Diagnosis
I wasn’t diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder until last October, at the age of 35. At the time I had been on anti-depressants since 2003 primarily because I had, for some years prior, experienced episodes of extreme anxiety that would result in my losing consciousness. At first it was thought that I might be epileptic, but after undergoing numerous tests is was discovered that I wasn’t. I was then, after an extreme manic episode in the late winter of 2003, referred to a psychotherapist that recommended that I try taking an anti-depressant to deal with what he believed was simply an anxiety disorder.
The demise of the Matthew Good band and my responsibilities with regards to my relationship primarily created the majority of the stress that I felt, and because of that it was suggested that I seek permanent, ongoing therapy for the problem. At the time, which was a tumultuous one in my relationship and career, I attempted to stick with it, but as in many cases, the perceived effects of the medication, and the belief of those around me that didn’t want to really face the fact that something was truly wrong, led me to believe that I didn’t require long-term therapy.
Thus, I remained on the same dosage until it was eventually increased following my separation last February. As in 2003, I was also prescribed Ativan, which, in 2006, I would become addicted to. My dependence on it to counter the mania and anxiety that became extremely prevalent in the spring and summer of 2006 would eventually lead to numerous instances when I abused the drug, that last of which resulting in me being hospitalized and time spent in a psychiatric ward.
The Devil’s In Your Details
As a young child I was hyperactive, or that was, at least, what my parents were told. There had been episodes in my early childhood that pointed to bipolarity, such as an incident at the first school I attended as a young boy, Our Lady Of Lourdes, a Catholic school that my mother sent my brother and I to, despite not being Catholic, because of their French immersion program.
In grade one I lit the garbage-can next to my teacher’s desk on fire. Being that it was a Catholic school, I was disciplined with a ruler by a Nun for what I had done and shortly after my mother chose to pull both me and my brother out of the school and transfer us to one that promoted a more flexible academic philosophy. Unfortunately, that particular school was devoted only to kindergarten through grade three, meaning that a move to a public school was required. After finishing grade two I was enrolled in public school and the hyperactivity that I had displayed throughout my childhood continued.
In the 1970’s the common solution to hyperactivity was Ritalin, which I was put on until my mother could no longer stand the near zombie-like state that it placed me in on a daily basis. Thus, I returned to exhibiting varying states of hypo-mania, ones that were often countered with long periods of time spent in seclusion, immersed in the imaginative and creative. During that period of my life I started writing, and spent hours on end behind a closed door penning fantastical tales, dreaming of impossible worlds. I also fell victim to frequent night terrors, during which I would often sleep walk or wake up screaming.
During secondary school and parts of high school I turned to drinking as a method with which to deal with the extremes I felt. I did it primarily in secret, taking careful precautions to ensure that I wasn’t found out. Luckily, by the age of 19, it became more of an amplification of ill feeling rather than a distraction, resulting in a decision to abandon it altogether. I wouldn’t drink again until I was 30 and often lied about my reasons for not drinking during my twenties by claiming that I was allergic to alcohol.
By the time I graduated high school I found myself immersed in both creative writing and painting, the latter of which I briefly went to a community college to study. It was then that I began to notice that my social skills were somewhat different than others, that I was often uncomfortably forthright with people, and that I was irritable with what I perceived as the lackadaisical attitude exhibited by those around me. There were times during those days that I would remain awake for days at a time, sometimes catching a few hours of sleep here and there, while spending most of my time living in the unfinished basement of a townhouse working on various projects - paintings, stories, and, for the first time in my life, music.
It never really struck me as being odd that I smoked incessantly, constantly paced, and was usually highly irritable unless I was immersed in the creation of something. Nor did it strike me as odd that I would spend hours exhaustively pacing in the living room in the middle of the night with clenched fists, grinding my teeth, unable to calm myself down. Only when utter exhaustion set in would I be able to collapse and sleep.
During my late teens and early twenties such behaviour was largely responsible for how I was viewed and dealt with by others, something that I recognize now. It also formed a codependent trait within me with regards to long-term relationships, a trait that made me feel at ease and in control. In hindsight, the reality is that I identified with women that could tolerate my misgivings largely because they had considerable misgivings of their own, producing situations in which erratic behaviour was the norm.
I Am Not Safer Than A Bank
It has been suggested more than once that, in the past, because of my physique, I must have been a drug user. I am six feet tall and, for most of my early adult life, weighed anywhere between 135 and 145 pounds. Eating was something that I rarely did with any regularity, as I would spend most of my time consuming coffee, tea, and cigarettes. My mania also contributed to my lack of weight, something that changed significantly when I first started taking anti-depressants.
During the band’s rise to notoriety, my drive and work ethic were also largely effected by my mania. There were times when we would rehearse for six to eight hours at a time only for me to go home and spend another eight hours working by myself. I was, in a way, possessed during that period, constantly writing material, constantly focused on refining it, and then spending whatever time I had left penning short fiction for the band’s website. There were even times backstage at shows where I would write on my laptop right up until the moment that we were due to go on. The great irony during those years though was that I loathed self promotion, considering it almost rude. Thus, I never attempted to impress myself upon people in the industry to a large extent or promote myself. In fact, the very idea of it often caused me considerable anxiety, even when others were doing it on my behalf. That outlook largely resulted in the exposure of a very forthright attitude with regards to the press, one that has, as many of you know, followed me throughout my career.
The years spent touring Underdogs and Beautiful Midnight are a blur to me now. During them I was confronted with one of my worst fears, the requirements of popularity, a reality that was totally alien to me and something that made me feel extremely uncomfortable. For many, fame is something that is looked upon as being desirable, but as my fame grew I found myself in a cage that I perceived as ever-shrinking, even in the limited context of Canadian music.
