And it doesn't really matter anymore, honestly.
So here's the truth.
At best, I am going to bounce back and forth between extremes my whole life. I have such a severe, extreme case of bipolar that my ability to function and hold down anything resembling a life, a relationship, or anything we here in America call a successful, normal, healthy existence is practically impossible.
When they find a cure for bipolar disorder, then I'll be free. Suffice to say I'm not holding my breath. And until that point, what I do or say or post here or anywhere else is really of no consequence. Those who would oppose me or be incredibly critical of the things I've said need to understand that I really don't have anything to lose anymore.
Most people who blog with me---you guys have what would be called "a life". You have marriages, children, careers, friends, and a lot going for you. Or if you don't have it now, you will have it later. I don't have that going for me, at all. I probably never will, until they come up with more effective medications, or dare I even hope it, a cure. As it stands right now, I'm totally screwed.
If you scour through my past or confront people who have known me, you'll realize quite quickly that I have only been able to maintain sanity for brief glimmers of time. I don't really care to have any secrets anymore, friends, or any real desire to hold anything back. Keeping things back is the domain of people with something to lose. I will linger on food stamps and SSI for the rest of my life and though it was deeply painful to choke down what was left of my pride, I've done it.
But had I lived forty years ago, I'd be either committed to an asylum like my Great-Grandmother Smith, or be lobotomized away like one of the Kennedy siblings. So I suppose I have to benefit at least from the vague hope promised by 21st century medicine.
What does it matter, really? I could be in the bowels of depression next week, wishing I was dead. Or I could be on the uptick towards mania. There ain't no in between. I'm either going up or going down and happy mediums are for those without this affliction. And there's always the chance things will get worse and I'll stop commenting someday and disappear off the face of the earth. Rest assured, if I die by my own hand, there won't be any editorializing. It won't be advertised or telegraphed. I'll just be dead.
One of my friends blew his brains out in a park. Took me by surprise for sure. The needle has a way of doing that. I wish I could get the image out of my head, but it'll be there for the rest of my life. And no, I won't describe it for you.
Interweb drama aside, I don't really think you understand me.
So here's my last secret. I'm a defective human being.
And if you want the satisfaction of throwing that back in my face, it's yours.
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2 comments:
So here's my last secret. I'm a defective human being.--And you think this makes you different how?
Plenty of us are 'totally screwed" dude. Its almost a fucking badge of courage in some groups.
Hang in there and I enjoy reading your thoughts.
I've been reading your comments on other people's blogs and have always enjoyed them.
I'm glad I stopped by and got a better sense of who you are. I understand how alone you must feel. While one could say I'm relatively well functioning, I too, have often debilitating depression. And recently I've sensed that my depression might be "splitting in two" which is the only way I can seem to describe it. It's the severe down followed on by a scary up or manic-ness.
Anyway, my point is that I think you should keep writing about how you feel and what you are going through. I think it is good for you and will keep you from becoming too isolated.
And you are right in that if you were suffering with this 40 years ago, you'd either be in an asylum or lobotomized. My older sister had paranoid schizophrenia in the 70's. The medications they gave her then caused her to gain huge amounts of weight and she had all kinds of other strange side effects like tremors, being incapable of controlling her tongue, etc. Eventually she went off her medications and the "demons" got the better of her and she committed suicide by putting a gun to her head.
I'm with Dusty when she says "Hang in there" ... because I enjoy reading your thoughts as well.
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