Why More Than the Madness: Writing About Bipolar

by John Kaniecki

Listen to Executive Director Gabriel Nathan read this post aloud:

Almost a decade ago, my memoir “More Than The Madness” was published by Dreaming Big Publications. The work, weighing in at nearly ninety-five thousand words, took a hard look at my struggle with bipolar disorder. The focus of my writing was on my personal history, my conversion to Christianity, and, most prominently, my struggles with mental illness. It is fair to ask, ‘Why write such a book?’

I didn’t begin a crusade to educate the world about bipolar. Though I am open about my mental illness, I certainly don’t promote it. There is far too much stigma, making the waters of life murky. Instead, the book slowly emerged as I began to explore writing. I became a serious author, writing stories, poetry, song lyrics, and longer works.

When writing fictional stories, I struggled to find plots and ideas. I found myself reflecting on my own life and writing individual, stand-alone pieces of my past. The amount of writing I did was far more extensive than what eventually became my memoir. In the creative process, I shared the stories with close friends for commentary and editing assistance.

Pat Kenschaft was a great friend of mine with whom I shared my life. I would consistently see her at the peace vigils we had in Montclair. Every Friday, we would gather at the intersection of Bloomfield Avenue, Fullerton Avenue, and Church Street, affectionately called “The Corner.” Pat and I clicked together. She was a mathematics professor, and I possessed a degree in the same subject. She was also a writer.

Pat had an illness where exposure to nicotine was extremely dangerous. Whenever she detected smoke, something she was quite adept at, she would flee from the corner to a refuge a couple hundred feet away. I would accompany her to secure her safety, and we would talk. Our conversations were about politics, the peace movement, life, etc. One of the inspirational stories was about Pat’s mother, who, as it turned out, was the one who founded A.R.C. or the Association of retarded citizens.

There was a particular doctor who delivered babies. He had instructed his nurses to keep the woman’s legs shut when giving birth until he could arrive. This, according to Pat, adversely affected her brother Ed who was classified as ‘retarded’. Over half a century ago, people who were mentally disabled were a ‘blight’ on society. They were literally kept out of sight. Pat’s mother’s heroics helped change the world most meaningfully. A. R.C. know provides both dignity and services to what was once anathema.

The struggle for acceptance of mental illness parallels the struggle for people who were called ‘retarded.’ If I am open with my mental illness, a significant part of society will view me with prejudice. Through education, I believe this stigma could be almost eliminated. Thoughts of this inspired me to publish my memoirs.

During this time, I was loosening up at work as well. I worked at a civil engineering company. Due to some medication problems, it came out to everyone that I had a mental illness. Some of the cruder engineers called me “Crazy John,” but beyond that, there was little change in my status. In fact, being open about my mental illness helped me cope with it. My coworkers, for the most part, were more understanding.

The job involved a lot of traveling as we surveyed and inspected structures. These long trips afforded us much time to talk, and I shared some of my experiences with my coworkers. I taunted one engineer with my infamous anecdote “my night in jail” for months. He desperately wanted to hear the story, but I consistently refused. The engineer insisted that the story would never live up to the hype I was promoting it with. When I finally acquiesced and told him the story, he changed his mind and decided it was worth the wait.

While pursuing my writing career, I came across Kristi Morgan, who had just started a small publishing press called Dreaming Big Publications. I submitted a poem called “The Last Rhino” and casually mentioned my then-untitled memoir. Being involved in psychology, she was clearly interested. I sent her the bulk of my work. We refined the writing, deciding to limit the scope of my project from birth until I was put on an antipsychotic. The shift to this new medicine allowed me to return to society successfully.

I don’t know how many books I sold. The market of books is log-jammed with over a million books a year. One hundred copies is a fair estimate. In fact, Kristi said when she talked to her other authors, she would use me as an example of how to sell. All in all, Dreaming Big would publish four of my books. The business came to an end when Kristi came down with cancer. We still chat on Facebook and, though I’ve never spoken to her face to face, she is a friend.

On the submissions page of Recovery Diaries, the organization makes sure to mention that your name will come out with the publication of your story. They’re not wrong; a simple Google search of one’s name will bring out one’s writing history. This has never affected me negatively except perhaps once. I had an interview for a job, and it seemed that I was going to get hired. The interviewer asked me if I could write, and I told her that I had stories published. She was impressed but, when I called about the job, I was denied—without an explanation.

Which brings my thoughts to Allie. She was a friend of mine when I was attending college. We were close. I was the first person she shared her poetry with. After I graduated, I attempted to get off my antipsychotic medication and had a relapse. I was trying to start a poetry magazine with Allie and another friend, Jennifer. My behavior had changed. Suddenly, Allie disappeared. A year later, I would write her a letter. It was a brief message punctuated with the message, “If you can’t be my friend because I have a mental illness, then fuck you.”

We need champions to fight for people with mental illness. I recall being at a church retreat in Connecticut. I don’t know how the topic of mental illness came up, but when it did, I openly told my story. A brother later approached me from another church and he shared with me that he, too, had a mental illness. He was grateful for my boldness in being able to speak about my circumstances. A bond was made, and perhaps the emancipation from prejudice had taken one small step forward.

It was fun to write “More Than The Madness.” When I face times of trouble, worry, and anxiety, I can look back at my footprints and see what I have overcome. God has provided so many people in my journey to help me along the way. There were fellow patients, doctors, nurses, psych techs, friends, relatives, and strangers—the list is quite extensive.

I have come a long way since the book was written, and I could write a sequel. My wife Sylvia is currently in a nursing home, suffering from dementia. My mental illness allows me to have the empathy to understand what she is going through. The example of my mother visiting constantly when in the hospital gives me the courage to visit my wife every single day without exception.

We are in perilous times. The government is proposing cuts in areas that would affect the most vulnerable. This greatly saddens me, and I’ll do what I can to help. I’ll get out on the corner and hold up my protest sign. I’ll be kind to every human I come in contact with. I’ll sign a petition occasionally on the most important things. I’ll write poems of protest. I’ll keep on keeping on. It’s a crazy world we live in but there’s more than the madness.

​EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR / EDITOR: Gabriel Nathan | DESIGN: Leah Alexandra Goldstein | SITE ORIGINATOR: Bud Clayman