Overall my experience has left me with a sense of a life not fully lived.

That's Eric Kloth, then in his upper 30s, telling how mental illness had robbed the essence of his identity.

This is a man who finished at the top of his class at Wauwatosa East High School and graduated with honors at Marquette University. He and the people who loved him expected a life of great accomplishments.

During his final year at Marquette, after a broken relationship, Eric sank into a depression so dark that he tried to take his life. Doctors put a label on what was happening to him: bipolar disorder.

Upon receiving medication, things improved, but then my lifelong struggle began.

Just months into his law school studies at Syracuse University in 1991, it became apparent Eric would not be able to cope or keep up with the rigorous demands. His dream of working in international law in shambles, he came back home to Wauwatosa and a 20-year battle with the crippling illness.

His diagnosis was broadened to schizoaffective disorder. He had begun to hear voices.

When I become symptomatic, I am convinced I am talking to angels and demons, or to dead poets or dead movie stars. I might think I am a psychic or some kind of world leader who is the target of the CIA.

You'll notice that Eric is helping me tell you his story. During the final years before his mysterious death this past May, he had figured out a way to make his mark. He spoke to groups about what it felt like to be him, what millions of mentally ill people live with every day, and how we can look at them through wiser and more compassionate eyes.

Today begins Mental Illness Awareness Week in recognition of the efforts of the National Alliance on Mental Illness. Many of Eric's speaking appearances at universities, churches and other venues were made on behalf of the Greater Milwaukee chapter.

"Eric did probably more than anybody for us," said the group's executive director, Peter Hoeffel, who became friends with Eric. "For him, before his illness hit, he was pursuing a very lofty legal career and always wanted to be able to give back. I think he really found this as his way to feel connected to the university and to educating people. He saw himself as he was, an educator."

Eric is the oldest child of Doris and Luther Kloth, both teachers themselves. He was a curious and intelligent boy who at age 6 turned his house into a dinosaur museum and invited all his first-grade classmates over for a tour.

"By 4 he said the alphabet backwards, knew all the Canadian prime ministers at 6, he could count by all series to 100, then counted backwards just for kicks," his mother wrote in a poem that was read at his funeral.

"He was voracious and digested everything. When we tried to have him play with friends, he would say, 'I am glad that is over. Can I go back to my books and my writings again?' "

Eric was accomplished on the cello and piano, and he spoke French. His interest in history, literature, philosophy and theology became a passion. College friend David Kolpak recalled him as supersmart with an appreciation for the absurd. "Eric could quote more Monty Python lines than anyone I'd met," he said.

Eric was on and off his medications over the years, causing his behavior to turn bizarre and challenging the patience of family and friends. But the powerful anti-psychotic pills caused him to sleep much of the day and dulled his senses.

He gained a lot of weight and developed a heavy cigarette habit. He rarely smiled and told his mother his sense of humor seemed to have disappeared.

There were jobs - dishwasher, telemarketing, sales - but they never lasted long. There were many hospitalizations and some scrapes with the law. The illness grew worse over time.

This disorder causes me to make poor decisions which can cause havoc with my family and friends. By being impulsive I have made many spur-of-the-moment inappropriate decisions, especially while I am in a mania. I tend to make many phone calls with bizarre messages that confuse the recipients. Some of the worst decisions have been various road trips that I have not been prepared to take.

But the people who loved Eric stood by him. His illness and welfare dominated family life for his parents and two siblings, Dana and Diane, who idolized their big brother growing up. Eric lived with his parents but also was able to live on his own with some success in apartment or boarding house settings. It took years but he was finally approved for Social Security disability benefits and hospitalization coverage.

I don't want mental illness to define who I am. I resent being called mentally ill as if that is my identity. I prefer being known for who I am, a normal guy who has an illness he is struggling with.

In spring, Doris and Luther Kloth cut short a trip to Israel and rushed home. Eric's body had been discovered in the Summerfest lagoon. He drowned, but the medical examiner could not determine if it was an accident or suicide. He was 41.

Doris thinks her son, a strong swimmer, was led to the water by the voices. Eric himself had told his audiences that his three suicide attempts came because voices threatened him and pushed him to the brink of insanity.

His car was found near S. 1st St. and Greenfield Ave., so it's likely he walked to the lakefront from there. Not knowing what happened is so painful for his family, even though he's finally at peace.

"It was a sad life," his mother said, fighting back tears. "But he fought all the time. Every day he tried to do something a little better. He tried so hard to be somebody."

Call Jim Stingl at (414) 224-2017 or e-mail at jstingl@journalsentinel.com