My passion for writing began in 2015 when I was asked to assist in ghost writing press releases for a private company. This positive experience inspired me to seek out other opportunities to use my writing skills. I decided to write a memoir because I want to share my lived experience of thriving despite having bipolar disorder. I then went on to have two of my short stories, several blogs and one article published.
In 2019, I was accepted into the Author Development Program at the Alexandra Writer’s Centre Society. I was mentored by Pam Clark, author of Kalyna, and completed my manuscript for my memoir, Brain Betrayal: The Allan They Never Met by the end of the program in 2020.
There is an excerpt from my book at the bottom of this page and you can listen to other excerpts from my book on my podcast The Bipolar Disorder Moment. Click on any of the buttons below to be redirected to my podcast.
Published Work
The Kerby News, the largest publication for older adults in Southern Alberta with an estimated 30 000 readers has published one article and two stories I have written.
June 2019 First Woman to Ride a Bicycle in Her City
January 2018 The Battle Cry of The Slug
March 2018 The Slugs Fight Back
I have had several blogs published by the International Bipolar Foundation.
Supporting a Friend in a Bipolar Depressive Episode
Bipolar Depression vs Situational Depression
Courses taken at the Alexandra Writer’s Centre Society
How to Amp Up Your Manuscript
How to Right Memoir When Your Story is Difficult (Part 1 and 2)
Author Development Program
Creative Writing Basics
Online Presence:
Blog: bipolarweekly.com
Podcast: The Bipolar Disorder Moment
Facebook: Allan Cooper@bipolarweekly
Instagram: acooperwrites
Quora: Allan Cooper
Selected Professional Development
Toastmasters International, Member
I have won several awards at speech competitions put on by this international educational program that empowers people to refine their public speaking skills.
August 12, 2020 Blogging and Podcasting for Beginners
June 17, 2020 Using Social Media in Business
September 15, 2021 Grammar Refresher
August 18, 2021 The Keys to Effective Editing
March 17, 2021 Write Fiction Like a Pro
May 15, 2019 Research Methods for Writers
October 17, 2018 Creating WordPress Websites
September 2018 Writeriffic: Creative Training for Writers
December, 2016 Write Your Life Story
November, 2016 How to Make Money From Your Writing
Excerpt from my yet to be published book, Brain Betrayal: The Allan They Never Met.
Set up: This excerpt from my book describes the first time I left the psychiatric ward after being admitted because of a Bipolar Manic Episode. I had my first episode in Japan, and I was brought back to Calgary. The story starts with my brother, Arthur, and I returning to the ward after a weekend pass.
After a weekend pass, Arthur brought me back to the ward and I went to sign in. I could not find my name on the white board. I turned to the desk and my nurse was looking at me.
She said, “Dr. Patel says you’re ready to be discharged.”
The day had finally arrived when I got to leave the hospital, but I was surprised that my reaction was not one of joy. I could barely breathe, and I felt like I was going to throw up. This system is so screwed up. When I was happy and feeling great, I had no choice but to be imprisoned by the “thought police.” Now, that I can barely move around, and I am bombarded with thoughts of suicide, I am, “well enough”, to leave. I don’t want to leave.
I had been living on the psych ward for three months against my will and it had become like home to me. I had meals cooked for me every day and I had friends and a girlfriend. The activities lost appeal to me when my mood crashed, but the psych nurses were always available for emotional support. I forgot that life outside the hospital existed.
I went to my room to pack. Arthur had bought me a large black hockey bag when he realized I only had plastic grocery store bags to keep my meagre possessions. I started to put books and clothes in the bag but for some reason I just could not do it. I was confused. I sat on the bed and I felt like someone hit me in the face with a frying pan.
My five-year plan to become bilingual is over. What am I supposed to do with my life now? I don’t have a job, or the possibility of becoming bilingual. I am living in the city I was determined to escape from and now I am trapped here for reasons beyond my control. It does not matter what I try to do, I will always be stuck in misery.
These thoughts bombarded my brain leaving little cognitive power to complete the simple task of filling the hockey bag with a small locker full of personal items. After about an hour, I heard my nurse on the other side of my draped enclosure telling me I needed to hurry up. Then, an hour later, she returned with the same warning with the volume of her voice slightly raised. I was not trying to stall. My brain and arms were not obeying my intention of packing the bag.
After another hour, the nurse entered my room again and I saw her shoes under the drapes. She said, “Allan, can I come in?”
“Yes.”
When she drew back the curtain, she saw me standing there with my bag on the bed open but only a couple of things in it. My hands were shaking as I tried to slowly put one item at a time into the bag.
“Oh dear,” she said tilting her head a bit to the side and letting out a sigh, “Let me give you a hand.”
She put her hand gently on my arm and took the book from me. She said, “It’s okay. I can do this. Just have a seat on the bed.”
I sat down with my gaze fixed out the window of my room. The nurse said, “Look, this is going to be hard. Especially, the first couple of months of getting used to life outside of the walls of the hospital.”
I nodded.
She zipped up the bag and said, “I wish I could tell you that things will be easy after that, but I can’t. This is going to take you some time to recover from. But Allan,” she put her hand on my shoulder and when I looked up, she said, “You will recover from this.”
She carried the bag to the front and handed it to Arthur. She gave me my belt and shaving razor back, that were taken from me when I was admitted to the ward. She gave me a piece of paper that had an appointment to see my psychiatrist at his office written on it as well as community resources to help me with life out of the hospital.
All the nurses said goodbye and “Take care of yourself.” I felt a sense of panic. How am I going to survive without their support?
Then, we stepped through the doors to leave the psych ward, and my connection to Japan was officially severed. When I arrived on the psych ward, I weighed one hundred and sixty pounds, I was making excellent money and I felt confident I was going to realize my dream of becoming a Japanese interpreter. When I left the psych ward, I weighed two hundred and twenty pounds, I had no money and I was walking into the abyss of having no path in life.
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