Bipolar Shoes: Just B U!

© 2012 Dave O’Riordan. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/08/12

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7357-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7303-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7302-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917747

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CONTENTS

FOREWORD

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

AFTERWORD

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

FOREWORD

BY DAVE O’RIORDAN

The Times They Are A-Changin’

 (BOB DYLAN)

Forty-eight years ago, Bob Dylan released The Times They Are A-Changin’. I was two years old, then, and my family lived in Ireland. As a child, I didn’t have a care in the world—that is, until I started a new school. I learned about fear and punishment on my very first day. I was eight, full of piss and vinegar. According to my teacher, Mr. Sullivan, butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.

The next big change in my life happened when I was twelve, and my family moved to Canada. It was a culture shock, to say the least. I had to get used to a new school, not to mention the cold! I had to learn new sports like hockey and football, as my type of football—soccer—was unavailable to watch on TV in Canada at that time. The Times They Are A-Changin’ became an anthem of mine back then. I am so grateful to Mr. Dylan for sharing his vision with the world.

On January 7, 1995, my life changed forever. I was 33, and many answers finally began to surface about the questions I’d had about myself for a very long time. I was told I had bipolar disorder, a serious mental illness that affects your moods.

I felt scared, confused, frustrated, and embarrassed to be a patient of a mental hospital after I had a mental breakdown. I knew absolutely nothing about mental illness and had never heard of bipolar disorder or manic depression at that time. I was unsure of what to expect. My only knowledge of mental hospitals was from what I had seen on television and movies. But I didn’t see anyone crawling up the walls or frothing at the mouth, as portrayed in the movies that have terrified so many viewers. The hospital was more of a sanctuary—a place to get well.

I received comfort and compassion from all the staff as I became familiar with my new surroundings. They answered my questions in a manner that I could understand. They all made me feel better about the diagnoses I had received, even though I thought I didn’t want them to. They made me feel like a person who mattered, and so did the other patients.

Mental health professionals play a key role in educating families in the proper management of bipolar disorder. I learned fast that professionals in the mental health field were on my side and had much to teach me. They were not judgmental and they answered my questions honestly. They also displayed caring and compassion for my experience, which was a welcome comfort for me and my family in my time of crisis.

But there is more to know about this illness than what the professionals can express. There is the inside experience—the support and understanding of others with bipolar disorder. That’s where Bipolar Shoes — Just B U, comes in.

In this book, I hope to build a house where people can feel welcome, comfortable, and unafraid of thinking. I hope that everyone will visit this house. I have no blueprint and no real plan on how I wish to construct my story idea. That should scare me, but it doesn’t—in fact, it makes me more creative.

In undertaking any type of project, the experts advise that you must have a budget, a deadline, a plan of attack, and a profitable reason for performing the project. I have ignored the experts because I don’t want to be stressed about deadlines and money, and I don’t want to have to justify the undertaking of this project.

You will learn that I’m a no-nonsense, honest, and hardworking person who gives a shit about people and who loves to laugh. I have put my heart into telling an interesting story with a bit of humour, while keeping it real. I am trying to hammer home that bipolar disorder is an acceptable illness and that the discrimination and stigma associated with this illness need to disappear today.

So why would a guy who enjoys crafting stories choose to write about a topic like bipolar disorder? Well, they say that you should write what you know! I feel comfortable navigating the subject of bipolar disorder, even though it has cost me so much throughout my life. It has officially been a part of my life now for some seventeen years, although looking back has made me realize that I had many symptoms of this illness when I was a kid.

God knows that I have asked myself many times if I really wanted to dive into a project like this head first. My answer has always been a resounding yes. Bipolar Shoes is like my Olympics, and I’m now standing on the podium holding my gold medal after defeating fear and common sense in the gruelling event of Determination. Never underestimate the little guy!

The therapy of writing my story has, in some morbid way, brought comfort back into my life. In sharing my story with others, I have learned that I’m not the only one going through this shit. I wish to celebrate life and enjoy it for what it’s worth. To me, life is a gift and I just want to make a difference, no matter how small.

As a writer, I thank you for your support and well wishes when it comes to my books. For me, these books are not about profit, but are rather an opportunity for me to give back by making a small contribution to increasing awareness of bipolar disorder. I want as many people as possible to read my books, although I know all too well the feeling of not having the cash to buy something. Please ask about my books at your local library—if enough people request the books, the library will purchase it for lending. By performing this simple task, you could be giving others who wouldn’t have known about my book the opportunity to read it.

I realize that most people have problems and issues, or their own illnesses, to deal with—after all, that’s life. In writing this book, I hope I can inspire people to look at the big picture, if only to help them realize that life is a precious gift that can be taken away in the blink of an eye. On this journey of life, I have chosen to live as myself—with my abundance of self confidence and my complete faith in God.

The moral of my story is to remind us that, in our own way, we are all carpenters who possess a hammer and nails, along with the blueprint to build anything we desire. It’s too bad that so many of us have buried the hammer and nails under a mountain of unimportant worries and self doubts, that so many have forgotten that they also have the ability to build. If you’re not using your creative skills, try to bring out the carpenter within you. You’ll never know how successful you can be if you don’t try to build something.

Bipolar Shoes —Just B U, was written with the support of my family and friends. I hope you find this book informative and useful. But, most of all, I hope you can gain an understanding of an illness that affects so many people’s lives.

