bipolar me

This is the hardest thing to talk about...

I guess for the next few weeks I could carry on like I have been: continue to introduce the principals and places that populate the tempest called my life and make abstract ruminations upon life and art. In fact that is what I have been doing these past weeks, writing copious reams of text, but not posting, because it risks losing that focus I want this endeavour to have.

But the reason I made myself start this blog was to talk about my bipolar. Its so hard to talk about, so maybe to put it out there to everyone would be easier. The worst part is when I'm surviving I don't really want to think about it. Its always at the back of my mind, lurking, so if I don't have to, I'd rather not bring it to the front of my consciousness.

Ok, lets set this up. Where am I right now? It is 12.10 pm. I'm at home, my home, not my parents, my little house in the country (ha!). I'm in my study (we have 4 bedrooms, ours, S.'s, one that is my study, the other that is J's 'powder room' [basically her giant wardrobe]).

I'm sitting in front of my laptop, while Disintegration by The Cure is playing on my iMac. While a lot of people find The Cure, Joy Division etc. depressing, I often find more upbeat music to be so, mainly because the idea that people are happy can be so overwhelming I can't handle it. And angry music? Don't get me started, I guess I'm still an LP fan, but that stuff makes me homicidal, track One Step Closer/Papercut and I'm ready to start throwing punches.

I found out about my bipolar about a year ago. I had gone through a stage where I was very tired, very down. Having just come out of a prolonged bout of sinusitis that my physician suggested had brought about Chronic Fatigue, I simply thought I was having a relapse. Certain stressful events were happening in my life and marriage. I had just received a promotion at work & the already long hours I work, further increased. Meanwhile, J & I were realising the profound lack of affection each of us had for the other. In the most trite and cliched terms, the 'spark' had gone, in fact had never really been there.

However, after all this, feeling like absolute shit, I came out of it [along with a couple of other factors] and went on one of the biggest highs of my life, in fact probably only the second time I had been on a high that huge, that other being when I was 21. I was skywalking, work was a breeze, sleep was unnecessary, life was a joy. Then, about 5 weeks later, I crashed & burned, big-time. I hit the wall and went so far down, I couldn't even remember up, let alone go there. All was dark, empty and I was alone. Just me and the darkness, an eternal void. I could not connect to my life, my family, my faith. All I wanted to do was die.

At this point, when my parents were visiting, and I was unable to hide my lack of enthusiasm for existence, they mentioned that depression runs in my dad's family. My reaction was fairly well: "oh, so now you tell me. Thanks for letting me know 10 years ago, when it might have been helpful." In any case from that point, I was able to start getting some treatment & some counselling. I've foolishly stopped the counselling due to a lack of time. But I'm keeping up my natural treatments. Almost every week I have acupuncture. I have a needle in my ear that gets replaced every week. It is on a relaxation point and I use it to regulate my moods. I take homeopathic meds. I exercise as often as I can and watch what I eat. I am adamant I do not want to go onto anti-depressants as I have only heard of one instance where they have worked without severe side effects and seen about a dozen where they have majorly fucked people over.

At the same time, I must admit, the needles barely keep me this side of sane. I still battle almost daily with thoughts of suicide, then a few hours later I might skywalk, or even think I'm divinely called. Other times I struggle to repress the urge to violently attack people. Yeah, I'm pretty fucked up. It trips me out how I can still function at my job. Answer: barely & just. I'm just lucky we're in a boom jobs market so I'm the best they can get [though I must admit, I am good - see, there's the hypomaniac ego again :)]

Anyway, that's a bit of my story. I'll elucidate further. Promise.

the players upon this stage, wherein we lay our scene

B-Double: yours truly. Just another wayfarer journeying through the ocean called life; a nomad seeking shelter from the storm; an exile within my own land. This blog is about me and my struggles with: bipolar disorder, in my so-called marriage, trying to be a father, with friends, my family, my wife's family, other women. Also, I'm a christian, possibly the world's worst. A rebel and an anti-authoritarian in one of the world's most conservative churches, so I also write about my battles with belief, truth, religion and church figures etc. 

j: my wife (so-called). We're not doing well. She has adrenal fatigue, I have bipolar disorder. We have a daughter who probably is all that keeps us together. I spend about half of each week at my parents, and the rest of the time I'm around to play with my angel, do some chores etc. j is a classical pianist and by far the most intelligent person I have ever met.

