My twenties were a turbulent time. In 2005, after an acute episode of psychotic mania while living in Philadelphia, I was voluntarily admitted to an in-patient psychiatric facility for treatment. The symptoms of mania--boundless energy, rapid speech, delusions of grandeur--and subsequent depression manifested themselves in a severe but diagnostically-predictable manner, which was good because it alleviated any uncertainty as to the diagnose--Bipolar I disorder. When you know exactly what you are suffering from, it makes it easier to treat.
Mania sneaks up on you, disguised as enthusiasm, excitement, a zest for life, and perceived brilliance. At some point the ball gets away from you and takes on a life of its own, which is when things get scary. You can't get off the train even if you want to. When the crash follows, and you have pushed most of your friends away, it can also be a lonely time. Thankfully, many friendships I was able to repair over time. My family's support, however, was unwavering, and I believe this is what got me through the eye of the storm.
Rebuilding my life in the aftermath after discharge was difficult. My apartment looked like it was hit by a tornado--half finished projects, books everywhere, overflowing ashtrays, and recording equipment were littered everywhere. All my energy and will had left me, and a dark cloud had settled over everywhere I went. I had trouble moving my limbs. My dad would take me for walks and it would take an hour to go 100 feet. I would verbally abuse him, treat him badly. "You have to remember," he would say, "it doesn't seem like it now, but it will get better." He knew from experience, having gone through the same thing.
In the midst of my illness I came across an obscure film called Quitting (2001) about the life of Jia Hongsheng, an actor of some national acclaim in China who quit acting after getting hooked on heroin. It was a film rather than a documentary, but Jia played himself, and all his family played their selves as well, which was kind of unique. It is the story of how Jia's family--his mother, father, and sister--move to Bejing to nurse him back to health. This was quite different from the expectation in Asian culture that the siblings take care of the parents, not the other way around.
Quitting is one of my favorite movies, because it is so personal to me--I was Jia. His life, his story, his recovery, his family--it mirrored my own. He was a prodigal--I was a prodigal. His father and mother took care of him in the way mine did.
He thought he was special, destined for greatness, but instead the acting world moved on without him, as all my allusions of greatness, of being a great writer, had done for me.
He did not leave his apartment, and neither did I. The recovery after getting clean is dark, as was being in the trough of depression following mania, so I could identify with his suffering and loneliness.
One of my the most moving scenes for me personally was the little snapshots of time Jia's father would spend with him, going for walks, sitting under on overpass in the grass, sharing a beer; how he cared for his son, putting his own dignity aside. The scene could have been one of my father and I:
Mania sneaks up on you, disguised as enthusiasm, excitement, a zest for life, and perceived brilliance. At some point the ball gets away from you and takes on a life of its own, which is when things get scary. You can't get off the train even if you want to. When the crash follows, and you have pushed most of your friends away, it can also be a lonely time. Thankfully, many friendships I was able to repair over time. My family's support, however, was unwavering, and I believe this is what got me through the eye of the storm.Rebuilding my life in the aftermath after discharge was difficult. My apartment looked like it was hit by a tornado--half finished projects, books everywhere, overflowing ashtrays, and recording equipment were littered everywhere. All my energy and will had left me, and a dark cloud had settled over everywhere I went. I had trouble moving my limbs. My dad would take me for walks and it would take an hour to go 100 feet. I would verbally abuse him, treat him badly. "You have to remember," he would say, "it doesn't seem like it now, but it will get better." He knew from experience, having gone through the same thing.
In the midst of my illness I came across an obscure film called Quitting (2001) about the life of Jia Hongsheng, an actor of some national acclaim in China who quit acting after getting hooked on heroin. It was a film rather than a documentary, but Jia played himself, and all his family played their selves as well, which was kind of unique. It is the story of how Jia's family--his mother, father, and sister--move to Bejing to nurse him back to health. This was quite different from the expectation in Asian culture that the siblings take care of the parents, not the other way around.
Quitting is one of my favorite movies, because it is so personal to me--I was Jia. His life, his story, his recovery, his family--it mirrored my own. He was a prodigal--I was a prodigal. His father and mother took care of him in the way mine did.
"Honestly, I didn't want to come to Bejing. I had only two years before my retirement. As a parent, when your child faces something like this..you have to help them. We didn't know what he was going through. I had to see for myself. Sometimes when I saw him suffering I knew the drugs were still in him. It was unbearable. I couldn't do anything to help him."
He thought he was special, destined for greatness, but instead the acting world moved on without him, as all my allusions of greatness, of being a great writer, had done for me.
"I had that feeling again. I couldn't stop trembling. Suddenly there was no sound and my mind was blank. 1993. The music came from my headphones. I saw the bluest sky in the world. It was totally pure and crucial. I felt like I was Lennon's son. I'd seen my destiny while everyone else was running for nothing. I felt like everyone was an idiot."
He did not leave his apartment, and neither did I. The recovery after getting clean is dark, as was being in the trough of depression following mania, so I could identify with his suffering and loneliness.
"He didn't talk to us at all. He was always attacking us. He said my feet smelled, if it wasn't my feet it was my socks. It was like he was my father.
We didn't know how to help him. We decided to ask for help from a doctor.The doctor said the effects of his addiction would last a long time.We should be patient and try to keep him happy. He asked for a bike to go out. We bought a secondhand bike for him."
One of my the most moving scenes for me personally was the little snapshots of time Jia's father would spend with him, going for walks, sitting under on overpass in the grass, sharing a beer; how he cared for his son, putting his own dignity aside. The scene could have been one of my father and I:
"We went out for a walk everyday. When he wanted beer, I got it for him. I iced two beers every morning and brought them with us. I put a raincoat on the grass for him to sit on. I used branches to drive the bugs away. He was getting better everyday."
Quitting is a prodigal parable hiding in a secular story. The film itself is ok, interesting--but I think it moved me the way it did because it was my own life's script during that time in my life that I saw. The bicycle, the walks, the apartment--it could have been my story. With one caveat: I found out Hongsheng jumped to his death in 2010, nine years after the filming of Quitting. It could have been me. It could have been my story.
It's taken me about a week to get this little post down and published; I was reluctant--it seemed too much, too personal, and unnecessary. I didn't want it to be a film review, because while it was moving for me personally, the film is nothing special. I didn't want it to simply be a self-indulgent post for the sake of a personal post. And honestly, sharing about one's illness is not especially comfortable in a public setting because of the stigma and potential for discrimination.
So what was I trying to say? What was my purpose in writing this?
I think it is this--there is power in stories, the narratives we find ourselves in. We make sense of our lives through them. Jesus himself was a master storyteller--he was always telling stories! It was how he communicated eternal truths in a practical way. I think film, secular or otherwise, can do this, as can books and the example of others. It is a popular model in AA, as well as in converts sharing their story of how they came to faith. Like the Jewish people, stories help us to remember our history, what God has done for us and saved us from.
Stories help us remember, as I remember now those difficult days ten years ago typing much in the same way I am doing now at the kitchen table with a cup of tea at one in morning, hanging on to life by a thread, and how my family and my God were manifestations of a shard of light that refused to let me be swallowed by darkness.
Jia Hongsheng had a story.
I have a story.
And so do you.
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