The fall that Beautiful Midnight was released the band did a co-headlining tour with Moist, though we would do the whole tour playing before them as years of smoking, constant touring, and fatigue had taken their toll on my voice resulting in a nodule on one of my vocal folds. In January of 2000 I had an operation to remove the nodule, which was successful, and spent three months with a speech pathologist learning to properly vocalize. But one of the remembrances of that fall was that those around me did not attempt to pull me off the road or suggest that we do anything but forge ahead despite the fact that during the days I could barely speak. It was during that period that I first began to see what came with fame – the realization that you are a commodity, and that the relationships that you have with those around you tend to become more focused on that fact than any other. This realization quickly led to a cycle of self destructive behaviour, one in which I would spend days alone in a small apartment working until five or six in the morning, dating numerous women that I had little to no heartfelt interest in, and lurking the streets of my neighbourhood in the early hours of the morning listening to demos on my walkman.
Eventually, as is always the case with such things, there came a breaking point. For me it was when I began to vomit on a regular basis, sometimes four or five times a day. I would get in the shower on my hands and knees, my head near the drain, and let the water run over me for hours as I struggled not to convulse. It was then that I turned to food supplement drinks and energy bars rather than proper food. In fact, the only thing that I could keep down on a routine basis was, for some strange reason, apples. I also took Gravol on a daily basis, both to knock myself out and to try and stop the vomiting.
Again, not realizing that the root of the problem might be mental, I went to see my doctor and was put on ulcer medication, which he believed was the cause of the problem. Of course it didn’t work and, thirty minutes after drinking it, I would just throw it up. It was around that time that I experienced my first major anxiety attack resulting in unconsciousness.
Over the months that followed the attacks came and went. In some cases I fell unconscious, a problem that remained with me up until the fall of last year before being properly diagnosed and agreeing to adhere to a drug regiment. My greatest fear was that I would pass out while vomiting, which, thankfully, only occurred on one occasion, and luckily someone was there to make sure that I didn’t choke. For some bizarre reason the thought of it happening while driving didn’t cross my mind until after the problem had finally been confronted.
All of that said, this state persisted throughout the writing and recording of The Audio Of Being.
I’m A Window
After the dissolution of the band I underwent a period of heightened anxiety and depression followed by several months of mania in which I began penning new material for what would later become Avalanche. Being in a committed relationship at the time provided stability in that it gave me a sense of familiarity with which to identify. Unfortunately, the pressures and responsibilities placed upon me by that relationship would eventually extract a much greater toll. But at the time my focus was on trying to placate those left in my life that believed that I needed to maintain the same presence that I had with the Matthew Good Band. This, too, caused me a great deal of anxiety, producing further bouts of mania and depression depending on what was happening at the time.
If one dissects the lyrics to Avalanche they will, given this entry, probably find new meaning in many of the songs. At the time it wasn’t something that I was comfortable talking about, as I had just only started on anti-depressants right before the tour for the record and felt ashamed that it had come to that. With regards to my relationship I also felt like less of a man because of it, because I had ultimately exposed my problem and was worried that it would result in the loss of someone that I loved.
The following three years showed some improvements as I remained on the anti-depressants, though on a relatively low dosage. For the first time in my life I began to gain weight, sleep better, and eat properly. And while I found that the medication did, at times, make me feel as though there was a pillow wrapped around my head, most of the time I felt more stabilized than I had been in the past, though my energy level certainly decreased and I found it harder to be as active as I had been in the past. Unfortunately, the answer to my problem was not simply one pill, and I continued to, at times, exhibit bipolar traits and suffer from panic attacks that resulted in unconsciousness.
99% Of Us Is Failure
Following my separation in February of last year I spent four weeks living at my parents place before heading out on tour, something that I should never have done given the state that I was in. But rather than cancel and let people down I decided to go through with it and was able to convince myself that once I got out there things would even out.
During those four weeks at my parents I began taking Ativan on a regular basis coupled with Gravol. During the days I would do my best to focus on trying to work out acoustic versions of songs and the nights in either a state of mania or severe depression. I also began to vomit again on a regular basis and pass out more frequently. Because of this, my family doctor suggested that I increase the dosage of my anti-depressants and prescribed more Ativan to deal with my heightened anxiety.
And so I got on a plane to Calgary with a bag full of pills.
Were someone to ask me how I made it through last year’s acoustic tour I probably couldn’t give them an answer. For the most part I took in excess of four or five Ativan a day, in some cases no less than an hour before performing. During the course of the tour I was monitored by a few close friends, but there was gap in the middle where I was left to the governance of a young assistant that was, by no means, prepared to deal with the situation, nor should she have ever been placed in that position. By the time we reached Thunder Bay I had reached the point where I was no longer able to cope with it all and, several hours before the show, swallowed a handful of pills.
As Stephen Fry pointed out in his series, I didn’t do it for attention or retribution. I did it simply because I felt that I just couldn’t take anymore. Thankfully, no less than a few minutes after taking the pills, my stomach turned and I ran to the toilet and vomited. Obviously some of the drugs were able to enter my system, which caused a great deal of concern amongst those with me, the majority of whom wanted to cancel the show as I wasn’t very lucid to say the least. But stubbornly I told them not to and played anyway. Disheveled, I walked out onto stage and wandered through a set that I still can’t remember playing.
Then and there it all should have stopped. But this time it was me that refused to go home. I had the full support of both my manager and agent to pull the plug, but waking up the next morning the thought of giving in seemed incomprehensible to me. Maybe I had something to prove, maybe the depressive state that I was falling deeper and deeper into caused me not to care, but the tour continued, and with it my growing addiction to Ativan to get me through.
It was then that I went and bought myself a notebook and started trying to put down what I was feeling. For some reason the idea of typing it on a computer and saving it as a file didn’t seem real enough to me. I have since discarded that notebook, though on more than one occasion in the weeks that followed Thunder Bay it kept my mind distracted from other things, probably ensuring that something like what had happened in Thunder Bay didn’t reoccur.
And so the weeks passed and the shows continued. And then came Kingston.
