Oryx Cohen: co-founded the Freedom Center in Northampton,
the Pioneer Valley's
only support/activist group run by and for people labeled "mentally ill". At
his "day job," he works to support consumer-run businesses, connecting people with meaningful work opportunities. He is also
an avid basketball player, golfer, hiker, and writer.
Psychiatric Diagnosis: Bipolar
Mental Health Experience: Inpatient, Outpatient, Psychiatric Drugs, Coercive
Treatment
Recovery Methods: Self-Help, Family/Friends, Literature, Social Activism,
Spirituality, Diet, Exercise, Good therapist, Peer Support, Art/Music, Regulating sleep, Yoga, Tai Chi, Meditation
Story:
I was lucky to be alive.
When I woke up in the trauma center at UMass Memorial Hospital on September 21, 1999, I
immediately realized my mistake. Of course cars can’t fly.
Yet somehow, just the
day before, I had convinced myself that my 1993 Acura Legend would accelerate through the slow moving van in front of me and
take off into the air, landing me in the waiting arms of a lady friend several continents away. As I talk about this now, I wonder how this could happen. I had always been a "responsible" person: a 3.96
student at Lewis & Clark College, an
administrator for the "I Have a Dream" Foundation, a graduate student on full scholarship at the University of Massachusetts. "Logic," it seemed,
had always exuded from my pores.
It still amazes me how
fast you can lose touch with physical reality. The days leading up to the accident were some of the most interesting/manic/crazy/spiritual
days of my life. I was meeting new friends, speaking up in class like I never had before, attending lectures, and going to
parties. The stress of moving 3000 miles away from home, from Oregon to Massachusetts, and being in a totally new environment, amplified every emotion I felt during
those weeks.
It was much more than
I was used to, but before long I felt like I could do anything. I could charm any woman, out debate anybody on any topic,
conquer any obstacle. Even my perceptions were improved. The sky seemed a more brilliant blue, the trees were more magnificent,
everything was so unbelievably, heart-achingly beautiful. I thought I had figured it out. I thought I was enlightened.
Naturally, I wanted to
share what I had found with everybody I came across. So I became a preacher. I talked non-stop about philosophy and the secrets
of life. I wrote down what I felt were the key universal truths, and was set on sharing what I had found with others. I felt
that people were trapped in their own minds, their own fears, and didn’t recognize that they were connected with everybody
and everything.
I wanted to create a revolution
of the mind. I distributed flyers and tried to organize underground meetings. I was going to change the world and nothing
was going to stop me. I decided to quit school and write a book about my enlightening experience.
It was on the car ride
home that I went beyond the point of no return. At a stoplight, it felt so good to throw my road map and spare change-- everything
that was not a necessity--out the window. In the span of a few seconds, I convinced myself that the rules of physical reality
existed because we believe they exist. I convinced myself that my car could fly. And until I woke up in that hospital, I believed
I was going to make it to my destination.
When my mother told a
psychiatrist that I thought I could fly the car, I was transferred from the trauma center to the psychiatric ward as soon
as I could walk. It was with visions of electroshock and lobotomy that I "voluntarily" checked in to the ward on the 8th floor
of UMass Memorial Hospital.
I was interviewed by a
few "lower level" staff and finally a psychiatrist came in and told me what I "had." She gave me a diagnosis of bipolar disorder
and told me I would probably be on psychotropic drugs for the rest of my life.
She didn't ask me anything
about my life prior to my week of mania; it was as if that didn’t matter. To them, I was just another diagnosis. I could
never be "cured," but medications could help "stabilize" me so I could manage my emotions.
I was in the psychiatric
ward for six days, but it felt like a month. There were various support groups, art therapy and occupational therapy. The
best part was the bonding and friendship with the other patients. We were all in the same boat and we supported each other
immensely. We had to.
When I woke up in that
hospital bed, I knew I was going to recover. But it didn’t happen over night. I had a lot to process and many battles
to face. I was lucky that I had a supportive family. I was also lucky to have
friends with whom I could discuss anything and who accepted me for who I am.
Perhaps the most difficult
part of my recovery was returning to graduate school. I felt embarrassed to face people again after what had happened. Honestly,
for awhile, every day was a struggle. However, I stuck it out, and those years were some of the most rewarding years of my
life. I now have an MPA and, more importantly, met an incredible woman and my future wife.
I have learned that I
have some control over the way I feel, even if it is subconscious. I won't allow myself to feel depressed, and now, I won't
allow myself to be manic either. There is a middle ground. There are great feelings that came out of being manic, but for
me, these were kind of superficial. I had some great experiences while I was manic. Some great visions that I will take with
me forever. Some spiritual experience of being one with nature, of being the clouds and the wind and knowing when the sun
would peek again from cloud. Some very spiritual experiences that I'm not ashamed about, they are now a part of who I am.
Now I take care of myself,
because I don't plan on going on any visions any more. Now, I make sure I get plenty of sleep. This is essential for most
of us, to make sure we get enough sleep, as well as eat well, drink lots of water, get plenty of exercise. These types of
things work well for me.