S.: my little princess. She is 4, and extremely precocious, hi-energy, but very loving & kind. She's probably most of the reason I'm still breathing.

sis: my cousin, who I consider the sibling I never had. sometimes the only person I can talk to... and maybe the only person I fully trust. She's 10 years older than me in age, and about 100 years wiser. She's been through more than I can ever imagine, tested and tried in the fire and proven true. She gives me the word, its on, whoever, whatever, wherever.

GPB & Nanny: Grandpa B & nanny [my parents]. I'm lucky to have parents like them. Unlike most of my friends & family there is no abuse (sexual OR physical), divorce or alcoholism to speak of. They bore me, raised me, and gave me the best love and support they could. Unfortunately, they just waited till I was 28 and had had 12 years of wondering what the fuck was wrong with me to tell me depression ran in my dad's family. Might have been useful information during my first bipolar episodes at 16, no?

GP&GM: Grandpa & Grandma [j's parents] We all have an extremely strange relationship. j is both dependent on her family, and alienated from them at the same time. They probably like me more than they like j, and I know they do love us, they just don't have any idea how to talk/deal with me (or her).

The wicked stepsisters: j's twin sisters, 2 drama queens who insist on 1. singing tunelessly at the top of their lungs 2. shamelessly grabbing the attention of any visitors [particularly male] 3. acting like petulant, spoilt brats if anything should deflect attention from them. Understandable at 12 you say? Definitely, but these girls just turned 22.

Donkey DD: no, not a well-hung, amply endowed transsexual pornstar. j's next sister. Alternately kind and annoying, insistent on occupying the middle-ground to the point that she actually exacerbates conflict by NOT having an opinion. Great artist though, so why she's training to be a nurse is beyond me. Still her b/f is studying to be a pastor so it will come in handy on the mission field I'm sure.

N&N's: j's 2 youngest siblings, one boy, one girl. their main hobby? driving each other crazy. N1 (boy) is computer obsessed, and a math genius, good at sports but somewhat asocial; a moderate idiot savant if you will. N2 is the youngest and probably the sanest of the bunch, by virtue of flying beneath the radar of the surrounding craziness for 15 years. She takes a lot of time for S. so I'll forgive her most anything.

D+: my best friend. We've been through a lot, good and bad. We tell each other what we need to hear, not what we want to. But when it goes down, we'll be there for each other to the bloody end. Good to see him so happy, starting to settle down with a good woman, and she most definitely knows she has herself a good man.

bfc: best-friend c____ my closest friend from church. Given she's only 22, and I've only been around a minute so we haven't known each other for long, but I consider her a true friend. I know betrayal and I have good instincts about who to trust and who to keep at arm's length, I know I can trust her.

man-whore: my closest friend at work. 22 and already his number is approaching 40. I talk to him about resisting available women, he talks to me about the pro's and con's of 3-way action. Good guy, as long as you aren't his girlfriend. He has it made, as long as he doesn't catch an STD before 25.

the prophet: a preacher and my comrade in the religious wars of our early-twenties. Both married, him happily; myself not-so happily. He & E____ welcomed their firstborn, a boy, late last year. A child I have not even seen, our lives once so entwined, are diverging as I head down a darker road.

the groomsmen: the prophet & two others; supposedly my closest friends and my entourage on my wedding day. The prophet, I consider truefriend. Of the others, one, due to the religious conflicts I was embroiled in, slowly detached from my circles, the other relapsed into addiction.

the professor: a Dutch traveller who stayed a year in our social circles and then returned to the Netherlands. My idol, and perhaps the yin to my yang, his legacy is tuning me in to 4AD Records. He knows things about me noone else knows, holds the key to doors that perhaps shouldn't be opened.

Thus lie the players upon my stage.

LIFE... OR DEATH?

surrounded by the implements of a life laid waste...

a dining table, jarrah, even in the half-light aglow, a polished, reddy wood... the apparatus of life strewn across it... laptop, wallet, keys, credit cards, ipod, cell phones; a few cd's, dvd's, books & comics; printouts of webart, photos; pens, pencils, sketches, writing paper covered in my scrawl...

implements i utilise to access that which upon this earth pertains to myself; objects i use to interact with the stimuli that colour and awake my experiential soul; tools i manipulate to create meaning for my existence...

but what is this space, this table of mine? ...the respository of the fuel for my talent, to set aflame? ...else a reflection of the emptiness of breath, the dying embers of creativity, to be laid bare by the darkness...

beginnings: heaven

all is dark...

a quiet place...

warm...

secure...

deserted...

all alone...