I’m not really sure what brought it on to be honest. That morning I had taken an Ativan and was relaxing in the back lounge of the tour bus when I stood up and felt my body flood with heat. Beyond that all I remember is waking up with paramedics surrounding me, asking me my name, asking me what medication I had taken, that little voice in my head whispering to me that they had been told of what had occurred in Thunder Bay.
I was taken off the bus, put in an ambulance, and spent the remainder of the day in hospital. I remember being sedated, I remember Raymi showing up and sitting there with me, as she was scheduled to meet me in Kingston and travel with me the rest of the tour. I remember the calm sensation of IV fed Ativan being pumped into me and the slow, wobbly sleep that it induced. I remember being wheeled to the front door hours later and returning to the bus. I remember being told that shows were being moved around to accommodate a few days off.
But like the morning after Thunder Bay, I chose not to go home. In the past I had experienced the backlash from fans for canceling shows at the last minute, one in Montreal in particular comes to mind, and it was something that caused me just as much stress as staying out there. So we plodded along, Raymi and I spending the majority of our time talking and watching the first season of Carnivàle, and, of course, my continued reliance on Ativan to make it through each day.
I’ll not bullshit you and say that the shows in Victoria and Nanaimo weren’t cancelled because of the deterioration of my mental state and sheer exhaustion. Despite the reasons given, which in my line of work are always fibbed, the reason those shows were moved was because I was physically incapable of doing them. After taking those few days off I struggled through the Vancouver shows, checked into a hotel, and spent most of my time in bed for the better part of the week. Despite the Ativan and my best efforts to fight and hide it, I had succumbed to having a nervous breakdown.
Metal Airplanes
The events that occurred in the months that followed won’t be discussed here because they are of a highly personal nature. That said, by the end of August I had come to the conclusion that the best thing for me to do would be to leave North America for a while and try and level myself out. During that month the dosage of my anti-depressants was again raised and my daily reliance on Ativan continued unabated. After giving away the majority of my things (I actually gave a homeless fellow my wrist watch), and putting the rest in storage, I spent a week at my parents before leaving for England. The plan was to spend five or six months in Europe, mostly in France, writing a book. Little did I know that I would be back home in less than 10 days.
I flew first to Toronto where I had a meeting with my record company about recording the new record, and where I spent the entire time without leaving the hotel. I then flew from Toronto to London where I did the exact same thing at a hotel in Soho, with brief jaunts out to dinner with a few friends. After that I traveled by train to Bristol where I had planned to stay with my friends Tim and Rachel Baker and finalize my living arrangements abroad.
And that’s where it happened.
One night, while laying in bed, I was struck by something that even now I find impossible to describe. It was a despair, a loneliness, a helplessness that I had never felt before. I barely slept and the next morning Tim knew something was wrong. We spoke for a while in his backyard before I made the decision to go home. After contacting my family, my mother, being the woman that she is, told me to stay put and that she would come and get me. Instead I told her that I would just get back on the train to London, catch a Lori to Heathrow, and fly home. Thankfully my ticket status allowed me to do it.
Again, given that I was blogging at the time, invention was used to conceal fact. I spent most of the flight home looking out the window, tears streaming down my face. I would pull out my camera and look at the places in Bath and London that, not a year before, I had visited with someone who had since become a complete stranger to me. I thought about my life, my music, my family, and everything that had transpired since that winter. I told myself to focus on the good things, the accomplishments, the laughter, and that this, like all things, would ultimately pass. I wished then, sitting in that airplane, that my Nan was still alive. But being that she wasn’t, I just sat there, looking like a madman, having a conversation with my dead grandmother.
A Single Explosion
At this point, given my experience in England, I’d like to tell you that things got better when I returned home. Unfortunately they didn’t. My dependence on Ativan grew to a steady seven a day, I teetered between manic episodes and depressive evenings when I would retire at eight at night, drugging myself to sleep with a combination of Ativan, Gravol, and, at times, Nyquil. Slowly but surely a deep depression began to take over. For a few weeks I struggled with it like one might a constant tapping on their head, an endless echoing as if I were hollow and the reverberations would bounce through me in seemingly slow motion from my head to my feet and back again. I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t see myself the next day, I couldn’t see myself later that same day.
And then, one night in October, I had a few beers and climbed the stairs to the tiny room that housed my bed and my mother’s home office and put Gangs Of New York in my laptop. I had taken a few Ativan prior to that, but as I lay there watching the film and drinking beer the echoing inside me began to grow louder and louder. And each time that I felt it peak I would reach over and take a few more in an attempt to stop it. Eventually, somehow I ended up sitting in the dark in the shower. My mother came in and asked me what I was doing. I remember asking her to get me another beer, which she did for some unknown reason. I finished it, got out, put a towel around me and walked back into the bedroom and put on my pajama pants.
And that’s all that I remember.
When I woke up my sister-in-law was beside me and my mother was talking to a doctor or nurse, I can’t really recall. Seeing that I had woken up she came in and both of them threw themselves on me. At that point I had never felt so despicable, nor as happy, as I had in my entire life.
In all I had taken in excess of fourty Ativan that night and was revived at the hospital. According to my mother, during the journey from the house to the hospital I had asked the paramedics attending me to let me die. That, and given the state I was in prior to that night, resulted in me being asked to willfully commit myself to the hospital’s psychiatric ward, which I agreed to.
The following five days I spent in yellow pajamas mostly laying in bed playing solitaire and drawing in a notebook that my mother brought in for me [1]. It was also during that time that my drug regime was slowly changed and I was able to, for the first time in my life, actually sit down with a psychiatrist and talk about everything. One very important thing that I found out is that Effexor, the anti-depressant that I was taking, can, at high dosages, amplify bipolarity. Prior to being admitted to hospital, I was taking 500mg of it a day compared to the 75mg that I had taken for the better part of three years.
