I knew it then and there with all the sagacity of one uncorrupted by life experience.

The world that fall had irrevocably altered - a tectonic plate shift - a movement of the heavens and the earth that had the ground and everything on it vibrating to a new frequency. Nothing would ever be the same again.

History, of course, would prove me right.

We had just moved into a new house in a new neighborhood cleared out of woods and old pasture land in central Connecticut. I didn't know it then, nor did the rest of my family, but we were making history every bit as significant as the Coming of Elvis.

In moving out of their old Irish Catholic neighborhoods back in Springfield, Massachusetts - actually a series of moves over eight or nine years - my parents, along with the millions of others of their generation, had taken us to the uncharted shores of a brave new world, an immigration every bit as significant as the ones associated with the Potato Famine and Ellis Island, and I can sum it up in one phrase: Jewish people next door.

With simply this to add: Italians next to them, followed by Irish again, two origins undetermined, German-Jews, WASPs - you get the picture. Whites were integrating. We were never just white.

It was then and there, in my new neighborhood, just as white America was in the process of becoming one, that I realized I was different.

Our new house backed onto second growth woods which abutted pasture land not yet slated for the bulldozer. I had made friends with Bobby, who was my age. Thanks to Bobby, I fell in with his older brother Billy and his friends. The woods in back, together with all the house construction going on, amounted to our adventure playground.

Had this been 1955 instead of 1956, I might have passed for normal. But "Hound Dog" blew my cover. I couldn't just splash through the mud or climb trees or kick through smoldering piles of raked leaves or jump off half-finished garage roofs into conical piles of sand like the rest of the kids. No, I had to stop and savor the moment as I gyrated my body and yelled out, "Y'aint nothin' but a hound dog!" at the top of my lungs.

There was something about the song that put me in a different place, that temporarily stopped the sun and suspended gravity and lifted me into a different realm. The shrinks have a name for it. Peak experience, they call it.

My new older buddies were not slow to recognize the amusement value in my antics, particularly when yet a new Elvis song came to my notice, "Hard Headed Woman".

So it happened that one day we headed home from a far-flung corner of our great vast adventure playground, needing only to cross the bull pasture to get back in time for the "Spin and Marty" episodes on "Mickey Mouse". Okay, I confess, it could have been "Corky and White Shadow" or the "Hardy Boys", but "Spin and Marty" with its Triple-R Ranch and kids doing dangerous things on four-legged animals seems altogether more appropriate to a story involving a six-year old Elvis fan and a herd of bulls. Probably they were just steers, but that sort of distinction would have escaped me at the time.

Anyway, here were all these bulls on the other side of an electric fence, casually munching grass or else taking their afternoon siestas while the flies enjoyed a field day making their lives miserable.

We were standing there, just watching, when the topic of rodeo bulls came up. At first, this was an abstract discussion. Then Billy happened to mention what a pathetic lot these particular bulls were. No horns, just munching on grass, lying down, waiting to become steaks, too lazy to even chase the flies away.

You could see where this conversation was heading. Now I could vault the fence in a second without getting an electric shock, but Bobby had thoughtfully lifted the bottom wire with a stick so I could crawl under.

No challenge from the animals. So far so good. I looked over to my friends, who reassured me with Elvis gestures. I picked an animal that seemed popular with the flies, and without giving the matter a second thought straddled one leg in the air over the reclining beast. I thought this would impress my friends, but half of them were gesturing me to sit while the others were gyrating to "Hard Headed Woman".

A brief note of explanation here. I've always had difficulty picking out the lyrics to any song. Words to me have always been a sort of abstract spoken texture to the music, so I usually made them up as I went along. Thus "Hard Headed Woman" became:

"She's a hard headed woman, a soft-hearted man," (so far, so good), "there she goes, rockin' rollin', in a garbage can."

A few more bars in and I would dispense with the English language entirely. "Shrinka-shrinka-shrinka, oh yeh," fit the bill quite nicely.

So now you can picture the entire scene: Me with one leg straddled over a thousand pounds of future ground chuck - who was barely paying me any notice, by the way - looking over to my friends on the other side of the fence for reassurance, one of them urging me to sit while the others approvingly sang out, "shrinka-shrinka-shrinka," which I took to be a good sign.

