Getting connected to raise awareness about mental illness

Sue Abderholden was a breath of fresh air for me when I was a student at University of Minnesota's Minneapolis campus, living, then, in Centennial Hall in the mid and late 1980s.  Sue and I spoke on many occassions, long before I realized that she was going out of her way for me by talking to me on a private level.  Her kindness inspired me, and I persisted with my studies despite what was beginning to happen to me.

My troubling behavior just started, where it had been absent for years.  Historically, I decided to opt for private hospitalization as a senior in high school when, at De La Salle High School on Nicollet Island in Minneapolis, Minnesota, I was an honors student and very active in several on and off campus extra-curricular and political activities. During my time at De La Salle High School, Christian Brother Henry Power, and other school administrators knew that bullying was going on, and that there were just a few perpetrators and several victims.  

In my case, I nearly collapsed in school after four of the bullies tried to throw me through a second story picture window, and then, after that failed, down a narrow and steep flight of stairs near the choir room, where I had been elected to be president of our choir.

 My dad, an attorney, and my stepmom, a nurse anesthetist at Fairview Riverside in Minneapolis, encouraged me to not feel scared about going into the adolescent psychiatric unit to get help from payschiatrists for depression and anxiety, and from what I now believe to have been an eposodic period of psychosis brought on by both the bullying and by horrific abuse by my former step-father and my mom -- who is now doing great, and we are best friends after many years of alienation.  

So, I finished the last fifty-two days of my high school years in both an adolescent and then, beginning on my eighteenth birthday, the adult unit.  Happy Birthday!  I opted for this medical trip.  I was not assigned by a judge.  Three months after removing myself from the hospital, I went on to Macalester college, but only stayed as a year as a student as intrusive thoughts of suicide, and bullying from members of the football and wrestling team made it difficult for me to remain comfortable and scholarly.

However, I visited campus every day for two more years, until I was invited to a traditional folkehojskule (a boarding school) by member of a Norwegian marching band from Elverum, Norway.  The son of the director of the school was our guest as the band was in town to play for the 1984 Minneapolis Summer Aquatennial.

 After returning from school and travels in Scandinavia and central and southern Europe, which I have written about later in this article, I worked for about a year, and then entered University of Minnesota's Twin Cities campus to study history and later, I'd hoped attend law school. 

I was twenty-five years old when I returned to college, and had the usual desires to graduate and later to become a diplomat or intelligence analyst.  I had grown up in an international environment.  My dream was to become a fresh and significant face on the international diplomatic stage.  My De La Salle academic advisor, late, and former Star Tribune contributer Denis Wadley, was a perennial Oxford University summer student, garnering A+++ grades on his papers.  He had encouraged me to attend Harvard or Georgtown University for college.

However, when I returned to college five years after my time as an enrollee at Macalester College, my behavior began to annoy my dormitory mates and friends, and as I became victim to harassment and assaults on the University of Minnesota Minneapolis campus -- with hostile regard from a few members of the University of Minnesota Police Department and Housing Services -- I walked across the street to what was then called University of Minnesota Hospital and Clinics, and to the Family Practice Clinic.  I recognized my oddity and unpopularity, and I wanted to put an end to the problem.  Moreover, suicidal thoughts affected me on a frequent basis, and my life was terrifying.  My abilities as a scholar were greatly hindered.  To this day, having significantly grown up in the Kenwood/Lowry Hill neighborhood, I have earned less than $76,000.  I am fifty years old, and have been fluent in French, Norwegian, Spanish, and English, with a little knowledge of Italian, and a stab at Mandarin Chinese.

The physician assigned to be my psychiatrist was a tall, charming man from the Greatest Generation..  John "Jack" T. Kelly, Jr., MD, MPH.  He owned Apple Jack Orchard, within the metro area, where we went to pick starwberries and apples with my family. 

 While I was distressed and fluctuating between high energy and talkativeness, with frequent vulgar speech, to being very quiet and reclusive and sad all the time; becoming the out-patient of a University of Minnesota professor of psychiatry and gerontology became a thrill.  

