Of course, it’s been one of “those” weeks: work started back up (yards needed to be mowed). On top of that, I spent Wednesday and Thursday in bed, depressed as usual (I wish people knew what it meant to literally not be able to get out of bed).
If it hadn’t happened to me and if it wasn’t true, it might almost be comical. Last time I was here blogging I was describing the tranquility needed at the end of a trip of any sort. If you remember, my family and I extended our little getaway an extra day to be used only to recharge and recuperate. Which I guess in theory sounded great. It really did. That was right up until the next morning before we checked out.
So, we decided to stay another night just to have a full evening of recovery and relaxation (reading for me) before we make the seven-hour plus drive home. We’ve had a full day of family fun and it seemed like a no-brainer to take a night to unwind before we headed home; no need in going home so worn out that the trip becomes something we want to forget. Also, we all seemed to be excited at the idea of just getting to sit around and read or write or color.
In 2002 Stephen King temporarily gave up on writing bestselling novels and wrote a little book chronicling his rise to fame and discussing exactly … 10 Essential Writing Tips from Stephen King’s “On Writing”
A newly released study is tying people’s religious uncertainty and lack of faith in the divine to poor mental and psychological well-being.
My wife and I just celebrated our 4-year anniversary a couple of days ago, so we decided to give ourselves a little gift: a weekend getaway. Nothing major. Just a weekend in a cabin in the hills of Tennessee.
If these city blocks could talk, would you hear the hollow echo of my soul’s soles, edging around the lonely buildings, thru the twisted and deformed night?
I would say I can’t be the only one with bipolar disorder who knows how well this disease operates under the pressures of a job and workplace, but I already know that I’m not; it’s a topic that is oftent used when writing about bipolar disorder. It may seem like a tired beat, and I certainly do not have anything new to add to the conversation. My experiences are not uncommon or unique. They are just mine. But I’m assuming you already know that if you’re here reading this.
It’s cliche, yes, but nonetheless it comes with the territory. Part metaphors, part exaggeration, “sex, drugs, and mania” pretty much sums up my personal experience with the dangerous and unpredictable nature of the madness.
As a musician and just as a human being on a very basic level, music is a key part of my every day. I’m making no correlation between the madness and the necessity of music in one’s life, it’s just a fact: music is a key part of my life.
“If I can’t feel, if I can’t move, if I can’t think, and I can’t care, then what conceivable point is there in living?” – Kay Redfield Jamison It’s been a pretty “blah” week on my end of things, personally and professionally that is. My […]
You know that expression “You don’t know what you got until it’s gone”? Well, boy, is it true!
My life, though, for the sake of only a little bit of remembrance, appears to me in broken, fragmented passages of cloudy polaroids. But I do think there is something special in the knowing – the remembrance – of one’s life.
Having bipolar disorder is like standing on the edge of a cliff in a thunderstorm: there’s an intense beauty about it, but ultimately in the end it’s just not a good idea. And that’s okay. It’s a well-known fact that if you play with fire, you just might get burned.
“You know how most illnesses have symptoms you can recognize? Well, with manic depression, it’s sexual promiscuity, excessive spending, and substance abuse—and that just sounds like a fantastic weekend in Vegas to me!” – Carrie Fisher It seems the older I get the less I […]
From the ages of 15 – 25 I was in a total tailspin without being aware that anything was wrong (there’s a lot in that 10-year period that could act as a general testament to human stupidity, so we’ll save that for another day). However, it was right before my 25th birthday that it was more than clear that I needed help.
“For me, the first sign of oncoming madness is that I’m unable to write.” – Marya Hornbacher, Madness: A Bipolar Life It’s funny how certain traits and talents go when in the throes of either a manic or depressive period. And it’s funny how others […]
“For too long we have swept the problems of mental illness under the carpet… and hoped that they would go away.” – Richard Codey Whoever said “hope springs eternal” never offered me any sound advice on the mantra. Despite being someone who operates from a […]
As I’ve mentioned before, there is no one, direct cause when it comes to bipolar disorder. However, it is known that approximately 80% of the cause has been traced back to genetics. And with the heritability rate of bipolar disorder being off the charts, it’s only natural for me to wonder who is responsible for passing this on down the line to me.
You hear it at the beginning of every year. “New year, new me.” It hardly ever seems to work out that way but it’s a nice thought. If you are one of the lucky ones, though, then good for you.
I’ve mentioned before in this blog the possible link between creativity and bipolar disorder and first person who comes to mind when thinking about this theory is Vincent Van Gogh.
We all know thar the exact cause of bipolar disorder is still unknown, and it’s unclear at times which is more important: finding the root cause of the disorder or treating the symptoms. One would probably argue the first option, but some of this disease’s symptoms and the extremes one can experience can, at times, outweigh the need to know why.
It goes without saying those dealing with bipolar disorder have to handle themselves on a day-to-day basis. Second-to-second, at time.
My personal battle with the big, bad bipolar disorder has been a long one. Seventeen years, in fact. I was 15 when I was first diagnosed. I was 17 when I was diagnosed for the second time. But it wasn’t until I was 24 that I first started to seek out treatment
For me, coping skills are, for lack of a better phrase, a bunch of bullshit. I have no concept of any sort of coping skills, especially in the moments I need skills to cope.
In finding some forgiveness of loneliness, and with a strange acceptance of suffering, I can now look back on it all with a dim understanding. It happened at a time when creativity existed within me at an exhausting level. There was a maddening frenzy in the way things came out of me, pouring with sympathy, yet offering nothing.