I had promised myself I wasn’t going to write about Joker.

When people asked me as a bipolar survivor what I thought of the movie, I said that Joaquin Phoenix’s performance was superb but that he’s no Heath Ledger. Also, I would have preferred that Taxi Driver hadn’t been rebooted as a comic book film.

I remained hesitant to write about it even after Phoenix won an Oscar for his portrayal of Arthur Fleck’s dark decent. If the Oscars represent a benchmark for American culture, then I suspect that Joaquin’s win represents how many Americans look at the mentally ill with a mix of pity and fear. While Joker gets it right that people like me can slip through the cracks, the myth that the right set of circumstances can push anyone into becoming a gun totting psychopath is a dangerous one.

So instead of focusing on that movie, I decided to incorporate my thoughts into a ten-year celebration post. I was diagnosed with bipolar 2 in late February 2010, and through the love of family and friends, perseverance, and divine mercy I have survived full decade.

And if the decade have taught me anything, I have more in common with the Marvel Avengers than with DC’s most famous villain.

Former bad boy who becomes a heroic father and husband after wrestling with a deadly condition? I can relate Iron Man.

Smart kid who couldn’t unleash his true potential until he found new ways of looking at the world? Yep, I get it Doctor Strange.

Mild mannered professional who constantly worries his dark side will one day overwhelm him? Let me grab a seat next to Bruce Banner.

An African prince who must avenge his father… OK I’m taking this analogy too far.

But the point remains that for one psychopath who decides to go the Joker route and embrace the darkness, there are a thousand everyday heroes doing their best to manage painful, and at times overwhelming, mental conditions and still make the world a better place.

Origin Story

I should probably explain what it feels like to have bipolar. Bipolar is a mood disorder where it can be difficult to manage your thoughts and emotions. Sometimes you experience mania which can make you feel euphoric and invincible. You’re Iron Man in his latest prototype suit surrounded by super models. In my 20’s, I could survive for days on just a few hours of sleep and still feel full of energy. Sure, most people can relate but my ability to bounce back from a hard weekend of partying was legendary. And when I was manic, I was a deadly combination of fearless and charming.

Mania was a handy psychological trait to have, except that I also could be reckless, spend way too much money, chase after the wrong relationships, and constantly start projects that I would never finish. I also suffered from an over-inflated ego. I was convinced I was the next Hemingway or Hunter S Thompson, even if I spent a lot more time talking about becoming a writer than putting words to paper. My bosses would often praise my output and energy while at the same time shaking their head when I made some careless mistake or took a boneheaded risk.

What’s worse is that as I aged, I lost the happier side of my mania. I still had the relentless manic energy but tended to become irritable and anxious. I began to lose my patience and more than once got into shouting matches with strangers over petty matters. My ability to focus on my writing improved but I nearly gave up writing fiction. It was just easier to sink into mindless work or multiplayer games that kept me up all night. And while I had stopped making crazy risks that could have gotten me killed, I still struggled in my career.

But mania is only half the equation. The second member of the bipolar tag team is crushing depression. Imagine the grief of losing a pet, a dream job, or relationship. Now, imagine that feeling dragging on for weeks and months. Even when things are objectively good, you still feel like you have nothing to live for. Whereas I could stay up all night while manic, with depression I could sleep through my alarm despite having gone to bed at dusk. Every cruel slight, every failure, and every mistake I ever made continued to spin in my head.

If depression was a drink, it would taste like a diarrhea latte.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, the two conditions began to feed off each other. I did stupid things when manic that I regretted too much while depressed. Work and relationships suffered as I went from driven for a few weeks only to switch to lethargic a short time later. Even in the best of times, managing bipolar can be a tough path to walk.

But everything was not fine when I was diagnosed a decade ago. Already under tremendous stress as a new dad, I lost my job in the middle of the Great Recession. It was a terrible blow since I had sacrificed a lot for the job, working regularly 10–12 hours with the vain hope that I would be hired after my contract was up. I even put up with a terrible boss who would crumple up papers and throw them at the team if he didn’t like an idea. Stress, lack of sleep, and overeating had contributed to me becoming the heaviest I had ever been in my life. I had become sad Thor except that I couldn’t take off my fat suit at the end of filming.

The Worst Part

Joker has a lot of catchy quotes about mental illness that are at best incorrect and at worst destructive.

“I haven’t had one good day in my life” is a top one because it isn’t true for the majority of people. It just feels true in the darkest moments.

