A couple of community leaders told me I haven't introduced myself.

I've been a member of the Bipolar group for a few years. Maybe my original introduction was lost?

I have known something was "wrong" most of my life, I remember when I was 13 and wouldn't get out of bed for a week until my mom forced me. Many years later, I tracked down my dad's first wife and asked her about his discharge from the Army, because my mom always said it was for psychiatric reasons. She told me, "He refused to get out of bed for a week." Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

I had struggles in school, but I graduated with Honors from Brown University. I remember during a shut-in episode a friend who had recently become born-again visited me and encouraged me to go outside and play frisbee with him. That is the sort of kindness one remembers. And then, he gave me a wonderful hand-blown glass flute I'm not a professional musician, but I studied 'cello for over 10 years, taught myself guitar, and formed a punk group in the late 70s (when else?) in which I played guitar and also electrified 'cello with a strap like a guitar. We played a few parties, including the infamous "Ratfucker Party" in a friend's apartment decorated with dead rats from the bio lab - but "those were different times" as Lou Reed said.

I double-majored in Anthropology with a focus on Archeology and Classics. My Anthro advisor thought I did not come from a family "of means" that would lead to a happy career in Anthropology, so he urged me check out a Electronic Music program across the street. For 2 years I learned and experimented with synthesizers and recording and composition.

After graduation I worked up from foot messenger to Recording Engineer at Sound One in NYC, the biggest sound studio for major feature films on the East Coast. I recorded Foley SFX for films like Silkwood, Rumblefish, Blood Simple, Scarface.

Then "the problem" started happening again. I loved my job, and I was really good at it. My clients loved the quality of my recording technique. But every few weeks, I could not get out of bed, and I was so embarrassed that I did not even call in sick. My manager was a good man, and knew I had talent, that contributed to his studio's success so he asked me to get a medical checkup; if I was sick, they would work with me during treatment. I didn't know any doctors, my mom gave me a name, I went to see him and told him everything. He said I was perfectly healthy and I lost my job.

I had a couple of survival jobs and worked my way back into the film biz, this time as a Sound Editor and Engineer. My clients included Robert Altman, Al Pacino, Diane Keaton. I took a video course offered by my union (it was a new technology in the mid 80s) and became General Manager for my boss's new video company, with clients like Pee-Wee's Playhouse.

"The problem" still happened. My boss called my fiance and told her my job was in jeopardy. We married, and a few weeks later I lost my job. We were also pregnant. I was very depressed, and had bouts of narcolepsy. I got another job in Pro Audio/Video Sales, and would sometimes fall asleep standing up during team meetings, or with my face in a soup bowl during dinner with my step-mother-in-law. Lost that job. Got a job as a teller at a bookstore. I would have "episodes" a doctor diagnosed as "absence seizures." One day I could not count out my drawer. I tried for an hour, but could not do it. Lost my job. The doctor put me on dexedrine which helped a little with the narcolepsy. But sometimes my wife would find me catatonic on the nursery floor, and the EMT could not read any blood pressure, so I was often rushed to the hospital. After a while I came out of it, and tests showed nothing. I would also lash out violently when my wife got "pushy" - the doctor put me on Navane which helped with my violence. But it also caused strange episodes like "clonic tonic" seizures, although again nothing showed up on tests.

I was Mr. Mom and had many wonderful days with my daughter in the park, picking her up at school, going to the library or toy shopping, taking her to dance and acting classes, ice skating, biking, or just hanging out at the McDonald's playground. Sometimes I would fall into deep sleep in public, I know how lucky we are that nothing happened to our daughter. Many times I felt the Navane condition coming on and went to the ER with my daughter, or brought her to our apartment where my wife saw psychotherapy clients during the day, and I collapsed in the back room, and our daughter kept patients company in the waiting room. I begged my wife to let me stop taking the Navane, but she was afraid, and she told me my reaction was psychosomatic and I must have bad reasons to want to stop it. But when I finally stopped, I never had another "clonic tonic" episode until I tried Abilify and Geodon.

