On June 19th, a dear friend died of a drug overdose. He was diagnosed as bipolar some time ago. Of course, as with most people diagnosed with such a mental illness, he was in denial for a long while. During his manic stages, he was the liveliest person you'd ever want to meet, especially to those that does not know him.

Typically, when he was down, he sure was in the gutter. Since he wouldn't take his meds properly, he was constantly up and down.

A month before he passed, he stayed here with me so I was able to get a real, upclose view of how this effects them. It was so sad. We would be sitting in the kitchen or where ever, laughing and talking and suddenly, he'd be extremely sad, sometimes with tears.

In just the four days that he was here, I felt such sorrow for the families and especially the spouses of bipolars that wont get therapy or pharma-therapy.

I loved him as a friend but he'd been my lover so I mourn his death from several perspectives. At first I felt a sense of guilt and then sorrow and then I felt the lost of a lost friend.

Most of my tears came from thinking about how it must have felt for such an intelligent man to have to suffer so, not knowing what to do and denying himself the ability to admit that he had a real, serious, obviously, deadly problem.

No one could tell him anything in either state. When he was sad/manic he was too extreme to hear what was good for him. I've heard this but it never really hit home until he died while in one of those states after having spent time around him.