I want to talk about something that troubles me with respect to mental illness and this issue. For many mentally ill people, it is very obvious when they are “out of control.” They might follow a woman into the bathroom and take off their clothes, believing that the woman loves them. They might walk down the street, seeing aliens all around, step into a bar, drink a lot and get very pugnacious, ending up in jail. They might walk into a drug store to pick up a prescription, and attempt to steal something they have no need of.
Later on, under the influence of proper medications, they are very clear that they never would do these things while “straight.” They are much happier medicated, because they don’t enjoy the outrageous manias and paranoia and hallucinations. But untreated, they believe different things, and see the world completely differently. And they are absolutely sincere in their beliefs in their perceptions.
For me, this is much more subtle. In my first mania, I found myself desperate for sex and love. I found myself doing a lot of sordid things to feed this need. I totally believed I was doing what I needed to do. My relationship with my wife was not good, but I didn’t want to divorce her because I wanted to stay with my kids, so I believed I could save my marriage by having affairs. At this moment, I might call that a delusion.
When I was diagnosed, I discovered that sexual obsession is one of the standard symptoms of bipolar disorder. And when medicated, together with couples therapy, my urge to do something about this desire for love/sex (I experience love through sex—i.e., it is my strong feeling that if someone accepts me sexually, then they must truly love me—I can’t imagine anyone ever having sex with me just for fun).
All my life, I’ve felt like I wanted more than one lover. Because this desire had been so persistent, I’ve concluded that I need more love than most people. Usually, I keep this desire under control, but, if what the doctors say is true, the disorder increased my impulsiveness (which seems like a decrease in my ability to regulate myself), and I could “act out” what had heretofore been stifled desires.
The problem for me is that when I’m doing either thing (controlling my desires or not controlling them), if feels like me, and if feels like me controlling myself. It’s ever weirder when I know fully well what I am risking by seeking more love, and I still do it!
It’s confusing because I am very clear that I don’t want to risk losing my family, and I am clear that I love my wife, but I was still seeking out other loves. I knew what I should be doing and yet I kept on going down the self-destructive path. Why? How could this not be me? How could I not be in control? Surely the truth was that I wanted to destroy my life? Or that I was selfish or immoral? But I was doing what I freely chose to do.
Honestly, I don’t know what to make of it. I live in fear of it happening again. I was totally in control, I felt, and screaming at myself to stop, and I didn’t. Which was the real me? The one that wanted to stop doing things that risked the people I love, or the one who wanted more love?
My therapist can spin tales all day long that account for my behavior. She can link it to the way my parents treated me. She can link it to self-destructive impulses generated by my feelings about myself. She can link it to inappropriate meds.
I do believe that we can exhibit behavior and have no real understanding of why we behave that way. I think that most people are often not aware of why they do things. I think I should be aware because I have spent a lot of time in introspection and in trying to become aware of my hidden motives.
I believe that self-control is possible. I believe that because it feels as if I am in control. I also believe that chemistry plays an important role in determining the things I can think.
I don’t think I’m self-destructive. I don’t want to be self-destructive. Yet this behavior returns, and it is a sign to me of a manic episode. So I go back and get my meds changed. If it doesn’t work, is that because the meds are wrong, or is it because I truly don’t want to make myself behave like a normal person any more? The first says I’m “out of control.” The second just suggests I’m different from other people, and I am making an immoral choice. Since I believe I am in control, I choose the second explanation, which is bad because that’s the way into depression. I don’t want to be a bad person, and yet I am.