BY JASON PARK
Growing up in a Korean-American family, I had the best of both worlds: my family was Korean, and my country was America. My father was a strong provider, and my mother doted on my brother and me. He and I both engaged with the three A’s of American culture: academics, athletics, and aesthetics. I was academically gifted in math and verbal skills, showed promise in lacrosse, and excelled on the piano. I also expressed curiosity in a fourth A: addiction. In high school, I started drinking and smoking.
When I left for Harvard, things got out of hand. The addiction became even more serious. I started using harder drugs almost daily. The academic course load escalated to 19th century German moral philosophy, starting with Immanuel Kant, to Hegel, to Marx and Engels, and ending in Nietzsche. I ended up facing academic stress and partying to excess at the world’s foremost university.
By graduation, I was clearly symptomatic. It took a firing from the corporate law firm I was clerking at, alongside constant struggle with abject misery and sky-high irritability, for my parents to nearly order me to see a psychologist and a psychiatrist. I followed their advice, and the two physicians concurred that I had bipolar disorder and prescribed therapy and medication.
I then went through a dark night of the soul. My father and I simply could not see eye to eye on anything. During one argument, I took a swipe at him with a golf club, which sent me to jail. I felt that our relationship ended at that point, but eventually I made amends with him and a new relationship was forged. Still, bipolar disorder continued to distort my moods. At yet another juncture, I refused to take my medication. The implications were disastrous and continued to strain our relationship.
However, not long after that, my father, to my utter astonishment, opened up to me about his older brother, my uncle whom I had never met. He had been kidnapped by the Communists during the Korean War, and presumably, perished. His last words were directed to my grandmother: “I’ll come back for you.” Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years, years to a lifetime of waiting. I saw my father’s strength in that story. The trauma of losing his brother could have easily given my father up to feelings of animosity, hatred, and revenge. But he made a different choice. He taught me and my brother to express love, benevolence, and compassion to our fellow human beings.
I struggled with learning to manage my mental health condition, but I believe my father’s love saved me. These days, we tell each other that we love each other. I even broke down crying recently, while talking to my father, because I realized that love really does conquer all. His love brought me back from the depression and from the mania, from all the toxicity and negativity. He still struggles to show his emotions to me; after all, Korean men of his generation do not openly show their emotions. But I feel comfortable showing my emotions and that has been lifesaving.
Of course, life isn’t just easy now. The bipolar disorder still colors my personality, but it doesn’t define who I am anymore. That is because I understand my place in the family and I know that I am loved. Now, I think of my bipolar disorder more like a personality quirk, and given my life history, how could I not have a few quirks?
Dr. Jason Park earned his BA with honors in philosophy from Harvard University and his PhD in strategic management from the University of Pittsburgh. He was a professor in Hong Kong first before returning to the U.S. to teach at the University of Southern California. He is now a writer based in Los Angeles. His memoir, “Bliss + Blues = Bipolar,” which details his twenty-year old recovery from bipolar disorder, is available at amazon.com in print and in Kindle. In his free time, he volunteers for The Stability Network, the Depression & Bipolar Support Alliance, and the National Alliance on Mental Illness.