BIPOLAR OHIOAN RANTS AT UNIVERSE

Dear Universe,
How about tossing me a couple of GOOD days, huh? Now, I know you're busy. You've got all sorts of planets to align, and sun's to explode, and shit like that. But can't you take a few seconds to throw me a bone, dude? Rick Springfield gets a come back tour & a New York Times best seller, and I get a week full of infinite depression, missed moments with family, and a terrible urge to drink myself stupid. You see something wrong with that, Mr. or Mrs. Universe? What? Oh, Rick Springfield's book is about depression? Cool. Good for Jessie's Girl. What, you don't give out more than one good day for depressed people? What kind if crap is that? I saw Springfield on Dr. Oz today, and he looked pretty primed to go. No depression there. Oh, he seemed pretty much over it, and willing to advocate, BUT wouldn't admit to having an actual diagnosis? What a phony! Making money off of things he's too afraid... YES, I was watching Dr. Oz! Is that somehow offensive to you? My point is, Rick has had enough. I would like to borrow a few good days so I can turn some stuff in my life around. That's all. Geeze! Don't give ME guff about watching a show YOU let happen! You know what, Universe? You give me some good days (and I mean GOOD days), or I'll tell Buddha what you said about Krishna, and when that gets back to Zeus, Jesus will kick your ass! That's right! Jesus.... and his cousins, Eduardo, Cheech, and Machete. What about that Universe fancy pants?

Jokes aside, I'd really appreciate a break.
-joel

DO NOT CALL YOURSELF NAMES... JERK

Bipolar disorder, along with any other illness, has a dumpster filled with jokes about the condition. It's good to laugh at ourselves sometimes. That is why we, along with the gloominess, share funny stories & pictures on our web sites and Facebook pages. BUT more people need to realize where the line between comical and offensive is.

These photos were found on a bipolar support page. I have no doubt there was no intent to offend, but I find them insulting and ignorant. "I don't need drugs, I'm bipolar." Right. Because all of us dig riding invisible bikes in our underpants. Yes. And like Bugs Bunny says, we're all Crazy, wacko, insane, lunatics. I don't know any bipolar person who thinks it's funny to be called any of those things.

I don't know. It confuses me when a bipolar support group starts posting jokes that point out the stigmas we're all trying so hard to defeat.

DEPRESSION: PASSION THIEF

I have been staring at this screen for an hour. This is the second sentence I've written. Three, if you count this one. How can there be so little on the page if I've got so much on my mind? Well, the short answer is, I have let my depression get the best of me. The long answer involves multiple diagnosis, wild mood swings, panic attacks, extreme mania, conversations with therapists, cognitive behavioral therapy, lots of drugs, side effects, and all sorts of other stuff that would make you either fall asleep or call the authorities. So... I have let my depression get the best of me.

I love to write. Depression doesn't care. It makes me feel better to create. Depression doesn't care. Depression... is an asshole. What happens is this: All of your passions get pushed aside, because depression has made you think they are not worthy of your time (or you're not worthy of theirs). Sometimes you wonder "Why bother", but most of the time it's more complicated than that. When it's hard to get out of bed for long enough to use the restroom, the last thing you want to do is get up and be passionate about something. Sometimes your self-esteem gets shot in the face, so you sit around thinking you're a horrible, talentless, worthless person. No one wants to hear what you have to say, and why would they? And sometimes you're just scared; afraid of the smallest amount of success. Because you don't feel like you deserve it.

Now, even if you realize these things are not true, Depression doesn't care. It is extremely difficult to fight off this negative way of thinking. In fact, I'm not even sure that's possible. The only way to fight it is to create just to spite it.

Depression takes away a lot. Everything and everyone gets lost in the shuffle at some point. There isn't anything in this world that depressed people hate more than depression. So why not get pissed at it? Go ahead! Tell it to go eat a fish smoothie! Tie it down! Make it listen to Kid Rock! Tell it where to go and what to do while it's there, because if you don't, it will continue to ruin your life.

I stared at this page for an hour before writing this. I'm not sure how long it took to write, but that's not important. What IS important is that I was able to stare for long enough to write.

