Brian's Story

By Brian Crouth

My memories

of boyhood and early teens

growing up

in the 1960’s

and early 70’s

are happy ones.

Blessed with loving parents,

I am the eldest of seven.

Though a household

with so many kids

was a handful at times,

my parents loved

having seven children,

and as siblings

we cherished the moments

we shared as one big family.

Saturday nights were

particularly special:

a weekly ritual

kicking off

with we kids

elbow deep

in flour and dough

for

“make your own pizza” night

followed by

all of us gathering

around the TV

for the CBS lineup of

Mary Tyler Moore,

Bob Newhart &

the Carol Burnett show

with paper cups

filled with root beer

and Bachman pretzel rods

for pretend cigars.

One of the high points

as a family

were our summer vacations with

Aunt Mary Jo and Uncle Phil

and our younger cousins.

In preparation,

my mom and aunt would

design a menu of entrees

they’d cook in advance and freeze.

We’d bring ours in a big cooler

wedged between suitcases

with the nine of us

in a station wagon

setting off on a 6-8 hour journey

to Cape Cod our first two summers

and later Rehoboth Beach in Delaware.

After long days

at the beach

marked by

tummy surfing

on Boogie Boards,

picnic lunches, and sunburns,

I couldn’t wait to run back

to our rented cottage

to relish the meal

to be unveiled that night.

All the pre-planning and love

that went into the main course -

followed by such

exotic desserts as

freshly baked Congo Bars

and crepe night -

only added to their deliciousness.

The joy and chatter

around the dinner table

spending time

with our

favorite relatives

we didn’t often get

a chance to see

made it extra special.

But the crown jewel for me

was the night handpicked

by our parents

when after dinner

we’d get to stroll along

the Boardwalk -

taking in

all of

the colorful sights,

and music,

and aromas

with our elders trailing behind.

Every summer

on Boardwalk night

I was a teenager on a mission,

perusing the open air storefronts

in search of that perfect decal

to be ironed on and create

my own personalized T-shirt.

One summer

around the age of 16,

I remember sitting

on my beach towel

next to the sandy spot

that Aunt Mary Jo staked out

with an umbrella and picnic blanket.

As my cousins

ran joyfully in & out of the surf

my own joy and enthusiasm

I had felt in summers past

wasn’t there.

Rather than sadness,

it was as if I felt nothing.

I could not understand

what was happening to me,

or think of any reason why.

This same

emotional blankness

followed me

to the other

vacation

highlights

I could always

count on

for joy and pleasure.

But nothing

could awaken me

from this

emotional deadening:

not the laughter and cheer

around the dinner table,

not the Congo bars,

not even the Boardwalk.

The harder that I -

or my parents

and aunt and uncle -

tried to shake me

from this state

without success,

the more confused

and discouraged I felt.

The best conclusion

any of us could come up with

was that I was experiencing

the fickleness of adolescence.

In actuality,

there was a name for this

emotional numbness and

inability to experience pleasure -

Anhedonia -

a core characteristic

of depression

and potent enough

to dull the delicious taste

of Congo Bars

and rob me of

my anticipation and joy

of Boardwalk night.

This would not

be the last time

I would experience depression.

With each episode, however,

I soon discovered that

a way through and out

of the darkness

was by writing Poetry.

III

Though my

clearest memory

of experiencing depression

wasn’t until I was 16

I began writing Poetry

at a much earlier age.

Even then,

my first Poems

foreshadow

someone with

a keen sense of

sorrow and loss.

One of my very first:

“Where Have All My Children Gone.”

was written at

the tender age of 12.

The Poem imagines

what my mother

might be feeling

after the seven of us

had grown,

leaving her

with an empty nest.

To this day, the Poem remains

beautiful and poignant, and

an audience favorite

for my stage readings

and podcast.

From my earliest Poems

unto this day,

Poetry has provided a way

to chronicle my experiences of depression

as well as serve as a means

to an eventual breakthrough

to free me from its

physical and emotional chains.