I won’t lie to you. The overwhelming shame of being in a facility like that is immense. It’s as if what spirit you had left abandons you completely and you are left feeling like half a person. It’s a long road back from feeling like that, and part of that road is having access to professionals that can help you come to terms with what it is that’s making you feel the way you do. Discovering that I suffer from Bipolarity has, thankfully, allowed me to begin gaining a new perspective on life, one in which I realize that it is a part of who I am and that I will have to live with it for the rest of my life. But knowing the root cause, believe it or not, is an immense comfort in many ways.
True Love Will Find You In The End
There is little doubt that my conveyance of this information may cause some to laugh, others to think that my illness played a predominant role in the demise of the band, and that it made me too difficult to work with or live with or whatever. Being a public figure and being open comes with the risk of knowing that people will form their own opinions based on their own limited knowledge – and that’s fine. The purpose of this entry was to hopefully make those that suffer from this illness feel a little less alone and a little less hopeless. And if it only really impacts one person, then that’s enough.
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Thank you
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I have been suffering from something. And I don’t know what it is. It’s a combination of panic attacks, dizziness, agoraphobia, extreme self-doubt, and physical problems that I quietly admit to myself are due in large part because I am allowing myself to go crazy. I thus far dealt with it by drinking when I need to, sleepwalking through life, and hoping it just goes away. But in the past 5 years, it has only become worse and worse. I feel guilty that I am wasting the prime years of my life. I feel guilty that my mother sadly looks at her most promising, young son and tells him that he needs to see “someone” and that she wants her “Real Andrew” back.
But most of all. I have felt alone. Reading what you just wrote, though, was fascinating and, for a few minutes, I felt less alone.
Thank you.
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heavy.
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Matt, anyone who would laugh at someone who wrote what you just did, is not even human. My girlfriend has the exact same disorder that you have (Bi-polar type 2) and so I understand much of what you’re going through… well at least as best as a close observer can. I also know how much relief knowledge can give. I’m happy for you that you’ve gotten some help.
I’ve been a fan of yours since Beautiful Midnight came out and this article also makes me wonder what Hospital Music will actually be like. I hope life gets better for you though Matt. You’re an inspiration.
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Thanks for the glimpse of the darker parts of your life. My mother was diagnosed with bipolar about four years ago, and thankfully is returning to a normal life. It took her almost three years and a monthly tweaking of drugs for her to feel like a real person again after going into psychosis and ending up in the hospital. I think you’ve given me some perspective on what it is and was like that she may not be able to, so thank you again.
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As I have told you before, I connected with what you were experiencing while enduring my own illness.
It seems now like an inaudible track that played along with the music that only my heart could hear. It played a critical part in healing me, something which even now after telling you previously- is uncomfortable to write to you about.
You in part, saved my life. Yet I have no shame nor reservation in telling anyone whom I share an intimate conversation with of this.
And it is for that reason alone that I feel privileged to both know you better, and work together now.
One word: Love
Lots and lots of that going your way tonight, Jack.
~Dale
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Thanks my Sister in law is bipolar. Never thought some one famous could be going throught the same stuff. Thanks I’m printing this now for her and her mother to read.
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wow
thank you
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I don’t think I breathed once when I read that, since I knew it was coming. I’m proud of you.
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As you know, in the last six months I also went through a big ordeal, and if my parents knew just how hard it had been on me, I am quite sure they would both be camped out at my house this very moment. It is unfortunate that in times of need, sometimes the people who should be next to us holding our hands are nowhere to be found, which is the hard, sad lesson I was forced to learn. However, it also allowed me to see who my real friends were, as it probably allowed you to as well.
I completely echo Dale’s sentiment — it has been a real honour getting to know you — the kindness you have shown me in the last six months was unexpected, and has helped put some of my demons to rest. And while I hope your life is improving and that you are getting a handle on your disorder, if you ever happen to fall again, it would be my privilege to be around to help catch you.
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I’m glad you made it through okay, Matt. Thanks for sharing this with us.
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you have no idea what that post means to me, tonight of all nights.
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The stigma of mental illness is daunting…I applaud you for kicking stigma in the face and outing yourself and your secret world.
I find it extremely sad that anyone goes through life altered. I cherish your honesty and ability to share, it creates empathy the whole world needs and if it reaches even one person in need it is a gift worth giving.
Thank you.
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that was so human. thank you.
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Save for the details, I am amazed at how well I know your story. It’s such a shame that we can wander for years knowing that something is wrong but not be able to find answers or solutions. It is such a relief to receive a diagnosis that seems right, and such a challenge to begin a whole new life with a new set of rules.
You are right - if your post helps one person seek help or feel less alone (and that means you too, fellow co-dependent partners/family members)…well, you know.
Thank you.
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My respect and adoration only grow.
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I was initally quite speechless after reading that. I wanted to add Matt that since August of 2006 your collection of records has come to mean more to me than any other collection of music I’ve encountered and it has gotten me through some late nights and tough times of my own.
Your openness on your blog is refreshing and know that no matter what the future holds for you, because of your willingness to discuss your true feelings and be so open, you have a fan base that both love’s and respects you in a way that I don’t think any other musician can claim. I am glad to see that the diagnosis has helped you. Hopefully things will look up from here: true love will find you in the end.
Thanks Matt
And thanks to Matt’s family and friends who took care of him in his time of need).
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wow.
i read that a couple times to soak it in.. thanks for opening up to everyone Matt. It really does put personal life into perspective when it comes to a lot of trivial matters.
That being said i’m glad you have the artistic outlet to get a lot of this out into the open - and you can bet a lot of people here will be listening to Avalanche again with what you said in mind. People like you are an inspiration to those who struggle with any kind of illness on a day to day basis - to show that these kinds of things can be overcome and some degree of normality can be obtained is inspiring.
Glad you were able to get the help you needed, although as usual you hit the nail on the head with regards to the simple fact that many are unable to get that help. As you said though.. if your opening up helps even one person - its worth it - and from the comments previous to mine it looks like you’ve done an incredible job.
thanks again matt.. i truly mean that.
