Removing face tattoos leads to bipolar diagnosis, stable employment

Just looking in the mirror each morning caused Billy Gibby to feel deep sadness. It was depressing. He believed he looked like a monster. He saw a scary appearance that he knew was not an accurate depiction of who he was inside.

“I did not really even like tattoos, but I was desperate for money and so I did it,” he said without even attempting to hide the bitter shame the decision brought him as he spoke about it. “I sold the space on my face.”

Web addresses for porn sites were displayed on his cheeks, casinos and gun stores on his neck and penny auction websites on his bald head.

He didn’t like what he saw.

And he knew it was his doing.

His fault.

His choices had gone very wrong and they haunted him each time he brushed his teeth or checked his appearance. Each time he shaved or washed his face, he was reminded of what he did to keep a roof over the heads of his wife and five children.

The first face tattoo came after he was fired from yet another job. He doesn’t remember which one.

The man who had distinguished himself in the Thursday Night Fights at the Egan Center with his name legally changed to HostGator Dotcom – another financial decision he’d like to undo – couldn’t keep a day job.

The rent was due and the kids needed food and clothes.

He already had casino names covering his back. He thought perhaps an advertiser would pay him well for space on his face.

At the time, it seemed like the best solution. Some paid him $1,000 for a spot on his face; others up to $5,000 and a couple only $500 because he was more desperate for money than they were for advertising space.

As time marched on and Gibby’s decision to donate a kidney to a woman he did not know that was experiencing kidney failure took him out of the ring.

“You really shouldn’t fight with just one kidney,” he said.

His bad-ass appearance – once an advantage for his fighting appearance – was not helpful outside the ring.

“People wouldn’t hire me,” he said. “They didn’t want someone with a tattoo on their face and especially the tattoos I had.”

He became more depressed. He said he felt suicidal. He cried. He couldn’t go on his kid’s school field trips because his facial appearance was offensive. When he went shopping, others steered clear of him and store owners monitored him extensively.

“The loss prevention people followed me all the time,” he said. “People looked at me as if I was going to kill them. I hated that. It hurt me because I am not like that.”

He knew he needed help, but he also had limited resources.

In what he thought was a last-ditch effort at finding help; he went to the Anchorage Community Mental Health Services, Inc.

It turned out to be his first step toward healing.

He applied for a mental health grant to begin the excruciating and expensive process of having the tattoos removed from his face.

Staff at ACMH suspected Gibby might be undiagnosed bipolar.

Not being able to maintain a job is a tell-tell signs of bipolar.

As Gibby talked with staff, other symptoms quickly emerged including the mood swings from mania in which a person can be highly productive to the deep debilitating depression that can leave a bipolar patient emotionally paralyzed; hopeless – as if they are stuck in a rut.

“I had no idea I had bipolar,” he said. “Getting that diagnosis made all the difference.”

As he began therapy and medication, Gibby’s daily routine “normalized” over the next few months.

It was time to begin a regular job. It was with ACMH as a courier delivering medical records to various offices across the Anchorage Bowl.

It was a dream come true for Gibby: a steady job that paid with supervisors whom not only understood his mental health but also accepted and supported it by keeping him focused on the job description, his meeting those expectations and encouraging reminders to remain on his medication and attending therapy sessions.

“It was the first time in my life that I was successful at doing and keeping a job,” he said.

Gibby’s success led him to another position within ACMH in the peer support department. Here he was given a chance to do what he always wanted to – help others. He was sharing his story – its despair and its growing triumph – with newcomers to ACMH. He was a living example of how one can overcome obstacles – even the ones self-placed. He openly shared his bipolar diagnosis and told incoming clients and patients not to be ashamed of what they are facing.

“Getting that bipolar diagnosis was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said. “It was a relief. I was so worn out from one day feeling just great and then the next feeling so sad that I didn’t want to live. I thought it was just me being weak. It was a relief to finally have a reason for what was happening and what I was feeling.”

He spent two years in peer support before being promoted to his current position as a mental health aide. His work days involve accompanying others to therapy sessions, to pick up medication, to job interviews and to fill out social services paperwork.

He goes on the school field trips with his children ages 14, 12, 9, 8 and 7.

He’s noticed people greet him with a smile now rather than a distrusting scowl.

He has donated 23 gallons of blood to the Blood Bank of Alaska and is a member of the agency’s hall of fame with his picture on the wall in the foyer.

He intends to attend college and earn a degree that would facilitate him to progress in the social services field. He is living proof that human social services work, he said.

He hopes the stigma lessons he learned as a man whose face was covered in tattoos are ones he can accurately communicate to others.

The old adage “don’t judge a book by its cover” applies to Gibby and his experience.

“People judged me because of what was on my face, but they didn’t know who I was inside,” he said. “I had no criminal record. But I was at rock bottom when I made those choices. I want people to know that when you are at rock bottom, you still can rise from it. Do not give up hope because there are folks out there that want to help. There is redemption.”

Author’s Note: Read more about the Anchorage Community Mental Health Services, Inc., online at www.acmhs.com. The agency is physically located at 4020 Folker Street in Anchorage. Phone 907-563-1000.