This breakthrough

consists of instant insight and clarity

coupled with energy

and exuberance

and an outpouring

of creativity

in the form of

a Poem or Poems -

sometimes in a single pen stroke.

The Poetry

that lifted me

out of the darkness

however,

held its own

darker dimension.

The span of time

from the onset of

a depressive episode

to a breakthrough

involved weeks of

psychic suffering

and successive nights

of sleep deprivation

as I pondered

in search of an answer.

The exhilaration

and euphoria of

coming out on the other side

created its own motive

and drive

to stay up into

the early morning hours,

or not sleep at all,

to pen the perfect poem

that held

the holy grail of answers.

Unknown to me -

or to

even my psychotherapists -

this was how my own

unique form of mania

was expressing

and cloaking itself.

This realization

would not arrive

until 25 years after

my initial experience

of depression as a teenager

when at the age of 41

the seriousness of an episode

required hospitalization

and for the first time

I was properly diagnosed

and treated

for depression and mania,

commonly referred to

as BipolarDisorder.

Until then,

during that 25 year period

between the ages of 16-41

with each depressive episode

I hung on to a hope

that this breakthrough

and Poem

that brought me

out of darkness

and despair

would finally

hold the answer:

putting a halt

to my recurring episodes

and freeing me

from my psychic suffering

once and for all.

Eventually,

I would come

to understand

that no breakthrough

or Poem by itself

would ever hold

a path to Healing.

But before

this could happen

I would first

need to experience

the stressors and triggers

and depths of illness

that awakened

the sleeping giant

of a major depressive

and manic episode.

And in that time of need

it would have only come

with the blessing

and good fortune

of being admitted

to McLean Hospital

in Boston -

world renown for

its patient care

and a leader

in the field

of mental health.

And even at McLean

it may have

never come

had I not

been placed

in the caring

and competent hands

of a young psychiatrist

and Harvard Professor

by the name of

Dr. Claire Carswell

at a monumental time

when I never

felt so scared,

betrayed, and all alone,

lost in the unknown

of what lie ahead

as a psychiatric patient,

and fearing that

this might mark

an end to any hope

for an answer to my depression

rather than

a new beginning.

Upon admission

and observation

Dr Carswell

immediately determined

that what I was experiencing

was more than clinical depression.

Based on her assessment,

she placed me on a medication

mix more appropriate

for a person

suffering from depression

AND mania.

The fact that I

responded immediately

and began to stabilize

only validated

Dr Carswell’s

hunch

that Bipolar Disorder

was the correct

diagnosis.

To this day -

almost 20 years later -

the same triad of

a mood stabilizer,

an antidepressant,

and a dopamine and serotonin rebalancer

that also serves as a sleep aid

continues to be my

bread and butter

medication regimen.

After a 10 day period

to fully stabilize

I transitioned to McLean’s

Partial Hospital and

Intensive Outpatient Care.

While receiving the

benefit of daily 1-2-1s

w/ my mental health coordinator

I began attending groups

that provided

Self-Care essential skills

to reduce

my vulnerability

to depression

and mania

beginning with a structured

sleep routine.

As a group

we were also taught

Dialectical Behavior Therapy

or DBT:

an array of

Distress Tolerance,

Interpersonal Effectiveness

& Mindfulness skills

more akin to

going to school

for Life 101

than group therapy.

Since then,

I have been a lifetime learner

and practitioner of DBT.

This did not mean

I would never again

find myself in need of

a psychiatric setting.

When that

need arrived

it would be

Four Winds

Hospital

an 8 minute drive

from where I now live.

Four Winds

not only offers

the same Inpatient,

Partial Hospital,

and Intensive Outpatient Care

as McLean,

but the same DBT Skill-based treatment program.

