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Introduction
On July 2, 1998, my daughter Pam, a beautiful thirty-four-year old woman and gifted clinical psychologist, who had been married more than a year, killed herself. She fought for years to recover from a mental illness known as bipolar I disorder. This is her story and mine.
One expects to lose a parent to death, not a child. It's unnatural. When one loses a child, no matter what the cause or age, it leaves a deep hole in the soul, a wound that never completely heals. Time helps, but we're never quite the same.
The grief process has been torturous and unyielding. I am not sure if I will ever get closure. Some events in life are too painful to close. The pain is a reminder of the love we once shared. But perhaps closure is not necessary to heal. Perhaps healing can accommodate imperfection. Perhaps the best we can do is to remember what we had and not what we lost.
Author Leon Bouy once said, 'Man has places in his heart which do not yet exist, and into them enters suffering in order that they may have existence.' Pain, suffering, anger, sadness, sorrow, despair, acceptance, letting go, and moving on are all part of the task. Each of us must cope with grief in our own way. There is no right way. Time helps; caring, supportive friends help; talking helps; and counseling helps. But the pain of loss never really goes away. The emotional scars stay forever. As time passes, we must make a choice between being a victim or being a survivor. The decision may determine how you live the rest of your life.
You are reading this book for your own reasons. Perhaps you have lost a child or a loved one to suicide, a long-term illness, or sudden, unexpected death; maybe you know someone else who has experienced such a tragedy. You may even wonder if suicide makes the loss more tragic than loss from an accidental death, murder, or natural causes.
Maybe you want to understand more about the dreadful bipolar disorder (once labeled manic-depressive illness) that has a lifetime prevalence of 2.6 percent of our general population.
Whatever your reason, come with me on this personal journey through my daughter's battle with it. Perhaps my experiences will answer some of your questions, address some of your concerns, relieve some of your apprehensions, and even comfort you. Writing this book was a catharsis, a chance to sublimate and channel some of the interminable pain and grief into something constructive that might help other survivors.
This is the story of my loss, my grief, and my daughter's struggle with bipolar I disorder. It was not an easy story to write because it made everything real, and I was not sure that I was ready to cope with this reality. But I wrote it in hopes of healing myself and helping others who have experienced similar affliction.
The loss of a loved one and the ensuing grief can and often will precipitate post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Although our brains are capable of intellectualizing the concept of death, the emotional part of the brain handles that loss in a separate fashion. We operate from three different regions of the brain: the neocortex, the mammalian, and the reptilian. This tripartite system, known as the triune brain, has independent functions. Each part responds independently and quite differently to the same stimuli. The neocortex governs the rational part of the mind. It is the most recently developed part of the brain. Not unlike a computer, it responds logically and analytically to stimuli. It asks the question: 'Is it logical, reasonable, and rational?' This is the part of the mind that forms conclusions and resolutions intellectually. When someone close to us dies, the neocortex gives rational answers to our questions. This does not preclude our wondering if there was something we could have done that might have produced a different outcome; however, resolution and acceptance are somewhat easier in natural death than in suicide. In suicide, the neocortex doesn't stand a chance.
The mammalian part of the brain, the seat of emotion, takes over. It cannot compute reason or logic. It asks: 'Is it painful or pleasurable?' Human beings forge toward pleasure and away from pain. The mind is flooded with a plethora of emotions that obliterate all logic and reason, closing off any access to the neocortex and rational reasoning. Shock, grief, and guilt overwhelm us and become pervasive. It is not possible to analyze. In fact, our thinking is often impaired. This is why it is essential in the grief process and recovery to acknowledge these emotions, for repression of feelings to avoid pain only postpones the inevitable and can cause more traumas later.
The reptilian part hosts the instinctual and habitual drives and asks: 'Is it safe? Will I survive?' When we are thrust into a reality that we cannot comprehend or find too difficult to process, we move toward this part of our minds. Fight or flight is the common response. We either run from the situation or face it head-on. In grief and loss, facing it head-on usually is not an option because our emotional shock absorbers are instantaneous. They help us to numb out from the trauma. The purpose of the reptilian brain is to keep us safe and help us survive.
The taking of one's life is often considered unjustifiable, an abominable sin, and a deliberate violation of God's will, religion, and nature. It's thought of as an act of one's own volition as if there was a conscious choice. This is not always the case. Quite often, it is the mental illness (such as acute depression or bipolar disorder), which insidiously and relentlessly invades and fractures the mind, that makes the decision, not the person.
This is what I believe happened to Pam, who plunged fifteen stories to her death three months prior to her thirty-fifth birthday. I do not believe it was her conscious decision to do this, for she valued life as her most precious gift. The disease became her executioner. It had a life force of its own, controlling her will, her actions, and causing her death.
Pam's struggle with her demons had been going on much longer than any of her family, friends, or coworkers realized. Fearing we would make judgments, she suffered mostly in silence because she knew that we would have difficulty accepting and understanding her belief system. As a trained clinical psychologist, Pam knew how preposterous her belief system sounded to others, not unlike some psychotic patients she treated and often referred to psychiatrists for medication.
When she did share her thoughts and beliefs with us, all we could do was try to reason with her, hoping to bring her back to her senses by alleviating her fears. We tried to be sympathetic and supportive, but none of us could fight the demonic force that resided in her mind, dictating the course of her events. Nor could her psychiatrists, numerous psychologists, colleagues, friends, rabbis, priests (both Christian and Muslim), and spiritual healers, including channel psychics, shamans, a Qigong master, as well as a series of fortune-tellers, psychics, and demon chasers in addition to a multitude of psychotropic medications. The demons grew larger in time—invading her dreams, convoluting her thoughts, and sucking her spirit out of her body like a vampire devouring its victim's life force. This is why I know suicide was not her conscious choice. Rather, it was the manipulation and delusionary demand of the demons that possessed her mind and sentenced her to death. Her destiny was no longer her own. She fell into a trance reinforced by the hallucinations of her psychosis. Like the mythological Persephone (daughter of the Greek goddess Demeter), Pam, too, was abducted into the abyss, but for Pam it was forever.
©2014 Joan E. Childs, LCSW. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Why Did She Jump? My Daughter's Battle with Bipolar Disorder. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442.