MEDICATION RANT

Drugs. Fuckin drugs. Since my bipolar diagnosis, I have been on and off so many drugs, it's hard to believe I can still function. One goddamn pill after another. All of them prescribed by doctors claiming to be personal advocates... Handing out smiles and advice like psychiatric politicians. These drugs are supposed to help stabilize my mood, lessen my anxiety, help me rest more effectively, stimulate my appetite, and curb depression based panic attacks. Some have helped, and some have not, but they've all had two things in common: their potential for addiction, and their contribution to potential bankruptcy.

In the past four years, my family and I have spent thousands of dollars on prescription meds. We have also spent hundreds of days dealing with various withdrawals. If you're told a med is non-addictive, call bullshit. Because getting off of something like Prozac can be an absolutely terrifying experience.

I just din't get it. My prescription drugs have legitimate street value. Why? Because people will pay a lot to get fucked up. I suppose I could make back the money I spend on one bottle of Xanax by selling four or five pills, but I'm not a fucking drug dealer... I'm a patient!

Ahh, crap! I lost my train of thought. Wanna know why? BECAUSE I'M ON A LOT OF DRUGS! God damn it! Why can't it be just one? Why can't it be one that works, and doesn't cause addiction or withdrawal? Why can't there be just one that stabilizes moods, stimulates appetites, lessens anxiety, curbs panic attacks, helps with insomnia, and provides a sense of mental stability? Oh, wait. There IS a drug like that! Sorry. You can't take it, though. It isn't legal. The government is afraid of the munchies.

POSITIVE DAMN THINKING

Embrace the truth of yourself
In visions of hearts, and hand
Out small pieces
Of the dreams you have left

Behind you are the faults
You've tried so hard to hide
Those Shadow shapes
long
Gone in the rear view

What you see before you
Is a canvas of faith
To be painted with
Places only seen in your dreams
But not like the one about
Kicking cats in the face.

BIPOLAR to BIPOLAR: Who The Hell Do You Think You Are?

Time moves so slowly some nights. You've got part of what you want, but that part's not quite good enough. Not on evenings like this... when a minute seems like six. And you'd think, with all this extra time, you would wanna savor some of it. You might want to use some of it for fighting the demons that stand in your way... on a day in which you're smiling and enjoying your life. What do you do when five minutes feel fake, and take you by the hair on the back of your neck... twisting your mind in ways that make circles fit squares? How much of this makes sense?

None of it makes sense, you crazy douche! You're having a bad night, man. Don't crawl up in a ball like a turtle afraid of the dark. You're only alone in your mind. Your mind is the one that puts up the walls. Your life... your life is surrounded with people you love. And some of them might even love you back... if you can stop being a dip shit for long enough. Damn!

Stop being so REASONABLE, man!  I'm trying to be poetic.  When I'm feeling like a sad clown, I must articulate my feelings in an artistic way.  I must be profound.  Otherwise people might not take my discomforts seriously.  I am an advocate... nay! A SPOKESMAN for the people inside of my circle!  I cannot let them down by being... "reasonable".  I need to take a chance... touch a nerve.  If I don't pack what I write with as much depressing evil shit as I can... they might not think I'm on their side.  And that's important because it's all about THEM. If I'm not careful, I'll be more of a self-help writer than a fellow mentally ill person.  

Well, what's wrong with that?  It's not about them, it's about YOU.  Why not be your own favorite self-help author?  Nobody else matters but you.  If you don't think YOU are important, how can you expect anyone else to feel you're important?  Write your OWN way to feeling better.

Yeah! To hell with Wayne Dyer!  To hell with Neale Donald Walsch!  The Dali Lama?  What does HE know?  

Well, now you're just being manic.  Slow down.  I didn't say you shouldn't READ.  I didn't say you should stop trying to EDUCATE yourself.  Again... how can you educate others if you're not educated enough to teach them anything? 

Okay.  Okay.  You're right.  That makes sense.  So... 

I'm right.  That's it.  "So" nothing.  Read. Learn. Write. Educate.  YA GOT THAT?!

Wow, dude!  Yeah... you had me at "crazy douche".  No need to yell.  I'm fragile... and poetic.

Ugh!  I'm never allowed to have the last word.

NIGHT TERROR

It's very late. Some might even call it early. 2:47 a.m. I've always said I loved the night, but this... this is the morning. I keep telling myself and everyone around me that I want to get better; that I'm moving forward, and getting ready to set things right. But how can that really be true when I allow myself to stay up all night? I'm not functioning like the rest of the world... how can I expect to be a part of it? I think I might need some help here.