A Real Live Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

A Real Live Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

By Beverly T. 

 Several years ago I had volunteered to teach some classes for a group of homeschoolers in my area. They were called co-op classes, because parents took turns teaching courses they were most able to teach. I taught Michigan history, Spanish, and American Literature. Another homeschool parent taught Home Economics and cooking. Still other parents took charge of Physical Education classes and crafts. We even had our own sports team. 

 I voiced my reservations in leading the classes because of my recent poor physical and mental health. I felt I couldn’t be reliable to keep to a schedule anymore. I had already been in charge of all field trips for the group for several years, and I wrote monthly how-to articles on educational methods that I thought parents might appreciate. I was wary of one person in particular. She was President of the organization and would not take no for an answer. She knew I was suffering from bipolar episodes of depression. Looking back, I’m not so sure she understood exactly what that meant, in spite of all my explanations.

  I reluctantly agreed to take on the classes on condition that I could quit if it got too rough for me to handle (we’re not talking about discipline problems here). I had explained several times the toll my mental health issues took on me. And my physical problems were getting worse. I should have just said no. Don’t they always say hindsight is 20/20?

  For the most part I enjoyed leading the children in learning about our state’s history, how to learn a foreign language and appreciate American Literature. But under the surface, I felt that it was too much for me.

  Part of the reason I took on the responsibilities was because my ADHD son needed to learn how to sit in classes and behave within the social norms. He needed to be taught how to sit and listen without jumping up and running around the room (yes, at 9 or 10 years old he still did that when he was “under stimulated” and couldn’t concentrate). He had to learn how to stop humming and disturbing other children in the class. He had to learn how not to interrupt, to keep his voice down, not to make noises (like clicking his fingers) that disturbed other children. I explained this to the leaders of the group when I took on the classes.  I even explained to them what he needed and how I was working on these skills at home.

 About two-thirds through the year’s courses I started getting complaints from the President of the group. She felt I was showing favoritism toward my son. I had already informed her that it if didn’t work out with him in the class, I would not teach the class anymore. It would not be right for him to be left at home or even in the same building but not able to take the class.

  Pressure started to build. Our classes were fun and I had many hands-on activities to offset times when we just had lecture and demonstration. We sang, played games, worked with clay, did experiments, read plays and even put on a play. I was really proud of my son. I thought he was doing very well adjusting.

  Soon we experienced a complication. The President’s son began to talk out of turn in class. He was rude and disrespectful. He complained about my son’s behaviors (which were nervous habits, not deliberate disruptions) and baited him. When it continued through several weeks of classes I knew I had to talk to him after class. I was apprehensive. I had a gut feeling this would lead to trouble with his mom. It did.

  She was furious with me. She wanted my favoritism to stop right away! I explained again what we were working on with my son. Any student who needed similar considerations would be treated the same way. I had taught in special education classes as well as ordinary elementary classes. This was standard procedure.

  She had noticed that I had told another student to sit down (actually, I had invited him to come and sit with the other students since he was coming in the room after taking a restroom break). She pointed out that that was two-faced of me. I could see there was no way to reason with this mom. To her I was biased. She complained three more times to me and twice I gave her the ultimatum. The third time I gave notice and quit teaching the three courses.

  For a few more weeks, they rearranged the classes, got different volunteers or started new ones. The President of our homeschool group decided to teach a course on manners and etiquette. I allowed my two children to attend her course. I noticed that her son spoke out of turn in her class just as he had done in mine.  He was rude to his mom and continuing to bait my son. She did not correct him. I was proud of my son since he was on extra good behavior. My daughter kept an eye on the troublemaker to be certain Mark wasn’t hurt.

 One day, I was sitting at a nearby table with a couple of other parents, listening to the course on etiquette during a lull in the conversation. This teacher mentioned me by name, explaining that when I had been rude to her (yes, I tend to speak bluntly but I don’t remember being intentionally rude!), she had returned it with kindness. I couldn’t believe my ears! Now I understood why her son had been disrespectful. That was the last straw. We did not return to any of the courses for the remainder of the year. Some of the other parents didn’t either.

  The following year the entire organization broke up and disbanded. In addition, the family in question moved to a different church and took a family with them that had been our best friends for about 10 years. Our children had grown up together. After the move, this family never spoke to us again. The two girls who were close friends with my daughter never spoke to her or explained. The two boys close to my son’s age never said a word again to him either until they were much older.

  It hurt my children so much to lose their friends without knowing why. My daughter was lonely without her girlfriends. My son didn’t let on how he was feeling. I felt partially responsible. Somehow my efforts to communicate had not been enough to save them this painful breakup. 

Knowing the nature of the beast, bipolar, I could very well have offended my friends and fellow homeschoolers without doing it intentionally. Bipolar has the element of the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in it. I’ve learned that people who don’t understand bipolar believe we are two-faced. We may be one type of person for a long time. It’s easy to coast along with this disorder and then suddenly experience a change of personality that makes us feel as if we are actually two persons.

  My “other” persona is loud mouthed, brash, overly outspoken, and brutally honest. I speak my mind. Talk about foot-in-the-mouth disease…excuse me a moment while I change feet! My explosive emotions are right out there in your face. It’s frightening sometimes. The worst part about this second persona is that there is no clear memory of when I change over. It happens before I realize it and there seems to be a tiny bit of amnesia involved once “it” is over.

  Now, I’m aware that the other party involved in this story was also responsible for her response. However, that event was a turning point for me. I stopped getting involved with anyone other than my family. I went into hiding so to speak. But I also took time to learn more about manic depression. I had to learn how to cope with living with this Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde syndrome as best as I could without driving my family and friends nuts.

 The moral of the story is that if you know someone who is struggling with bipolar (or manic depressive illness) and they suddenly act out of character, please be patient with them. First of all, you probably don’t really know them as well as you thought you did. The change shouldn’t have taken you by surprise. Second, take the time to learn about bipolar so that you can support them during the emotional traumas. Those of us who switch from being Dr. Jekyll to being Mr. Hyde and back sometimes hate ourselves for the way we act. Anyone who is supportive is always appreciated, even if we fail to express our thanks!