain an audience that way. Turns out, that’s a lot of work just to get someone to listen to your podcast. By the way, when people go to eat a taco, they don’t go to listen to a podcast.

I’ve been putting myself out there for years, trying every tip and trick in the book. And yet, here I am, still searching for an answer to the question: What do you want to do for a living?

I want to do a podcast. I want to do a blog. I want to express myself.

But then there’s that voice: Yeah, but no one cares what you have to say.
That’s a tough way to make a living. You’ll never make it. No one will pay to hear you.

I’ve heard it. I’ve felt it. For 15 years, the naysayers have been right. My last attempt ended in a chaotic manic episode and a bipolar diagnosis. So, should I even be trying again?

If this is what I’ve always wanted to do, how can I stop? The truth is, I can’t stop trying.

I want to live up to the idea that if you work hard and don’t quit, it will all work out. I want to show my children that persistence pays off, that they can be whatever they want to be—not that their dad is a crazy bipolar madman who tried, lost his mind, and quit when things got tough.

That doesn’t have to be my story. I get to choose how I continue after a manic break. I get to try again. I get to believe—despite all evidence to the contrary—that if you want something bad enough and don’t quit, things will work out.

The quitting monster already tried to get me. Falling into a bipolar depression after my manic episode took me deep into suicidal ideation—the phase so many of us with this disorder fight. It took me to the psych ward. It took me to a place of embarrassment and shame where I didn’t want to get out of bed, let alone get behind a microphone and talk about what I know.

But I don’t want to let that define me.

I am here for a reason.

The voice inside me keeps pushing me to get up, keep going, trust myself, and believe in my purpose.

The Best Decision, in My Worst Year

Mental Health, Personal Journey, Personal reflection /

What positive events have taken place in your life over the past year?

In an attempt to focus on the positive during a year full of challenges, I’d have to say that the best thing I accomplished was quitting drinking. I was a daily drinker for many years, with vodka being my drink of choice in the evenings. After being diagnosed with bipolar disorder following a year full of manic episodes, I realized I couldn’t handle this new mental health challenge alongside a daily drinking habit.

So, I quit in June. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult—maybe because my entire identity was already falling apart. I knew I had to change and rebuild myself somehow, and giving up drinking for the sake of my “new self” seemed like the only logical choice. At a time when I wasn’t making very logical decisions, this was a good one.

What’s strange is how my life now feels like two entirely different existences: before the diagnosis and after. While I still feel like “me,” when I think back to the way I was, it seems foreign, like that was never really me. I don’t know if it was the drinking, the disorder, or a mixture of both and more.

It’s not that I think I was a bad person before—I don’t. I had good qualities, although at my most manic, I acted in ways I’m not proud of. But even beyond those moments, it’s as if my entire value system shifted. The things I care about now are so different—or maybe it’s more accurate to say that I don’t care about a lot of the things I used to care deeply about. Now, I’m trying to discover what I do care about.

I still feel like I’m searching for my purpose—or perhaps rediscovering it. But one thing is certain: the best thing I did this year, in a year where everything fell apart, was quitting drinking.

Distracted, Loved, and Blogging Anyway

Behind the scenes, Bipolar Blog Posts, Bipolar Disorder, Creative Process, Mental Health, Personal reflection /

I’m working on the blog as much as I can. Oddly, the writing part seems to come easy—or naturally—probably because I’ve been bottled up for so many months, searching for a way to express myself without making those around me think I’m “going into a crazy zone.” It’s a delicate balance.

The part that doesn’t come naturally is the functionality of the blog. It’s like the more I mess with it, the more I screw it up. I just want a clean website that includes a blog and a podcast page. Sounds simple, looks easy, yet if you aren’t familiar with the tools, you stumble around trying to do things that you know you can do—or maybe even have done before—but now seem impossible.

At some point, the site will be as close to perfect as I can make it. When that will be? I’m not sure. That’s just how it goes when you’re chasing a vision that feels complete in your mind, but as it starts to come together, you think, “Wait, why don’t I do this too?” And then that decision affects everything else.

It also doesn’t help that I’m building this in the dining room, where my presence apparently invites random curiosity and persistent distractions. Even though those distractions come from a place of warmth and love, they can still be, well, distracting. I try to accept them as part of the process and not outwardly show how annoying it is to be patted on the shoulder every time someone walks by, causing me to stop, say, “What’s up?” and hear, “Oh, nothing, just love you.” I love you too. I’ve said that three times in the past hour.

Ultimately, I suppose I’d rather have the intermittent love check-ins than none at all, so I’ll stop complaining. I’ll get it done. And yes, I do expect a pat on the back for doing it.