I shifted my weight and the leg came down. Instantly the horizon dramatically changed. I was high above it and the scenery was moving. I didn't wait to see how this would turn out. I jumped off, but without kicking off. Somehow, I willed myself into the air, and when gravity reasserted itself I landed like a cat, found my bearings, then dived through the fence with a precision and athleticism that would have put Jim Brown, the best running aback in all history, to shame. Chalk one up to the brain's flight-or-fight center. Mine checked out just fine.

My first thought - once the luxury of thought returned - was that I had somehow not lived up to the faith my friends had in me. I had bailed out, aborted the mission in mid-flight. I was nothing more than a scaredy cat, which is the worst fate that can possibly befall a kid, particularly one looking for approval from the older boys. I gathered myself on the ground, trying to hide my shame, then stood up to face the music.

But instead of the barrage of ridicule that I expected, I gazed up into expressions of amazement and disbelief, the kind of looks that might have greeted me had I just emerged from a pool of crocodiles. In other words there was no way my older buddies were going to do what I did, not in a million years, not even to show me how easy it was.

How could I be so stupid? I suddenly realized, feeling my face go red. What idiotic thing would I do next? Stick my hand in a running lawn mower? Suppose something had happened? Suppose I had got these bulls really angry? Suppose I had set off a stampede?

Bulls on the patio, bulls in the flower beds, bulls crashing down houses and trampling babies, here in this brave new world that our parents had created. No, it didn't happen, but suppose my friends turned me in? Okay, the law might let me off with a warning, but what about my parents? Maybe I should just start running right now.

But it was the prospect of school the next day that frightened me the most, for here I knew with absolute certainty what fate had in store. Humiliation before my peers, forever branded as the moron too stupid to stay away from danger. I could see those big fifth and sixth graders now - hey, kid, come here - not to mention those in my own class. Even the kindergartners would show me no mercy.

But none of my friends were laughing. If I were red, then they were pale. I was safe, I realized, much to my infinite relief. Turning me in, after all, would only draw attention to themselves, brand them as accessories for egging me on, expose them to the same ridicule, get them into even worse trouble than me. This was serious business, and it was all taking place on the unspoken level.

It never happened, simple as that. That was the silent pact we made. We wouldn't talk about it, even amongst ourselves. We wouldn't even think about it. It was as if we had the power to take those last few minutes back. By the time I got home it was even a secret from me.

But one thing had irrevocably changed. I knew that I was different, that the momentary terror I had felt on that back of that bull had been nothing compared to that fear in my gut over being singled out for ridicule for the rest of my life. Sure, it didn't eventuate, but the warning had been sounded. I had been given a little foretaste.

In the meantime, I still had a few carefree years ahead of me. Elvis would later go into the Army, and when he came out the world would once again be different. And so would he. And so would I.

McMan's Note (Feb 28): Don't try any of the above at home.

Fred Shoemaker (March 29, 2001): Well said! But more insight is needed!

McMan (March 29): It's my story, Fred. I get to choose how much insight is needed.

Suzanne Markov (Sept 1, 2001): I wonder how often dare-deviltry is a childhood - and later - sign of an eventual diagnosis of bipolar disorder. It often is left out of lists of signs and symptoms. It took me many years to recognize that his extreme risk-taking was a clue that had been there at least fifteen years before my son was diagnosed bipolar at age 24. I also wonder if it is not that same willingness to risk all that leads many bipolars into difficulties with the law (wild driving even if not drunk, for example), lost friendships (absolutely insulting - and usually totally undeserved - verbosity toward nearest and dearest friends and relatives). I also wonder if this is a sign more common among men than women who bear this diagnosis. Non-compliance with meds could also be viewed as a kind of dare-deviltry, no?

Veronica (Oct 1, 2002): I truly admire your article. I felt connected to you immediately. I too was bi polar in early childhood. My friends and family called me hyper and emotional. In junior high I started carving in myself. I think it was a way to escape the emotional pain. Thanks for revealing your story with us.

