expansion of a Civil War museum.   And somewhere along the way his ‘good mania’ and creative drive empowered him to found one of the oldest and largest behavioral health service providers in Southern California.   Above all, Jim was a dear friend for 30 years who helped carry me emotionally through the very difficult years after my mother took her own life in 1976.

 

  Depression and mania produce symptoms that create limits in how we live our lives.  They also give us strange and wonderful gifts of profound emotion and thought that, under control, can produce positive change in the lives around us.  For every peer I know in the mental health ‘consumer’ community who has lost hope in ever finding their pathway to recovery, there are eight or nine others who are learning to accept their limitations and uncover strengths in themselves they never saw or used before.   Just as the ‘aches and pains’ of mood disorders are unique to each of us, so are the gifts God has given us to use to help one another.  This is, I believe, the essence of peer support.  Mourn not for what you once were able to do.   Allow yourself to dream again.   Tell your depression, your mania, and your anxiety that you have better things to do today.    They can stay home.  You’re going for a nice, long walk. 

Life In the Land of Limitations

 

by Steve Bell, President, DBSA Colorado Springs

 

 

  A native of Southern California, I grew up within five miles of the Pacific Ocean.  One of the first things you learn to do as a child in a beach community is how to swim.   Not much opportunity to exercise that skill these days.  I face another four to five months of cruising (or plowing) my way through the icy streets of Colorado Springs .    Prospect Lake is freezing over, and the indoor pool at Memorial Park is over-chlorinated and over-populated.  Yet, I still know how to swim– and enjoy doing it.  Life is full of limits.  Some based on geography or work schedule, some on the needs and desires of family members or economic circumstances.  Then there are the limits imposed by chronic illness. 

 

  I learned to skin and scuba dive as a teen.  Even if the ocean was at the corner of Constitution and Powers boulevards I would be unable to explore the silent world beneath the waves.  I have asthma, therefore I would not even qualify to take a scuba certification course again.   And if a white sandy beach was nearby, walking without shoes, sandals, or swim socks would be foolish.  Bare feet and unexpected encounters with sharp objects can lead to wounds that are slow to heal or worse; if you have diabetes.

 

  Some of us with mood disorders can barely read or use a computer anymore.  The concentration, the focus, and in some cases, the memory, is just not there.   Others cannot stay inside a crowded restaurant or store because the bright lights, noise, and non-stop restless motion sets off anxiety alarms in our heads.  And still others in our moody band of friendly people may ‘swing’ into mania and get so loud, angry, and out of control verbally that just having a conversation with a co-worker, loved one, friend, or physician may create yet another reason for people to write us off as, well, “crazy”.

 

  Does that mean people with mood disorders can’t ‘have a life’ and engage in activities that are fulfilling and valuable?   No way!   My late mentor, Jim Strong lived to be 80 years old.   He suffered from debilitating mood swings that robbed him of much professional success during the latter third of this life.    In spite of his limitations, he and his wife Mary, a social worker, raised two wonderful children, one a brilliant computer engineer, and the other a successful advertising executive and consultant. 

 

  He took Lithium and went to therapy for years to help him manage his moods.  Yet he did not let his disorder totally slow him down.  He mentored many men and women who became leaders in California state and local government, and helped lead efforts to preserve a historic public library and oversee the