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After avoiding it for months I had to register after reading this entry. You’re music has meant a lot to me for quite some time. It’s incredible that you can be so open about something that must be heart rending for you.
I wish you all the best.
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…I don’t know what to say. I was at that show in Thunder Bay. Thank you for writing this blog…thank you for sharing.
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It’s as if you described a large part of me with this entry. So weird, in a way. I had to read it twice. The depression, the crippling anxiety, the pills, the alcohol. The echoing. So much of a reflection of my past year, I don’t really know what to say besides thank-you for this. I’m glad you’re still alive.
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Lots of love from the prairies.
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I’m glad you’re still here.
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I love that you can be that open Matthew. I teared up while reading it. Your music has helped me through many things over the years from very depressed times, to stress of school, to break-ups, and even good times like singing along with friends, and covering your songs with a band. You’re a genuine guy, and I have nothing but respect for you and everything you do. If I ever get the chance to meet you in person, I’d like to just shake your hand and say “thank you”.
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Thank you.
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You are one of the bravest men I have ever known but have never met. Thank you.
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Whoa. From one bipolar to another, thank you.
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nothing i can say will justify how much everything you do means to me.
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Wow. Thank you for sharing this. I’m very tempted to print this off for my Mother (who also has Bipolar Disorder), as she’s been going through a very rough time of it lately. I think this would help her see she’s not alone.
But knowing the root cause, believe it or not, is an immense comfort in many ways
Very true. Being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder last year, really helped me a lot. It was a relief to know that it’s not all my fault (as people lead me to believe), and that everything from those past 3 years could be explained.
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I hope that all of the love from the fans that frequent this site help you out just a little bit.
Thanks for sharing.
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Thanks for that.
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I should add that your patience and kindness on more than a couple of occasions gave me strength in its initial aftermath, and the resulting memories of feeling cared for, helped continuously propel me through instances where I may not have made it otherwise, or at least not made it through as well as I did. I have immense gratitude for what you’ve done for me personally, and others elsewhere.
Thank you.
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I am very proud of you, and I don’t even know you. I have walked down your path, but in my case suffer with unipolar. I’ve done psych ward, ativan & clonazepam addiction, anxiety, unemployment, shame, the whole deal. I understand. I’m glad you are finding some peace now. I, too, have found peace. Reading your blogpost makes me very proud. We need to talk about mental illness more, because it is such a hard thing to go through.
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Thank you so much for writing this….I realize it’s very personal in nature and must have taken a lot of strength to write. Also, you have an amazing gift for story-telling….it reads almost like a short story (that I’m sure you wish parts of were fiction). I’ve written you before when my brother was at the worst times with his bipolar disorder, and always recieved the best of help. I think I just found it so hard to understand how the person sitting in the psych ward that barely recognized me could be my brother. He was completely devoid of any personality or emotion…it was so difficult to see, especially since we were very close and he is an extremely outgoing person. I just remember panicking, feeling so afraid that he was trapped in this state of apathy forever. I thank you for writing entries like this, as painful as they are, because I think it truly helped me understand my brother a lot more. He can’t seem to put into words what happens when he goes through these spells, and what you describe is extremely similar; the words he can’t say. So thank you for giving me some insight that not everyone can express….and continue to get better. We’re all rooting for you!
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I’m very sorry that you’ve had to go through all this, Matt. I would go without ever having heard of you or knowing your music if it meant that you wouldn’t have had to endure this.
You talked about Avalanche. Would you say that even some of the more apparently political songs like Pledge and Catastrophe have a deeper, more personal meaning for you?
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I can’t stop crying.
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I’ve come and gone from this page several times, trying to decide if I should say something. I can’t pretend to know you or even to relate to what you went through.
I finally decided that what I can say is a simple thank you. Thank you for writing this entry. Depression runs wild in my family and may very well affect me at some point in my life. Words like these help immensely, if only as a window into someone else’s experience. I know I’m not alone. My mother can know she’s not alone. And my father can know, too.
I hope one day you will truly know how many people you have touched and how many lives you have changed, through your music and your words. I’m only one person, but I know there are many, many more out there.
Thank you.
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I can’t even pretend to understand what you’ve been through. I’m not bipolar, hell, I’m not even depressed, but I see a therapist on a regular basis.
I’m not sure if you intended this or not, but your post makes me glad that I never went to a psychiatrist. I’ve never believed that drugs are a cure-all, and I hope that you can move forward towards a future that sees you drug-free, and also depression-free.
In my own experience, I reached a point where I felt that I could no longer deal with my problems on my own, or with the help of my family. I needed to have the impartial, professional knowledge of a psychologist, which I still see monthly. It’s the best damn thing I’ve ever done.
Matt, you’ve helped me through some rough times. I might have killed myself ten years ago, if not for your music. I had no idea that you were going through all these things, and all I can say is that it is truly inspirational to read this now, after having been a fan for more than ten years. I’m sure that nothing I could say could remotely help, but I hope that you know that in spite of all your own personal trials, you’ve been a positive influence to more than a few of us. Maybe somewhere you can take that to heart, and use to to help yourself climb out of a deep hole.
Thank you for posting this, and thank you for being so brave, to post your own story with such honesty. You are an inspiration to me. I can only wish that I had the strength that you seem to exhibit on a regular basis.
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I send a manly cyber hug and traditional Lebanese kiss on each cheek to you, boyo…
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Thank you for sharing this.
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Thank you Matt
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Thank you.
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I wish I were as brave about it all. Thanks for this.
On a side note, that tour with Moist was the first time I saw you live at the show in Toronto, very close to Christmas. I remember the whole thing pretty well, including for some reason you directing Dave to get up on a monitor and play the opening riff from “Thunderstruck”.
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Matt,
You’re willingness to share this information with your fans, people who care about you deeply because your music has carried us through very difficult times and we owe you a lot, proves that you are one of the most sincere people that I have ever had the privilege of coming into contact with (however indirect). I find your honesty amazing, and it is something that we as fans appreciate.