My wife was successful, and we lived in a high rise with a view of Central Park. I would take my daughter to playdates and the parents would eventually call my wife and tell her that they did not feel comfortable around me. The stress of being a breadwinner with two very needy dependents was wearing on my wife. She asked my mother to take me in, but my mom made her feel guilty for not being a "good enough" wife.

My mom was piece of work. She was an "artist." a footnote in some books about the bohemian Abstract Expressionist artists in the East Village in the 50s and 60s. She has works in museums, but she died bitter that she was not more "famous." That group was notorious for being difficult parents; there were a lot of suicides and drug deaths among the children. When we announced our engagement, she invited us out to dinner. Before dinner, she offered us champagne and cheese. She told us, "I bought some really good champagne for us, but do you mind having the cheap stuff, I have some collectors coming over and I want to give them the good champagne instead." During dinner, while I was in the bathroom, she leaned over and asked my wife, "Don't you worry that your kids will be Progressive Schizophrenics like my ex-husband?" It was a diagnosis she made up. My dad was also an artist, a mathematician, and an alcoholic, They separated when I was a toddler, and until he moved to California when I was 10, I would spend weekends with him. We fished and played chess and explored the woods. Other days I was cleaning up his vomit as he was passed out in the bedroom and I tried to make myself food. I took a lot of drugs and drank a lot in High School and College, but it did not "damage" me and in my mid 20s I basically stopped, except for the occasional beer or night at the bar with friends, and pot about once a year or less. I guess I'm lucky that I'm not that addictive.

We had some problems with vicious landlords, we actually had another apartment on West End Avenue, but slowly we spent more time in "the office" until we lived there. We had a nightmare court case in which the landlords, both lawyers, ganged up with a crooked housing court judge who was later disbarred (but not for our case) and we were nearly bankrupted. My wife's patients noticed "strange" things with me showing up and dumping the kid. Some of them knew about our financial situation and were wealthy and insisted on giving her "advances" - then they decided they were manipulated by their psychotherapist, got their friends to quit, and soon we could not afford our palace in the sky. A lawyer wife of an ex-patient helped us get an apartment with her real estate company - in the mid 90s it was really hard to get apartments in NYC - but before we moved in the building was condemned and we were stuck. We lived in hotels and my wife saw patients in them, and eventually she had no more patients. I begged my family for help, my wife's parents were dead and she was an only child, and my family refused. They had some kind of idea that my wife "caused" my illness and they thought helping us would be "bad" for me. My mom and uncle also told all our other relatives not to help us because were "drug addicts" - something I only found out recently.

We became homeless, sleeping on the subway, or "paying rent" for a night in a diner by ordering something every few hours, until day came and they asked us to leave. Around that time, my illness became less severe, maybe because we could no longer afford the Navane and the Dexedrine. I had a few marginal jobs, and sometimes we could afford to stay at a "hooker motel" for a night - or a "short stay" of 4 hours, or even rent a an illegal room in a house in Harlem for a while (that's where we met Gil Scott Heron during one of his drug and hooker binges). Desperate, we arrived at my mother's place a few times asking to take showers and stay the night. She always called the police to have us removed. Once she told our 6 year old child, "Dear you can stay and we will do art projects, but your mother and father have to leave." My daughter replied with the 6 y.o. version of "fuck you." At that time we were sleeping in a storage room we rented in Chelsea, the night custodian knew about it but he said, "Just leave before daylight." After a while, we were no longer welcome there. I went to a hospital for psychiatric help, sure that our situation was mostly my fault. They listened to me and discharged me. On the discharge papers, they wrote "Diagnosis: Homeless."

