Submitted October 30, 2009
In 2001, I was working as a missionary in Colorado Springs and began to feel strange. I had mood swings and one night I could not sleep. I lost the control of who I was and what I was doing. The next morning, I woke up and beat my room mate. The next thing I knew, I was in a mental hospital.
At the time, I did not know what was happening to me. I had not used drugs. After two weeks of treatment, I was taken back to my country by a friend and I was stopped from working. This was a difficult time, and I was full of shame. I came home in Kenya and I was taken again to the hospital for another three weeks before being taken home. From 2001 to 2005, I was in Hospital on and off .
One day, I found an email sent to my mum explaining my illness – that I was bipolar. I began to pray and find out more about it on the Web and sort help. In Africa to have been in a mental hospital means you put off your family and you carry shame every day. God gave me friends and a pastor who has walked with me till today. I began going on for my clinic and I still take my medication and God has also blessed me with a wife who has been a great support.
Many see me and cannot believe I was the one who came back sick, as I am able to walk with my head high. I have been able to accept my condition and believe we don’t need to give up hope. God does care. He has given me success, and I live positive.