I admire you for being willing to speak about your experience with Bipolarity, as I know it is a very difficult thing to discuss, as it is deeply personal. I am deeply impressed by your willingness to share this story as a means of exposing more people to what the realities of Bipolar Disorder are, as there are far too many people who accept the stereotypes surrounding it. This is absolutely a very important thing to do, as many people with different disorders and syndromes suffer because of misconceptions held about their disorders. I myself have Tourette’s Syndrome, and I have encountered a great many people who assume I will be an ignorant person who constantly interrupts because of the way my disorder is treated by Hollywood.
I value the trust you place in your fans in publishing this entry. You are entrusting to us something that is intensely personal to you, and through that trust we appreciate your struggles and your art more than ever, as we now know where it comes from.
I think you are the single most admirable person in Canada, if not the world.
Take Care Matt, and always remember that you have a solid fan community that will always be behind you, no matter what you choose to do.
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Well Matt, that’s a very big thing for you to do, putting this out for the world to see.
It’s my belief that “normal” people still aren’t ready to deal with this kind of stuff. To them, it’s crazy vs. not crazy. But you’ve reminded me that we shouldn’t clam up just because the world is still in it’s naivety with regards to mental illnesses.
I’m still not ready to face the world with what I go through on a daily basis, but maybe one day that will change. Heck, after reading this, I’m sure it will.
At any rate, all the best. Looking forward to the new album.
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True fans will really appreciate your openness and frankness about this. Difficult I’m sure to write, but I hope this takes a little weight off how you are perceived and received by the general public, but especially for fans. I know for a fact that I now have a greater appreciation for you for doing this.
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Matt, I have been a fan of yours from the beginning, and I always go to your shows when you come to Thunder Bay. If people laugh at what you just wrote, then they have a much deeper problem then what you have been enduring. I work in a Hospital and I have seen alot of shit, and I know for a fact that more bad then good happens in this place. You are a magnificent musician & songwriter, and an inspiration & hero to so many people. Paul Simon wrote, “Your time has come to shine.” Your time is now Matt. Your fans love you and always will.
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Matt:
A lot of courage taken to write that, I can’t even imagine. A big thank you to all the friends and family that helped, and are helping. We have lost a lot of talanted people in the past, due to airplanes, accidents and poor choices, and many other issues, and every day we ask “what could have been?”. Glad you are still here, educating and entertaining us in so many ways, and we don’t have to ask that terrible question. I am sure even with the above post, you have made a difference to a few.
I know its only echoing the above posts, but thanks for letting us know where you are. I’m sure Hospital Music will now sound a little different to us all, as will a few other albums.
Take care.
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I can’t say anything… I would like to give you a hug though…
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You are an incredibly brave person for putting this in the open for all to see, and I have to join the others here in thanking you for doing that.
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Matt, no words can express how much it means to me (as a fellow Bipolar) that you have taken the time to write in detail about your experience. It takes a great deal of strength and personal fortitude to open up about things of this nature in a public forum. I admire the fact that you have a great deal, and appreciate your willingness to do so.
Take care Matthew.
Adam
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Matt, thanks so much for sharing this. It took a lot of courage and it has only increased my admiration for you.
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All I can say is thank you. Being that I have a severe case of anxiety, I can somewhat relate. Just when I think I can’t respect you more, I do.
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Thanks for sharing..
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Even though I can’t fully appreciate all the things you’ve gone through because of your mental condition and the medications you’ve been taking, I am still thankful for having read this entry.
I had no idea what it would be like to go through all of that and I hope that things are looking up for you these days.
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didn’t read this yesterday. deep way to start a monday
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Matthew - Thank you for allowing us to know you better. I don’t know of another musician that puts themselves out there as much as you do. You say that you want to bring this problem to attention to help others - that’s so kind of you and if you reach only one person than you’ve done very well. I’m happy to know that you’re doing better and are now properly diagnosed.
Thank you for being you and letting us know you.
XOXOXOXO (just in case you needed a hug!!)
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thank you
warmest wishes
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I wish I could express in words everything that is going on in my head right now but I really can’t. I just sincerely hope that the future is nothing but peaceful, for yourself and everyone else in this world.
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Thank you so much for sharing Matthew.
very deep and very personal, I am sure it will impact many many people, not just one!
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As a sufferer of the illness, stories like this are extremely touching. When I found out that you suffered from the same thing I do, it gave me this unbelievable feeling. You have been a huge idol of mine for years and I always identified with your music and your writing without really knowing why. Knowing that you are Bi-Polar and that you are (in my mind) one of the most admirable and talented people on the planet has given me a hope that I can’t describe. It makes me think that my dreams of producing music that can help people, that can be affective, is not all that impossible. Most of all, knowing what you have gone through has made me feel sane, that is something I haven’t felt in years. So I suppose gratitude is in order, Thank you sir.
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The Fry doc, as well as this post has, in the deepest parts of me, helped immensely. Bipolar, for me, feels like gazing out the window of a lonely hotel room at the party down below… but also at times, like tapping into a universal energy and becoming higher than ever- which is addictive, despite the dangers. It’s the double-edged sword, I guess. The worse of it is that the loneliness is augmented by the fact that no one you hang around wants to deal with it, or learn about it… and after the initial rejection, it just amplifies the sense of isolation. So thank you for posting as much as you have about your affliction, because to me, there’s a few more people standing with me in the lonely hotel room, but instead of staring out the window at the party on the street, we can break out the vodka and have one ourselves.
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I hope this link works,
http://www.mercola.com/townofallopath/index.htm
I’ve been meaning to post it at MGB,org for a while. Just ignore the bit at the end where they try and sign you up for something. Oh and ignore the part where the Physical Therapists are cast in a negative light (I don’t spend my day ignoring root causes)
Joe
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You get better with age, Matt. Thank you for the honesty.
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remember Matt…Your fans never jumped ship. As you are here for us, we are here for you.
I pray for your continued success….