After 9/11 my wife was hired by the agency that ran the official phone center Hot Line for victims and referrals. We rented an apartment for the first time in 5 years we had a "home." The grant only lasted for 2 years, and after that we moved from place to place, putting down a deposit and we were evicted after a few months when we were unable to pay the rent. Then we squatted in a place for a while. My wife decided I needed hospitalization because she tried to set my hair on fire while I was sleeping, and I chased her into the kitchen. She called 911.

In the hospital, I told them I did not think it was healthy for me to go back. They told me my discharge plan was to go to a shelter, or go home. I told my doctor that was not an acceptable discharge plan. I wanted to be able to help my family, and neither of those options looked promising. I had a good social worker, and he convinced the doctor to allow me to be voluntarily committed to a county hospital which had the ability to discharge patients to group homes, which was acceptable to me as a more stable environment to try to work and get our lives together. I was put on Seroquel as a mood stabilizer, which still helps, and I had a very good session with a Psychologist once a week. After a few months I was discharged to a "Level C" group home, a 2 bedroom apartment with 4 men who were judged capable of daily activities like hygiene and cooking.

For a few years I had been learning web programming on my own. Before my wife lost her job, I was freelancing from Craigslist in our apartment. I also worked as a Substitute Teacher, and I made some contacts and wanted to become a real Teacher. I took the Praxis Test to qualify for "Alternate Route" which would mean paying for mentoring for a few years. I got only 2 questions wrong out of 104, I received a certificate from the Educational Testing Service lauding me for being in the top 5% of scores in the last few years. Thanks to my Ivy League education, I guess. Then my wife told me if I had to pay to work, she would take out a contract on me. She was acting pretty scary. After she lost her job, but before we lost our apartment, she would sometimes follow me naked into the street and beg me to not go to work as a Sub Teacher. I had so many latenesses because of that, I got fired. So I would work on the computer, but often I would be on the phone with a client, and she would go in the other room and rip the wire out of the socket (that was before most people had cell phones). I even kept some of those clients for a while. Or she would pick up the computer and drop it, then I had to go scavenge on garbage night for a hard drive.

Why did she act like that? I think she suffered PTSD from our years of homelessness, and our struggles even before that, and I think two years of talking to 9/11 first responders and widows also contributed to the PTSD. I think she was angry at me for our situation. When we moved out of the "office" we put all our things in storage - we had collections of valuable art, antique furniture, antique toys and other collectibles, even a signed portrait of John Lennon by Annie Leibowitz. On the street, we sold all her jewelry, her engagement ring, everything, and sold back the Leibowitz to the gallery for half what we paid for it, We couldn't pay the storage room, and they tried to reach us, and eventually sold everything. We estimated the loss at about $2.5 million. By the time we tried to pay them for the storage room, they said it was too late. That alone will make somebody pretty angry, maybe psychotic.

So in the group home, I asked my uncle for money for a laptop and an intenet connection. Shorn from my "toxic" (his and my mom's opinion from the beginning) wife he was glad to help. I built up a business, learned a lot, and started earning enough to send money to my wife, She was able to afford an apartment with my help. One day, I was on a bus, and my wife got on the bus, and sat down in the seat in front of me without even seeing me. I took off my wedding ring and considered us "separated." After a few years, she lost that apartment too, because it was a big 3 bedroom in an expensive neighborhood, I could only afford to pay half the rent and she was not making the other half. I took her looking at apartments, but she didn't like them. She moved in with me in the group home, with her 2 dogs and cat. I told the agency it was only temporary, until I found her a place to live. She was kind of a "den mother" for my roommates. I asked my agency for help. They told me they could help me by telling me to tell my wife to go to a shelter, I told them "Fuck you." Then they gave me a list of luxury apartments we could not afford. Agencies are so often clueless. They threatened to kick us both out, and I was angry at them, so I rented an apartment for both of us. It was supposed to be "a temporary arrangement" but she never moved out, and we got along better than we had in years.

I got a lucky break and broke into the elite IT consulting for Enterprise clients field. I started earning pretty good money, and we were close to happy, at least not fighting and miserable, for a few years.