Kevin (Dec 30, 2002): I always knew I marched to the beat of another
drum. But it wasn't until my (now ex wife) read the Nick Traina story by Danielle Steele, that she admitted that there was something not right.
Only after the suicide attempts, risky living spending excess money, months of depression that she mentioned it.
I was swimming in a pool that had no ladder to get out. And I now wonder as her husband, maybe just maybe she could have got help for me. your story also highlights things for me as a kid. Growing up I was so destructive. My ex wife used to say to me It was like lighting a fuse and then standing back and seeing what would happen.

My doctor just put me on Lithium and Tegretol combination. My last attempt at leaving this planet was Nov 12 this year. I never hear from my family now. I have books and books of poetry on the way I feel about them. Some of it is quite dark and to the point.

Enjoy the last few days of 02/and welcome to 03 bye for now and safe holidays I live in NEW ZEALAND.

Renae (Jan 28, 2003):  Oh my!  That sounds so much like my son!  If I had known about such grandiose, risky, devil may care behavior and attitudes being attributed to bipolar syndrome he would have gotten treatment much, MUCH earlier in his life and avoided several years of substance abuse and dangerous lifestyle choices.  He thought he was invincible!  Everybody loved him and his crazy antics!!  And he basked in that limelight!  Problem was, he wound up basking in jail, and emergency rooms.

Now he is on Zyprexa, Neurontin, Zoloft, and Lorazepam.  He "just says "NO!" to his Bipolar brain and sees it as a separate entity to his true self.  At the age of 19 he is living in Nome, Alaska, being considered for a management position at his workplace, working on his first novel, and has gotten his GED with a score so high the college said it was better than the top 10% of graduating highschool seniors nationwide.  I call that a success story.  Too bad we didn't catch it before he went full blown manic on us!  I was just recently diagnosed with Bipolar (rapid cycling).  Now we know where he got it...  wish me luck, as I am going through my own personal struggle, and it is no fun.

Matthew: (Feb 28, 2003):  I am now 32. It seems I had the same childhood as you. I was just diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I spent nearly 2 years on increasing levels of Zoloft and Xanax with no change. I am on my third day of no sleep and very little food. I find it somewhat comforting to hear that others have had the same experiences I suddenly don't feel like the lone ranger anymore. I was just put on Depakote and I am prying that things will get better.

P.S. I refer to myself as the Drill Instructor when I go off on my little excursions of the mind.

Eleanor: (April 28, 2003):  I am Bipolar 1 and was diagnosed in 2000.  As a child I was a teacher's pet. I skipped the second grade and made A's until I hit high school. I don't ever remember being a dare devil, not the way you describe. I was a chronic daydreamer and often did my homework minutes before it was called for instead of at home.

But I do remember feeling that I was different and didn't fit in.  I hung around with a group of nerds (precious nerds) from 3rd grade until graduation from high school.  They made being different bearable.

Was I bipolar as a child or not? I don't know.

McMan (April 28):  Hi, Eleanor.  My guess is that most of us can trace certain aspects of our illness back to our childhoods, even if it didn't manifest itself in all its fury. Off the top of my head, I think there's been some studies on this.

Misty (June 29, 2003):  I can relate to your childhood, I was always noted as the problem child in my family. As an adult I would go from wild tangents where I would be on top of the world and maybe after about 3-4 days of feeling exuberant. I would go out and spend money and had all the confidence in the world. I can't tell you how many business ideas and BIG dreams I have had when I am manic and then the depression would hit. Promises to myself and to others would be broken continually because during the manic phase I would make these commitments and then alter them when I wasn't up to it during depression. The guilt form the broken promises created more depression and the cycle continued. I have recently been placed on Zoloft and Trileptal. It seems to be working I am now working on changing behavioral patterns that I would use.  Being okay with normalcy is still challenging and I do have backslides into the crazies mainly with the excuse I was bored with my normal life. Thank you for this website.

Windy (Aug 20, 2003):  I always knew I was different my parents had told me so. I was told I broke figurines and dishes climbing in the pantry. The stories about living in the two-family flat with me climbing on the outside edge of the porch and going into the attic and climbing out the window . I could not get along with the girls next door I was not allowed in their yard? But could get along with the girl downstairs. I recently have been diagnosed with bipolar.. but other than childhood my extremes have been very low I really need some feed back and direction for I am still having difficulties and about to be homeless in a few days which I discovered was a par for the course thing in the hospital I was in.