Destabilized, in crisis,

or in need of

reaching out for

a higher level of care,

the staff at Four Winds

always welcome me

without judgment

chalking up

my return visits

as an oppty

to brush up

on my DBT skills.

The Monday-Friday

9am-4pm Day program

in addition to groups,

included an opportunity

to have my medications

fine tuned - often

a contributing factor for

destabilizing

as well as gentle walks

on their peaceful campus,

and a group cafeteria lunch break

to ensure healthy eating

and an opportunity to bond

w/ our patient peers

& fellow DBT learners.

Thus far,

it’s been 5 years

since I sought

extra help

beyond the outpatient care

of a psychiatrist and therapist.

And since Bipolar Disorder

is an incurable disease,

someday I may be

knocking on the door

of Four Winds once again.

And if a need arises:

rather than a feeling

of failure and shame

I’ll hold my head up

with hope and gratitude.

Depression and mania never goes away:

it’s always present and something I’ll always struggle with - some days a little more, some days a little less.

During those stretches

when I’m able

to strive and thrive

sometimes I even forget

I have Bipolar Disorder.

But not to worry,

depression or mania

soon enough

will tap me on the shoulder

to remind me

they’re not going anywhere.

With each new day

my Healing Journey

continues to teach me

that the rhythmic dance

of my depression and mania

when tempered by medication,

caring and competent professionals,

and

a lifestyle designed

around Self-Care

does offer the answer

that I had always hoped to find.

As for my Poetry,

I no longer need

to endure

extended periods

of psychic pain

and depriving myself of sleep

in a creative frenzy to write a Poem.

But there was a time

after I was first

diagnosed and treated at McLean

that the medications required

to keep my depression

and mania in check

also silenced my Poetic Inspiration.

And it left me with a decision to make:

live w/ untreated Bipolar Disorder

choosing misery for the sake of the Muse

opt for a healthier

and happier life -

even if it meant I might

not ever write Poetry again.

Then and now:

I choose Life!

Thankfully over time by

•Staying faithful to my treatment plan, •Building my knowledge and skills to navigate my illness, and

•Uncovering new touch points

for Healing and Creativity

new pathways have opened to Inspiration and writing Poetry again.

This shift has shaped

most dramatically

in the last seven years

when I decided

that the safest bet

to hedge

another major episode

and avoid hospitalization

was to retire at the age 53

with the help of Social Security Disability.

It was time to choose Life once again!

Yes, a history of mental illness

runs on both sides of my family,

but so does longevity.

And with more room

for Self-Care

and co-managing

my depression and mania,

comes

more time, energy

and opportunities

to create a way

to share

both my Poetry

and Healing Story

in my podcast:

Brian’s Poetry Oasis.

Through storytelling, music,

and Poetry

I invite listeners

to accompany me

on my Healing Journey

while offering them

their own Moment

for Self Care and Healing,

thus enabling me

to move from

Hurting to Healing to Helping.

Closing Poem:

Who in this room?

Who in this room

has felt no pain?

Who in this room

has never suffered?

Who in this room

walks through life

with low self esteem

because somehow

you feel you deserve to?

Who in this room

is in such a rush;

conditioned

since childhood

to push, push, push;

to chase away fears

you can’t even name,

that tell you, you’re never enough?

Who in this room

has yet to be blessed

with the ache of a broken heart,

who took a chance to risk it all

to find your One True Love?

Who in this room

this very night

will step on to this stage,

share all of yourself

and hide nothing,

unlocking the door

of your cage,

flying free in a room

full of artists and friends

who support and encourage,

never judge,

where together, all of us,

create so sacred a space

that it feels more like church

than church does.

Brian Crouth is a poet, performer, and podcast host from Saratoga Springs, NY. Since the onset of depression at the age of 12, his poetry has enabled him to be an active participant in his healing journey. By making his journey visible through poetry, music, and storytelling, Brian offers a healing path for others.

Healing StoriesHealth Story CollaborativeNovember 23, 2022