“What do you get when you cross a mentally ill loner with a society that abandons him and treats him like trash? YOU GET WHAT YOU FUCKING DESERVE.” Sure, let’s give society even more reasons to worry about the crazies going on killing sprees. And let’s glorify violence as the best way to enact change while we’re at it.

“I stopped taking my medication, I feel much better now.” While I get that Arthur Fleck is meant to be a cautionary tale, that comment glorifies not getting needed help.

There is one quote that I agree with though. “The worst part about having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don’t.”

In 2010, I found myself in a terrible situation like a lot of Americans. But few of my friends and family could understand just how bad my inner mental condition had become.

Even when I sent out hundreds of resumes without a call back and was told that I was overqualified to work at Starbucks or Walmart, my friends told me to just keep trying. They had no idea how my confidence was nearly gone.

Even though I barely had enough energy to get through the day, much less start a new fitness regime, well-meaning family harped on my weight and suggested I use my new “funemployment” time to get in shape.

I put on a strong face for my wife and infant son, burying a lot of my pain. But every day I doubted that I worthy of their love.

I began walking down to a nearby bridge and fantasize about hurling myself into the churning Puget Sound. I constantly thought about how nice it would be just to check out permanently, but when I was depressed I just didn’t have the wherewithal to make serious plans.

A few days after President’s Day 2010 a perfect storm hit. My mania and anxiety had been ramping up since Valentines, which is a hard holiday when you don’t even love yourself. I was coming back from a crushing interview where I had sat for an hour before being told that there was a mix-up and the job had already been filled the day before. On the way home, my neighbor’s dog ran out in front of my car. The last thing I needed was to get into a fight with someone. But the neighbor kept screaming at me for going too fast and I started yelling that he should keep the dog on a leash. I had the good sense not to get out of my car when he challenged me, but as soon as I got home I was seething. On one hand, it was nice to feel something besides crushing despair. But I also knew that giving into this rage would make me do something stupid, whether that was hurt the neighbor or myself.

Thank God I called a crisis hotline that put me in touch with a great counselor. After years of struggle, I was finally diagnosed with a serious but treatable condition.

Joker is right in that a few terrible experiences can push to the edge. Just like in the movie, it can also be hard to find a good therapist who takes your problems seriously. In the Army, I had been diagnosed with run of the mill depression after the death of my grandparents. I don’t blame the overworked behavioral specialists, but at the time I was dealing with the ultimate bureaucracy and a culture that didn’t approve of seeking help.

In therapy, I also learned that you can come back from the abyss by taking small steps every day. I try to eat right and exercise several times a week. Keeping a regular sleep schedule is a must. I find that instead of standing my ground and arguing with others over something trivial, I can try and defuse a situation. Which is easier said than done given my Southern propensity to not back down from a fight. I’ve also learned meditative exercises for defusing my sadness and anger by sitting with those feelings, letting them wash over me and then pass on.

By all accounting, my recovery has been a great success. I’m now making twice as much in a job where my boss and coworkers love me. I no longer worry about losing my house or car. I’m 30 pounds lighter and in a few months plan to earn my junior black belt. My wife no longer worries that I feel suicidal. And my fears that my newborn son would inherit my struggles proved to be unfounded. He’s now an amazing 11-year-old who thankfully didn’t have to go through some of the same struggles with bullying and trauma that I did.

Everyday heroes

In my darker moments, I still get the appeal of walking in Arthur’s clown shoes. Engaging in dark fantasies has the same appeal as scratching an itch until it bleeds. Take all the pain of childhood, mix it in with all the adult trauma I’ve endured, and then laser focus it at the smug, entitled assholes of the world. I could use my condition as the perfect justification for my dark crusade. Or I could just give up, shrug my shoulders, and quip something about how I’ve finally turned my tragic life into a comedy.

But the fact that I strive to live a normal life is what makes me heroic. Not a super hero of course, but then again the world doesn’t need more big screen demigods. It needs those of us with mental health challenges to speak our truths, advocate for more understanding, and prove through our efforts that mental illness isn’t really all that different from other chronic conditions. Hopefully, we can teach society to treat us no differently than say cancer survivors or diabetics.

If I was to choose a movie scene to represent my journey, it wouldn’t be Joker reveling in the burning of Gotham after his murder spree. It would be the end of Avengers: Endgame where Captain America goes back in time to marry Agent Carter. To be clear, I no longer believe in living happily ever after. But I do believe I can continue to happily live.