My wife's health started declining, a fall here and there, then blisters and infections. She was in and out of hospitals all this year, and she died of multiple organ failure in July. I miss her terribly. We were "married" for 25 years, and at the end we had a fairly good relationship together. On our 25th anniversary, I had just started a new job after being unemployed for an unusually long time, I came home late and all I could afford was the cheapest bunch of dyed carnations. She was thrilled that I did anything, and her appreciation meant a lot to me. I was with her when she coughed up blood and stopped breathing. We listened to our favorite music, John Lennon, and then her heart stopped. Our daughter arrived about 15 minutes later, she was en route, and I am glad she did not have to watch her mother die, although it was quick and peaceful.

I live alone now, with our 2 dogs and 2 cats, and also my mom's 2 cats I took after she died in March. One of the dogs is old and has diabetes and is mostly blind. I inject her with insulin twice a day. She is still happy and loving. Our daughter is married to a nice man. She went straight to work after HS, and she is now an assistant manager in a retail chain. This fall she started college. We spoke for about an hour tonight.

I formed my own LLC last year and I have had a steady gig since February. I am taking on one or two PT jobs too. I want to help my daughter with school, and more. The past few years, all my income has gone to my wife's health care. I always liked having house plants, and I am planning to make a hobby out of raising carnivorous plants. I am playing music again, which for me is the best sort of meditation. For years my wife discouraged me from playing music, and even broke my guitar once. A few months ago she heard me playing, and she told me it sounded good. Things change, over time.

I think we are able to learn to cope with our illness, learn to recognize our patterns. Or maybe sometimes we just mellow with age. My remote work from home allows me to mostly set my own schedule, and take the occasional "mental health" day off when needed. I can catch up.

I observed the Jewish ritual of Shiva for a week after my wife died. When I got back to work, it was crazy, I was working 60, 70, even 100 hours a week. I calculated that I earned 25% of the median US income during the month of August. My client is a non-profit, and fortunately cannot afford to pay me that much on a regular basis, Also we are adding a few more developers to replace ones that left a couple of months ago, and left me having to do the work of 2 or 3 people. Things are slowly sifting into a new pattern. I had a period when I dreamed about my wife every night. Sometimes a song on my mp3 player reminds me of her, and I cry in public. My daughter noted that she only saw me cry once or twice in her life before. Crying helps.

I have not been active on DS, so busy with other stuff, my mom's and wife's health problems and deaths, and I co-facilitate a DBSA peer-support group which gives me good support. But as we learned in facilitator training, often just knowing "it's there" is a comfort for people who rarely participate. And I do recommend DS in my group and elsewhere - it's a really good community.

Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and fame. Actually, when I was interviewing an applicant, the first thing she said is, "I'm glad to finally meet you, you are famous." I was a bit taken aback.

My wife and I were raised Jewish, we explored other traditions, joined a Unitarian Universalist Church for a while, found even that too dogmatic. My wife loved Kwan Yin, the feminine boddhisatva of Buddha. When people ask, I tell them I am a "Pagan Jew" - they either get it or they don't. A few years ago I made teshuvah and joined an old Orthodox shul two blocks from my house. I built a web site for the congregation, and I was elected Secretary. I find a very deep spiritual resonance in the Orthodox liturgy and observances. I studied Tanya with a Chassidic rabbi, and I loved the imagery of HaShem's spirit flowing down like a cascade of water. One evening after services we went outside on the sidewalk and said a "kiddush levana" for the beautiful moon. I think that the essence of Jewish theology is not so different really from Hinduism and sometimes Buddhism. My wife liked some Hindu "goddesses" too, and I have a fondness for Ganesh, but not as a "gods" but as archetypes. In torah, there are many specific words for HaShem, and I interpret them as "aspects" - the father, the resurrector, the provider, the mysterious all powerful, the judge, etc.

I think I'm done now.