MY BLUE SKIES DRAGGING ME DOWN, IN MY BLUE LIFE
If manic depression ruled me, I’d be a wreck. Fortunately it does not. At least I hope it doesn’t. Perhaps it does….
Bipolar Disorder is what the doctors call it. What it is, is a harrowing and also wonderful mindset that one can be both blessed with and burdened with. I have Manic Depression, or Bipolar Disorder, or fucking mentalist syndrome, or fuckwit annoying arseititis – whatever you want to call it – that’s what I have. I don’t care for putting a name on it, as it’s a part of me. It is who I am. If I had a leg that was an arm or my head had a hideous testicle hanging from it - just below my eye – the name for either of those things would be quiet self-explanatory but the phrases ‘Manic Depressive’ or ‘Bi-Polar’ don’t work for me as – it’s me. I can’t cope with having a ‘thing’ so I’m happier to refer to it as a ‘Whatever’. Don’t even get me started on what I think about my own sexuality.
I hate being gay. That’s a statement in itself and deserves a blog of its own. I’d rather focus on being a ‘fuckwit’ for now…
I kind of hate being me. I can’t really get on with myself. I’d prefer to be somebody else. My depression tends to bring me home, I find beautiful silly things beautiful and my manic periods bring me back to life to utilise my findings. Details clog up my brain, I find myself learning very intricate scientific or poetic literature, only for it to be erased by an unfortunately failing memory. So I learn it again, and again, and again… if you read enough shit some of it might hit your mind.
I was 19 when my mother helped me to find some help. I was diagnosed with ‘Mild Depression’ - I think I was already over the hill and quite out of my mind. I was already one step ahead, “There is no way you are incardinating me into that world!” I went and it was ok. I spoke to a psychiatrist once a month and I had to take some drugs – which I wasn’t allowed to take milk with?!? I had massive milks every time I was out of sight!
Later, in my 20s, after a few suicide attempts and a particular period of being ‘mental’ – I was sat in front of a great doctor. He diagnosed me with ‘Severe Bi-Polar Disorder’. I felt that was all I needed to be able to continue my life. A name. A Something. I spent a year talking to that doctor and he helped me a great deal. I wish I could remember his name.
So now I just deal with my ‘Me being a maniac’ or me just being quiet and depressive. I can manage it myself.
I told you that to qualify myself as a person able to give you the following handy guide to whether or not your mate is a Manic Depressive!
*Spending too much money
* Unable to engage
* Never falls over
* Corrects his own grammer [sic]
* Talks about the future
* Stinks of drink
* Engages with the past but quickly changes the subject to the present
* Says the word “YEAH!” a lot
*Will not communicate emotionally in any other way than ‘dance’
*Talks about him/herself
*Is ‘potty mouthed’
*Tries to fuck an animal
*Makes origami an act of violence
*Walks with his hands above his waist as if he is ready for a fight
*Says “The old days smelt better”
*Drinks more alcohol than is humanly possible
*Becomes so creative, loving and wonderful that you are seriously thinking that he/she is the best mate ever!
*Nothing. Leave me alone.
You don’t ever have to wonder how wonderful your life is – because you have a life. What a fantastic challenge to be given. Life is a pretty hard game but one that’s worth living right to the end. Let’s see what happens. We all do stupid things in-between.
Maybe I’m just a little bit PIG SICK! of being only 31 years old and too many of my mates/friends/compadres/colleagues dying, committing suicide or walking in front of cars whilst drunk around me. I’m pretty much at the end of my tether with that kind of thing so... if you are reading this, then perhaps you could refrain? At least until I am dead? Ta!
The manic is much more destructive than the depression – but the depression is hard to get through as you’re on your own.
I always feel a bit shit and used after writing a blog about depression - so if this has helped do tell me! I’m only really doing it for you... The important thing I need to tell you is:
I FUCKING LOVE YOU UNTIL THE DAY I DIE!
(Days in a coma inclusive)