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While I wouldn’t pretend it’s the same thing, I had a life-altering experience caused by illness some 5.5 years ago.
In Fall 2001, while I was in college, I got sick and wound up in hospital for the better part of three months — September to November. The first half of my three month stint in and out of hospital was spent at home in Windsor and while I was hospitalized, I lost my vision completely in the span of three days. I had to drop out of school and my life was forever changed.
The second half of my hospital stint was spent an hour and a half from home in London, where they performed test after test on me without being able to find the cause for my illness — and they never did. Some of the tests were excruciatingly painful — electro magnetic studies where they shocked my spine basically comes to mind — and I was no closer to finding out the root of my problem. I had lost 30 pounds in this time period and I was fighting to survive.
I just want to note as well: Your album Audio of Being came out while I was in hospital and I remember getting my sister to buy it in October. It was the highlight of my stay in the hospital and I remember looking so forward to that — it helped me to have something to look forward to despite my illness. I will never forget the night-time rides to and from London with Man Of Action playing repeatedly while I laid across the back seats of our car.
Eventually I got healthier again on my own and I was released from hospital to try and figure out what I wanted to do with my new situation. In December however, I ended up back in hospital — this time in ICU for pneumonia. I got out just before Christmas.
I had to try and cope with vision-loss in the months that ensued while also trying to regain my strength. School seemed like a foreign notion to me at the time and I needed help from my parents to do something as simple as take a shower at that point. Some friends stuck around and helped me to cope with my loss, treating me no differently than before and — as I am sure you know — that means the world when coping with a life-altering diagnosis or situation. Some friends cut off all contact with me, including a girl I had professed to love only months before getting sick and landing myself into this mess. I spent several months just thinking about this and wondering if I would ever get back on my feet.
Eventually I accepted help from Canadian National Institute for the Blind — through suggestions from my mom — as I regained my strength. I had met with a worker there in January and was given a white cane but I refused to use it for the longest time. I don’t particularly remember why at the time, but I am sure sub-consciously I was reluctant to do it because I would be — in effect — admitting that I was different from others and that my life wouldn’t be the same; hell, I was only 19 and having to deal with this new situation that came out of nowhere. Finally it got to the point where I had to at least realize that I was only hurting myself by not accepting help and I contacted CNIB again.
They taught me how to use my white cane and also got me in touch with ODSP — Ontario Disabilities Support Program — to get assessed for a computer with accessible software for the blind: It narrates and you can scan pages that it will read to you. The internet was a large part of my life before losing my eyesight and I was on the computer all the time so this was huge for me. At that point I was using my cane and doing things for myself again — I’ll never forget how good it felt to take a shower by myself again — so it just helped to build momentum.
After getting my computer, my former boss for co-op in high school approached me about working for him. He had kept in contact with me while I was sick and came to visit me in the hospital even which was really an amazing thing. He trusted my abilities enough to let me oversee the e-mail newsletter for his website. Eventually we started posting articles about the community and this led to my interest in writing and journalism.
The woman who assessed me for a computer said I could be ready for college by fall 2003. Unfortunately, I slacked and didn’t get registered on time — there was no January intake of students that school year. In spring 2004, I tried to get in but the old head of the journalism program wouldn’t let me because she didn’t feel I could meet the requirements I needed in order to graduate — there are obviously photo and video editing classes. I asked if we could meet to talk about it and she refused to meet with me even, claiming she didn’t see where the conversation would lead to anything. I didn’t know what to do but by that time, my co-op teacher from high school had heard the news — a friend of mine was working at the school — and she had a contact with the college. He told me to apply anyway because they can’t turn someone down once they’re accepted.
So that’s just what I did.
I got accepted in 2004 and made arrangements with their success center — which helps students with disabilities. Before the semester started however, the chair of creative arts realized that I was blind and called me in for a meeting. In all fairness, she was one of the nicest people I’d ever met and if it weren’t for her I don’t think I would’ve been successful at getting into college. We eventually made a comprimise that I would take the classes I could in the program and be awarded with a general arts and sciences certificate — I just wanted to get in and figured I could fight later if need be.
The first year of college was a strange time. I was just coming out of a relationship so there were moments of depression and self-doubt, coupled with the need I felt to prove myself. I didn’t want it to be where I’d fought to get in and then turned out to be a complete moron. I took less classes per semester even and so my work load was lighter — even though it was heavy enough due to my disability. After the first year in journalism, I had a 3.8 GPA and was one of the best students in the class. I went through a stint in the hospital with pneumonia in Winter ‘05 but I persevered, made friends, and got straight A’s — except for two B’s. At the end of the semester, the new head of journalism (the one who refused my entry retired in the spring/summer of ‘04 when I was coming in, thank God) and head of creative arts were so impressed at my work that they fought to make sure that when I graduated I would get a journalism diploma.
All of the St. Clair College journalism faculty were outstanding and need to be commended for their willingness to accomodate me. For photo class, I simply did more theory and wrote assignments on how I would shoot a photo — since I could see before — and for video, I worked the switchboard for the cameras — just hitting camera 1, 2 etc… when I was told — and did written assignments there.
This June I am graduating from journalism. While in the program, I met my current girlfriend and we’ve just celebrated 1.5 years together which isn’t huge in the grand scheme of things I suppose, but we make one another happy and we plan on getting married. It was one hell of a battle but as with your story here, it shows that amazing things can come out of negative and heartbreaking life changes.
In my last semester I’ve worked with CNIB writing articles to promote their help and the ability of clients with vision-loss. It wasn’t until I read this post however that I was truly inspired to write my own story in hopes that it will raise awareness, help to fight stigmas attached to visual-impairments (we’re blind… not stupid) and to inspire those who need help with whatever they’re dealing with to seek it out.
Thanks for this entry Matt and I apologize for this long comment. Cheers!
-Marc
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Matt, have you ever been tested for celiac disease? Your vomiting and inability to gain weight are classic symptoms, and psychiatric disorders have been linked with celiac. It can definitely cause psychiatric symptoms.