 I think the the room we usually used for our sit-down conversations was only eight feet by eight feet.  He used a white board to tell me about the brain and about how the brain -- my axons, neurons, dendrites, and how my neurotransmitters, worked and didn't work right.  I was getting a graduate-level education once each week for several weeks, and then month after month for a few years.

The first drug of choice, which made me fat and ruined my kidneys a little, was lithium carbonate.  That was the best they had to offer in 1987.  As psychopharmacologists designed better medicine for Bi-Polar Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I went on to try new things.  

Eventually, my weight-gain levelled off.  Clinically obese, and just now, twenty-seven years after my initial treatment, I am beginning to feel like a respected professional; and, I am learning, little by little, to not make the rash statements that were once frequent, with greater ease and dedication.  I am more careful when I write.  

I will say, however, that while I have been somewhat victorious in defeating my medical challenges, trying to find employment -- seeking part-time from home, given problems with sleep issues, is a very difficult task.

Amidst Bi-Polar Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, and  Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I didn't learn, until I was forty-two years old (2004), that I experienced an autism spectrum disorder called Asperger's Syndrome.  It was only after writing to my former girlfriend, daily, for six years after she found a new boyfriend in Sydney, Australia, that my newest resident psychiatrist at Fairview Riverside Hospital's Psychiatry Clinic told me that she believed that my primary diagnosis was no longer Bi-Polar Depression, but this form of autism.

"Aspies" have a very difficult time with major changes in life; and, while I wasn't that upset that my fiancee found another guy 9,000 miles from me, who was employed and healthy (my blessings to them, as I love her to this day as a lovely friend and memory).  Well, it is just not healthy to be writing to someone everyday for six years to try to recapture a friendship with a woman who, then, I believe, was engaged to a naval officer.  Moreover, it frightened me, most likely frightened my former friend, and I was very sad.

So, with this new diagnosis, I had a new adventure ahead of me.  While my letters to my former friend  were a little pathetic, they were not angry or threatening.  But they had to stop to be fair to all involved.  I had to continue in therapy for the other conditions, and now not only go to a psychiatrist once a month for medication reviews; but, also, I needed to find a specialist who knew how to treat Asperger's Syndrome and other personality disorders, with a kind touch.  That's where the Autism Society of Minnesota came in.

After writing a thirty-page academic paper on Apserger's Syndrome to my Harvard educated resident -- an MD under the supervision of tenured physicians, with the asset of a round table of other residents to discuss her caseload -- I was encouraged to contact the Society to find a therapist (a Ph.D., not an MD) who could help me.

I was earnest in my discipline as a patient, and am blessed with the ability to "...write better than me," as my new psychiatrist exclaimed after recognizing that the report she had read was not from her tenured professor, but from me.  

Dedicated to my advancement in health and other interests, I have not failed to attend our weekly meetings throughout the eight years I have known my therapist.  The only reasons for missing meetings have been when holidays have hit on the day of our weekly scheduled meeting, or when he has been on personal holidays.

In my sense of loving a woman -- a partner, were I gay -- despite the end of a relationship, I idealistically believe that the love for that other person should continue to affect my behavior toward them, even if the relationship is over.  I have learned much as a Nichiren Buddhist (www.sgi.org; www.sgi-usa.org) about personal responsibility and good acts; but, my solid definition of love comes from Zondervan's "Holy Bible," New International Version, 1 Corinthians 13 -- the Love Chapter, by the Apostle Paul.  

 It begins, in the fourth verse, "Love is patient; love is kind..." and moves on to two or three short paragraphs on what love is, which, I encourage Christians and others to  review and take in as they think about the world of Islam, and also about the theoretically unconstitutional MN consitutional amendment proposal that will attempt to have civil law overwhelm the rights of churches with regard to the same sex marriage abridgement that we shall face in several weeks as we SHOULD get out and vote.  

