Understanding begins when you unlock the secret

BY DALE MARIE PONTZ

I told a secret this week.

It's OK - it was my own secret. On the other hand, there are a lot of people who have this secret.

The secret is mental illness. The stigma still attached to mental illness makes it nearly impossible to bring it to the forefront of medical and cultural thought. When most people think of mental illness, they think of a bag lady wearing an aluminum hat and six coats, talking animatedly to nonexistent persons. They very rarely think of me.

I hold a master's degree in communication and teach public speaking. I have a dog, lots of friends and a close family. I drive a nice car and have a nice apartment. I'm often thought of as the most outgoing in our bunch - I'm up for just about anything - most of the time.

I also have bipolar disorder.

Bipolar (also known as manic depression) is the second most serious mental illness, after schizophrenia. It is unpredictable and potentially catastrophic. There are several different threads of bipolar. I have bipolar II. Bipolar II means I go back and forth between three stages: mania, depression and "normal."

These episodes can be hours, days, even months. They come and go with little warning, although a particularly upsetting incident can trigger depression. I am so fun when I'm manic. That is, if you can understand me and keep up.

What others don't know is that when I'm in one of those episodes, my heart beats so loudly, I'm sure it is not only audible, but visible. I tremble and sweat. I'm capable of extraordinary rage. (To put it in perspective, if scanners with two carts full of items and a complete inability to find a bar code sends you into 70 percent rage, I'm at 150 percent.)

My friends enjoy my manic episodes. I say whatever comes into my head with no filter whatsoever. They never know when I might get up and dance with the waiter or ask the DJ to play some Barry Manilow.

Then I disappear.

Sometimes, I am what I call MIA (you know, missing in action). When a friend calls and wonders why I haven't called or been around, I tell them MIA and they know that means I'm in a depressed episode. I leave my bed only for work. I don't want to go out, I cry daily and feel totally helpless and alone. No amount of encouragement can lift the gray cloud that has no silver lining.

So when I told my effective public speaking class that I have bipolar disorder, I was introducing them to the new face of mental illness. One with lots of mascara and long earrings and messy hair. One who lives alone (with her dog), pays her bills and survives even when it seems all the world would prevent her if it could.

I was introducing them to me - all of me.

Dale Marie Pontz of Clifton is an adjunct instructor at the University of Cincinnati.