In making my wish come true, I want to be honest, compelling, and somewhat of a humorous spokesperson for bipolar disorder. I believe in God and I believe that people do matter. I believe that if I just be myself, my message will be heard. I thank you in advance for taking the time to read my work. I am truly honoured that you have accepted the invite, and I welcome you to my house.

Please make yourself at home.

Listen to the Music

 (THE DOOBIE BROTHERS)

If I’m to truly welcome you into my house, I must first introduce you to my closest friend. Like me, this friend is unique. He helps me cope and understand things a little bit better. This friend never questions my judgement and never criticises my actions or reactions. He has always been there for me in good times and bad, no matter what.

My friend, you might have noticed already, is Music. We have had a long term, passionate relationship ever since I had my first pair of shoes.

I have always felt amazed that a powerful story can be told in a three- or four-minute song. It may be a love story, a march to war, or a song about a break up—regardless, the message is carefully crafted by the songwriter. The song paints a picture for the audience and, as with all things in life, people don’t always view the picture the same way. A song can mean many different things to people, and that’s what makes a song so powerful.

As a music enthusiast, I have spent countless hours listening to all genres of music. I have carefully listened to the stories within songs and learned to appreciate the many talents of the songwriters and artists as I listen to their work. I was lucky to grow up in an era in which so many great storytellers and performers shared their talents.

Music can change the dynamics of my mood in a split second. This can be achieved just by turning up the volume. Even in the most severe state of depression, I can get my foot tapping to the song I’ve got a Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas. Although there’s really nothing to the song lyrically, it has a catchy tune that always gets me going.

I’ve spent many hours in bars and clubs listening to live music and appreciating the talents of the bands. Of course, I’ve listened to many bands that weren’t all that good, as well, but still there is something about live music that makes it hard not to appreciate.

As a kid, I always dreamed of being a rock star. I fantasised about playing to sold-out venues where the crowd sang my songs right back to me. My friend Brendan Butler and I would climb up on the roof of our school and play air guitar for hours, thinking we were The Bay City Rollers or The Who or whatever band had struck our fancy that week. It was always good fun and great for a laugh—the two of us were in our glory and our own little worlds, expressing ourselves.

I can fondly remember strapping on the accordion and giving it a go when I was about eight years old. For the first few hundred times I tried to play, you could hear nothing but a loud bellow, reminiscent of a bawling cow or a broken bagpipe. It must have sounded like an awful racket. Then one day, out of the blue, the accordion finally started singing in a language I understood. I had begun to approximate a sound that seemed a bit like music, which put a smile on my face and my mother’s. She was impressed with the determination I had shown and my ability to work through the feelings of frustration I first felt while trying to figure out that squeezebox.

I can’t imagine life without music, nor can I imagine the emptiness of a world with no music. Almost everything we do has an element of music—even when we go for groceries, there is music playing in the store! Most people with cell phones have chosen ringtones that approximate different songs for our most important people. Music plays in television shows, commercials, and blockbuster movies. It plays in churches and planes and big cruise ships! There was even music for those brave men who flew to the moon, as they awoke each and every morning to a tune played by mission control.

Music is everywhere, and I feel that we take it for granted because we are exposed to it at every turn. Because we feel so entitled to our music and now have the technology to share it infinitely without paying for it, the music business has taken a beating the past few years.

Each chapter of this book is named after a song that has meaning to me. If you take the time to purchase these songs, they make an exciting playlist with a variety of good music for you to enjoy.

CHAPTER 1

Whenever God Shines His Light.

 (VAN MORRISON)

It was just another Friday night for Mike Whitney as he drove to the depot of Co-op Taxi to meet his partner, Malcolm. They shared a nightly ritual of chatting over coffee before Mike started his shift in their jointly owned taxi cab. Malcolm worked the 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. shift, while Mike worked the gruelling back half—from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m.

As Mike sipped a cup of Tim Horton’s coffee, he made sure all the bases were covered.

Hey Malcolm, remember I will be gone to Saskatchewan for the weekend for my dad’s funeral.

That’s right, said Malcolm. I had no problem convincing Andy to cover for you—he sends his condolences. Give your mom my best and tell her she’s in my prayers.

Thank you, Malcolm, I will tell her.

Have a safe night and I’ll see you on Monday.

Thanks Malcolm; I’ll definitely see you Monday night, said Mike.

Before leaving the garage, Mike always completed a safety check, fueled up the cab, and checked the oil and other fluids. He adjusted the driver’s seat as well as all the mirrors. He then cleaned his glasses. Once he tested the radio, he was on his way to make a buck.

Friday nights were always unpredictable, but Mike had a feeling that this evening would be busy because of the cold—it was thirty degrees below zero, and dropping. After eighteen years of driving cab, Mike was fairly accurate with his predictions.

He was usually a very careful driver. This night, however, Mike found his mind wandering to the thought of his father, Vern, who’d died earlier that week on a lonely stretch of highway in eastern Saskatchewan. He’d lost control of his car after hitting a patch of black ice and collided head-on with an oncoming truck. Vern was killed instantly.

Three hours into the shift, Mike heard a most unusual request come over the radio from central dispatch.

Does anyone want to take a fare all the way to Edmonton? the dispatcher requested.

Mike let it rest for a few minutes. Then, on the second request, Mike grabbed his radio.

This is Mike. I’ll take the fare, he said.

Okay, Mike. The fellow’s name is Dave and he’s located at 188 Castlebrook Road N.E.

10-4, Shelly. I’ll be there shortly, thanks.

As Mike drove to the address