Also, please vote NO on the proposal to make Minnesota government IDs necessary.  Even with birth certificates, marriage certificates, and passports, there is no way to prove citizenship.  For example, I may have all of those to show in an election year, and actually have just given up U.S. citizenship to move to a more compassionate nation, such as Norway.  How is one to really know.  And the 35 ineligble votes in Minnesota have been from citizens who were once jailed for felonious acts, did their time, and thought they had a right to vote.  

Moreover, your act of purposefully voting NO, against an ID requirement, will aid other generations of your family members, and you, if you are young or middle-aged, in your elder years, be able to conveniently vote.  The Republicans have strayed into the field of being bastards, not statesmen.  They are the kind of people from which the Founding Fathers, and their generation, declared independence.  If their was ever a time for "McCarthyism (speling error?) and a committee on Unamerican Activities, this decade would be it to put the zealots and power freaks in prison.

Anyway, as is my tendency at 4:27 a.m. I stray from my originally intended theme.  

Now, after eight years of therapy for Asperger's Syndrome, I am no longer staring at people -- women or men (one characterisitic of Aspies which, in my case, garnered a number of sexual harassment complaints is difficulty looking at our conversation partners/interlocutors' in the eyes, so they stare beyond their conversation partners, or at various points on their partners' bodies, feet, and also the ground).

Society MUST become more considerate and friendly to avoid mis-understandings.  We MUST begin to care about the odd and discomforting actions of other people and either let them alone or take a greater interest in them.  Gossiping about people, as happened to me in the dorm, is so damaging to the well-being of other people, and is so damning of our own character and credibility.  The moral imperative of becoming more compassionate demands this to be one of our greatest goals as a society. Compassion and friendship.

I am sharing this with all of you because few people talk about mental illness in a no-nonsense, educated, and conversational manner.  We still experience hatered toward us because we are differnet and not alway understood or trusted.  Hollywood myths, poor writing by past generations of journalists (due to misinformation and lack of modern education), and gossip lead to a social environment in most of our world's societies that condemn people with mental illnesses, and which leaves no room for understanding or forgiveness when things like the attempted assassination of President Reagan, the recent shootings in Aurora, CO and at the Sikh Temple in Wisconsin -- and even the very sick and evil behavior of men like Pol Pot and Adolph Hitler -- occur in our world and history. I will add that a childhood neighbor, CBS reporter Steve Johnson, was a colleague of Jim Brady, President Reagan's Press Secretary, who was shot by a young, ill, man.

Steve, and CBS international reporter and luminary, Barry Petersen, were friends at WCCO News, and Barry came to my apartment one night to give me his autograph when I was 14-years old.  Given that I really enjoyed Barry's style of reporting on WCCO Channel 4, Minneapolis, MN, and that we more or less shared the same name, I was thrilled as a kid to have him drop by from across the hall from Steve and his wife, Carol.

Now, here's where many of you may begin to despise me or think of me as lacking in any credibility.  I do not mean to offend Jewish members of this publication, as I have several friends who are Jewish; and, an older friend's cousin was assassinated by the SS, and two of my deceased friends were interred in a NAZI concentration camp.

As a history major, I studied World War II and German History.  One of my past older friends, former Northwest Airlines and Delta Airlines pilot Norman Midthun, was once a young Norwegian-American who went to Canada on April 9, 1940 to become an RAF pilot, when he was 17-years old, to train for naval fleet escort (subamarine searcher flights) and intelligence missions.  On that very day, members of the Third Reich, the Norwegian Paliament (Den Storting), and Norway's King Haakon 7 and Vice King Quisling, met at what, forty-four years later, would become the boarding school that I attended, to define the Third Reich as a national enemy of Norway.  

Norm later became a friend of Norway's then Crown Prince Olav, meeting on the hull of the bombed out carcass of the German Battleship Tirpitz, the brother of the battleship Bismark, that had been hidden in Langenfjord, Norway.

Olav, who passed away in 1988 as King Olav V, was a very beloved man who rode the buses in Oslo; and, who one of my Norwegian boarding school friend's got to know in a chat on a bus ride in the downtown area of Oslo.  Kids from all economic classes from Norway, and international students who were immigrants to Norway given wars in their own countries, all came together as students at our school.