Some stuff to look at;
http://psy.psychiatryonline.org/cgi/content/full/45/4/325
http://www.drkaslow.com/html/gluten-brain_connection_.html
http://www.healthcentral.com/bipolar/c/41/1689/celiac-disease/
http://ezinearticles.com/?Gluten-Free-Diet-Should-Be-Considered-For-Everyone-With-Neurological-And-Psychiatric-Symptoms&id=450571
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I spent too much time and many paragraphs trying to convey what I felt after reading your post, but I realized it would never truly express what was going through my head, so I leave it to this: thanks for being human, thanks for opening yourself up and letting a guy in Ottawa sneak a peek behind the curtain, and if I ever had the chance to call you friend, it would be an honour and privilage. You’re a hell of a human Matt, and an inspiration to many. You are appreciated for your honesty, bravery and candidness more than you realize.
Cheers,
Marc
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I commend you for your honesty and courage. By the sounds of it, you have touched many people. Thank you.
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Dammit. I always worry I am going to turn out like this and I hate to say it but I can relate to some of the things written here. But you’re great and I know some stranger typing it on a computer doesn’t mean fuck all, really. I hate to get all sappy and annoying, especially publicly, but the truth is a combination of things, including you (the music, the writing, etc) have kept me alive for longer than I would have thought. So, basically, again, you’re great, the end.
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Thank you.
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When you toured here I knew something was wrong. I finally know the emotions behind your facial expressions in my pictures from 6 years ago. If I was still 17, I wouldn’t understand. I’ve been a faithful fan since then and I’ve grown up and matured listening to your music and reading your prose.
I continue to wish you the best in life.
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I’ve been a long time fan and have been reading this blog every day for a long time. This is my first post and I just want to say thank you for your honesty and thank you for the music that, without a doubt, got me through some very tough, similar times. You will never lose these fans and friends.
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After your Sheridan show I sat outside your bus for about an hour, by myself, hoping you might come out. Raymi told me it wasn’t going to happen, so I wandered home through the forest wondering why. Now it’s all clear. Thank you for playing that show, and all shows. This entry was inspiring though I’m not sure that was your intent.
Take care of yourself.
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The saddest part is that you went through all this completely alone. You gave yourself to your fans night after night,even though you were almost dead. This post is the most inspiring thing i have ever read. I’m happy we still have you with us. Thank you for sharing yourself this way, hopefully this is a turning point in bipolar awareness.I love you matthew good.
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I hope that the fact that you feel compelled to share this at this time means that you’re making great progress with the disorder.
I can’t tell you how I loathe the fuckers who make such a ridiculous profit off of people who are sick and desperate for something to make them feel ok again. It’s bad enough to be marketing chemicals that will actually provide a false sense of contentment for a limited period, but to provide meds that don’t even come close to helping is just evil.
Best of luck Matt!
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It must have taken alot to let that out. Thank you.
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Your honesty is the best way that this morning could have started for me. Your entry inspired tears that will allow me to confront feelings I’ve suppressed for a while now. Imagining sharing my story as openly as you have yours would make me feel scared. I don’t know how to express myself here, but felt the need to say something.
Thank you.
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So…how does it feel to express all that? Theraputic?
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You do have a Guardian Angel watching over you….Matt.
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Thank you.
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I think you just saved a hundred people. And made me see you in a different light, though I already knew a fair amount of your story. I’m really proud of you, though it’s not my business to be.
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By giving this illness a voice you can take away some of it’s power and it can be easier to cope. I have found this true with my depression and I hope you feel that as you write about your issues.
I am truly inspired by you and Steven Fry and everyone elese that have shared their pain in order for others to learn more.
I find it interesting that this illness can go “un-noticed” in show business. How often has this been a caused sucess because creativity is a distraction.
Thank you for sharing and take good care.
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Thank you for sharing that. Looking back now, your words mean more to me than ever, and I can’t wait to see another show. Hospital music will surely be one for the record books.
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Thank you for your words.
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You’ve touched more people than you can possibly know; I wish there was some way to show you precisely how much. Hopefully the immense love that your fans have for you comes close to repaying you for years of honest inspiration. I love you so, so much.
This world is a better place because you are in it.
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I wish I knew what to say. Never having ever really dealt with this myself, I can’t say I can relate to it. However, based on the documentary and what you have written, it takes a lot of courage and strength to communicate this to us. For this, I thank you. I’m sure that this will help further inform and educate those of us who until now knew either very little or nothing of this illness. Understanding is key to all this.
Along with many others who’ve conveyed similar sentiment, you have my support as a fan and virtual friend in all this.
Be well, Matt.
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I’m so terribly sorry for everything you’ve endured Matt. I think your honesty in this sheds light on what I feel is a very important topic - the proper care and treatment of people with mental health conditions (primarily in this country).
There are a few occasions where I and my wife have individually or as a couple, have sought help. We’re not wealthy people - and until my company began offering an employee mental health line, finding the proper health and treatment was next to impossible.
It’s so sad that people have to get so far down the road, that it is almost too late to turn back before they can find help. I’ve suffered from Dysthymia for a long time now. I only found out about it after a rough time my wife and I suffered through. Help had been sought out before - but it took rock bottom to finally get it.
As a prominent person in this company - and being so open about your story, I would hope that this could begin shedding light on a real problem - getting people affordable mental health treatment. It is a bigger problem than most realize, and shouldn’t continue to be swept under the rug. It shouldn’t have taken me 10 years to find an affordable way to find a therapist, and get medication as well.
Hopefully a step in the right direction is taken soon. But until them, I am sorry for the pain everyone must suffer through. Life is hard enough as it is.
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All the best, Matt. Your fans are out here in the real and virtual worlds supporting you.
I have a relative who is bi-polar, and I can just imagine the turmoil in your life, especially in the last few years. You should be proud that amidst all the negativity and personal difficulties, you produced