Steve
Ball and Bipolar

If the quarterback threw it... I had to catch it.

If the kid pitched it... I had to hit it.

If he passed it to me... I had to find a way... to get it through the net.

  When I was growing up, I think my manic episodes were curbed within the excitement of being on the field, playing any sport.  I believe now, looking back, sports were a comfortable way of getting the energy out.  Win, lose, or draw, I always found myself comfortable cheering for myself, my teammates, and even for the other team, secretly to myself.  It never really mattered to me whether my team won, except during playoff time.

I would talk to my teammates all game long. I would shout, "Let's go!  Get up!  Keep going!  Let it fly!” It was my way of giving support.

I just wanted my teammates to understand the racing mania I had inside me at all moments of a game.  A game which meant life to me, most, if not all the time.

I never saw my racing mind as a problem, and I really don ' t think that the people I played ball with on Sunday mornings would see it as a problem either.  I was always an emotional player, and they were accustomed to seeing someone on the field rooting for them.  I was willing to break a bone for them, right next to them.  I would run to congratulate their successes.  I would pick up their heads from hanging low when they failed. But I was very hard on myself. I expected nothing short of success with any play I was involved in. It was determination in its utmost form to me. 

Looking back, I imagine I drew a lot of attention to myself. I would also imagine that the other team didn't think I liked them very much, but win or lose, when the game was over, I would always gladly thank each and every one of them for the competition.  I would let those individuals who made nice plays know that they should be proud.

I didn't really feel so bipolar then. I didn't know that the illness would be something I’d have to learn how to deal with when I grew older. As an adult, I wouldn’t always be somewhere I could continue to scream, throw support, and watch poetry in motion. I guess that what causes the energy to ball up inside me from time to time, imploding on me. I can see how so many men who retire from sports find it so hard to say good-bye.

It's like a circle that constantly goes round and round feeding on itself.  It doesn't necessarily have to be vicious, although it sometimes is. It ' s a circle that we need to train to stay on the up swing.  Not an easy task, but possible. There is help in places such as here, where other people ' s stories can help you generate one of your own.