 Mr. Midthun became a hero of mine with his many stories.  He was a very decent and loving man.  His humility and other elements that gave great strength and substance to his character, were attractive to me, because, at that time, while talking to the girls, and Garth Ryan, at Jean Midthun's Cravings Candy Shop (Norm's wife, Jean, I believe was also prominent in the American Cancer Society) on the mezzanine level of what is now the U.S. Bank Building, then (circa. 1983) the Pillsbury Center...well, I am digressing again, Norm was they kind of man who I wanted to be like when I got older.  He was a comforting and caring gentleman with no ego hang-ups.  He was a sterling commercial pilot, and of the greatest character.  And he made great popcorn and chocolate fudge!

Back to World War II and Norway:  On April 9, 1940, Oslo Fjord, and I believe, Bergen Fjord, were mined and straifing began.  My school was straifed, and the Nazi's tried to assasinate the Norwegian Royal family, but they outsmarted their enemies, and took a different route out of the small town of Elverum in the region of Osterdahlen ("Eastern Valley").  Those events led the teenage Norwegian-American to Canada, as the U.S. would not enter the war in Europe until 1942, given the nation's general desire to be isolationists.

As someone who has experienced severe and persistent mental illness without medication, guidance, and ongoing therapy, I know how chaotic one's mind can become in an unsettled and violent environment, on top of having a brain illness that is not diagnosed and treated in time, before upsetting and, in a vast small minority of cases, violent behavior take's over, again, in a very small minority of people's minds who have very specific and uncommon types of mental illnesses.

As a Buddhist, in Nichiren Buddhism, we are taught to not to disparage others, and to seek greater insight, enlightenment, and happiness.  We are humanists who regard ouselves equal to all others in the scheme of both the Universe and also within the scheme of Eternity.  This is a difficult set of thoughts and responsibilities for many of us to wrap our minds around, but I think that with my dedication to self-improvement and deep compassion, I have found a blessing that some may believe is just absurdity and naivete.  It has helped in my recuperation.

Nichiren Buddhists do not believe that the original Buddha, Shakyamuni, is a god; we recognize him as a historic man of great enlightenment, peace, and happiness.  He was a prince in a region of India, and gave away his princely entitlements to seek and converse and teach about greater knowledge of the commonality that all humans share, regardless of birthright, age, gender, education, or means.  

My experience with this set of philosophies, which I share with my "adopted" Christian daughter in Ghana, West Africa, has immensely helped me overcome the self-doubt and sense of victimization that I once knew in my life.  It attracts people from all backgrounds and economic strata.  There are about 12 million of us in 192 nations and territories around the world.  

There were less than 750,000 in Japan in 1952.  A scholara and educator, Tsunseburo Makiguchi, came up the teacings of Nichiren Buddism while researching ways to help Japan's youth become more self-determined and happy, as Japan further entered the modern age in the 1930's.

Amidst all of the hate that people with mental illnesses experience in physical and social mannerisms (beatings, hatemail, various innocuous but annoying forms of harassment, and gossip, I have had to learn to forgive people -- even the woman who posted on this publication a comment that she believed a mentally ill person killed her friend -- or, otherwise, a drug addict.  I was incensed and let her have it as my debut commentary in this publication.  My editing was horrible in that tract.

I have also quietly and physically forgiven a young man, Hai, the student who put forward a death threat on my telephone, and who assaulted meseveral times at University of Minnesota - Minneapolis with another friend and otherwise harassed me over a period of two years, without intervention by a then bigotted and under-educated group of police officers at University of Minnesota.  

My role model and initiator forgiving Hai when he was seated next to me at Village Wok Restaurant near the medical school at the university, was Pope John Paul II  Hai is the youbger brother of a medical student friend of mine who spent time with me when all but one other friend deserted me in the dorm. Pope John Paul II, who went to his attempted assassin's jail cell to forgive the Turkish Muslim and to speak to him as a brother and equal.  