Geena (Dec 25, 2003):  I knew that I was different at a very early age.  In Catholic school, I questioned religious theories.  My questions were met with the "we have a heretic here" response.  Childhood was pretty painful.  I was an outsider who was bored constantly.  My parents tried to keep me involved in activities, but nothing really kept me interested.  My room and books provided my safe haven.

High school was the worst time for me.  People singled me out for ridicule, and I just took it on the chin.  Fortunately, I excelled at academics without paying much attention.  I got drunk on graduation day so that I could survive the commencement ceremony. 
My social anxiety emerged during my years in high school, and it still remains.

I have a bachelor's degree, an advanced degree, and a good job.  Somehow, all of these things can't make me happy.

Unfortunately for me right now, I am trying to become stabilized on medications.  I was diagnosed with Bipolar I recently after a manic episode.  Luckily, I didn't cause any trouble or end up in the hospital.  Mania was a process that started with heavy drinking  and sleep deprivation earlier in the summer.  The weird thing is that I have had to deal with the remnants of the mania and the nagging feeling that life will always be different for me now.

After a recent depression, I have learned to accept the fact that I love life and will accept the future as it unfolds.  

Thank you for your stories.  They provide hope for me.

Kristen (March 7, 2004):  I'm writing this message after reading the " when i knew I was different " article. i was just diagnosed with bipolar disorder 2 days ago and im not sure why im so shocked and upset over it, I have a huge history of family mental illness. but back to when i knew I was different, I don't know that i ever did anything "daredevilish", except maybe with my bike and walking along the top edges of a 3 story high deck, but I used to believe that a family somewhere on another planet was watching me everyday like a movie, when I was alone I would be constantly aware of these people, and I didn't feel so alone then. i enjoyed it. my recklessness now consists of spending money I don't have and running up bills and ruining my name and my husbands. I have 2 children and love them very much but I look back now and I realize that getting pregnant at the age of 16 was part of my recklessness. I know this because I planned it. at the time I saw it as taking a risk, luckily im still with the same man 9 years later and have a good relationship when im not screaming, yelling, throwing things, crying, or laughing for no reason. I've been put on Wellbutrin xl and i don't think its helping, I feel no better and sadly I don't want to lose the high i feel when im extremely happy or even mad. is that weird? anyway, anyone who wants to read this I just thought id share. thanks for your site.

Cathy (May 21, 2004):  In response to Kristen - I missed the highs.  But I do not miss the chaos that resulted from my highs.  It's taken a while to come to terms with that, though.  Also, regarding meds, I am Bipolar I, and was misdiagnosed during a depressive phase as having just depression.  I was then put on an anti-depressant which eliminated my depression, but my rages and risk taking were still terrible.  It was not until I was properly diagnosed and went on a mood stabilizer (and discontinued the anti-depressant) that my both my depression and mania got under control.  Keep talking to your doc; sometimes you have to try several meds or combos of meds before you find what works for you.  It took me 1 antidepressant, 3 mood stabilizers, and an anti-psychotic before I found the combo that works for me.

In regards to the article, I was a HUGE risk taker.  Fast cars, motorcycles, inappropriate behaviors in inappropriate places, unprotected intimate encounters, skydiving, bungee jumping - anything adrenaline producing, I was into big time.  Now that I'm "stable", I can't imagine doing the things I used to crave.

Nichole 4/6/05:  I live each and every day with a fiancée who was diagnosed about 2 1/2 to 3 years ago as having Bipolar disorder. It has been such a long and hard struggle to understand the disorder and try to maintain a "normal" lifestyle with him. Over the past few years he has been on Zyprexa which has helped him tremendously and he has been able to maintain this "normal" life. We have been living with each other for about 2 years and have two beautiful children together. I have seen him change so much and I hope that he continues to make progress in his quest to be happy. I am so glad that you have this web site, it let's me see that he is not alone. I commend you for stepping forward and sharing your life story with everyone and giving us hope that we can go on with our lives. Thanks!!!!!!!