A Hennepin County district judge authored and Order for Restraint against Hai, stating and demanding that he remain no closer than two hundred feet from me for a period of two years.  One year into the Order, Hai was seated next to me at the Village Wok.  

Recognizing an opportunity to allow the development of trust and personal growth, I removed myself from my table, next to his table, put one knee on the floor and my right hand on Hai's left shoulder as he sat with his girlfriend, and discreetly reminded him of the Order for Restraint.  I told him that I would not have him removed from the restaurant, and that I had forgiven him for intruding into my life and leading toward low grades, including a four credit F and a five credit D, among four other D's.  My effort was also to not embarass him before his young girlfriend, or disturb his young girlfriend.

With my insight and experience, and with my devotion to world peace and friendship -- and throughout Eternity and, theoretically, throughout the Universe, I found it possible to also forgive the actions of German Chancellor Hitler.  It is not because I heroize him.  I do not; and, my interest in German history and the aftermath was to learn about rebuilding and diplomacy.  Mr. Hitler was a vastly ill man with powerful enablers.  He was a gifted speaker, but not that much of a strategist at the end of the war, ignoring his top military advisors because he need to feel in control and he needed to feel invincible, blindly fearless, and recklessly in power and hideously narcissistic.  I see this narcissism in Mitt Romney.  He is also frequently blind to the facts about the people who he puts down, and too self-assuredly invincible,

I finally forgave Chancellor because he was so incredibly ill, and he was so maliciously and hatefully supported by others in an era in our world's history that despised Jews, gay men, mentally ill people, and others who didn't fit in with an arbitrary "norm" or "standard," and during such an economically and politically turbulent time in the social, political, economic, and diplomatic revolution and evolution of many of our families' nations of origin in that region.  

Knowing that I couldn't help my behavior before I knew it was at times outrageous, I extended my understanding of the worst of mental illness to forgiving a man who few will ever forgive. I have an inkling of an understanding of his psychopathy through my reading, and I look upon him with a kind of pitty that he lived in an uneducated era where dangerous and treatable men like him could be on top because of their charisma and ability to attract people to ideas that do not move the world forward, but to the advantage of the few who he truly represented at the top of Germany's industrial hierarchy, and then to all others who had to live with the hyperinflation and joblessness.

My last comment is certain to throw a wrench into any credibility and goodness that I sought to develop at the top of this article, but I made the decision to share this forgiveness with you, because without an educated and humane understanding of mental illness -- to even the most extreme cases -- our society will continue to ignore early symptoms -- or problems like post traumatic stress disorder, which I believe Corporal Hitler endured during and following World War I, and then, as some do, make comments that mass killers are in it for publicity.  

 In real terms, if our society -- locally, nationally, and internationally, becomes more compassionate towards those 25%+ of us who have some kind of mental illness during some period of our lives, we may be able to encourage greater medical and social, and political advances that will allow people who are to any small or great degree *ill* find peace, stand for peace, and develop peace in our world and, as Buddhists understand, our Universe.

 I will begin to close on this note to cover all other Buddhists against the thoughts that some may have of me after such a dramatic statement:  My fogiveness of Mr. Hilter is entirely my own.  I do not know of a single other Buddhist, of any school of Buddhism, including my own, who shares my view.  I also care to apologize to those who have been offended by what may seem as such a sensational and outlandish thought because members of their family, and their worldly possessions, have been stolen and destroyed by the actions of Chancellor Adolf Hitler and his supporters.  I deeply empathize with you.  Had I been alive and in a German domain, I would have been sent to the death chambers, as well.  

 Emphatically, I have never idealized the late chancellor, nor do I believe in the approach he took toward self-aggrandizement and global terror and leadership.  

My decision to forgive is based solely on my memory of my earliest experiences with un-treated Bipolar Disorder, and also with problems that have been associated with my past experiences with an autistic spectrum disorder that turned my life upside down until I found compassionate people and good medication to lead me to greater health and happiness. 

In good and healthy conscience,

Barry N. Peterson

Minneapolis, MN