Rapid Cycling, and not on a bike

I seem to be having what might be instant cycles. Laughing then weeping. Laughing at YouTube of people getting hit with soccer balls, then crying at the pain and violence. Something about all the ones I lost coming together in my mind at once. Even my '74 BMW motorcycle which I know rationally, is an inanimate object and hence does not feel betrayed by my lousy mechanical work.

Back in the blogosphere

Shouting in a vacuum here. At least my graphic design blog has two followers. It's not like my bipolar experiences are any more precious than anyone else's. That is a vanity I think many of us share—that we are the ones in the most pain, with the most empathy, hence the most need-to-be-read thoughts. I really thought maybe mine would get approached for a book deal.

There is a bipolar blog out there somewhere, I used to follow, that has been around a long time. The blogger's antics and experiences, love life and sex life—the fodder for his rants—have evidently been considered for a sitcom, or dramacom. There was also mention of a book deal in the offing.

For your Google® searching curiosity two interesting stories are making the rounds. First, the Scientologists want ECT banned. They deny the existence of mental illness, chemical imbalances in the brain, schizophrenia and other diagnosed mental afflictions.

Another story floating around the fringe is a move to make prayer a reimbursable medical expense.

These are presented here without comment.

And regarding book deals, I met a guy who wrote a NY Times, "Notable book of the year," who was applying for a day-job. Being an author is a very tough way to make a living. I have a friend who parlayed writing National Park guides into a publishing career. He was just thinking of purchasing a small plane to commute back and forth from San Francisco to Jackson, WY.

With so many things, in order to make a small fortune at something, start with a large fortune.

Slogging through the days

Wonder why I bother correcting typos. Trying to go off one of four meds—trileptal—to induce some mania. Doc can't really help any more. If current mix is working, stay with it, etc. Too fucking depressed, angry. Anxiety leading up to party for my daughter's marriage—meet the in-laws thing. No sympathy from Liz. She's my only outside contact for this. I am practicing suicide notes.

Off and on the wagon

After a couple nights back to imbibing, I tapered off last night. I love the feeling in the morning when I abstain. But I think it is that "can't get used to life without the bipolar guy in the picture" that I sabotage myself with.

I can go to bed thinking "I did everything right, so catharsis, here I come". Then I don't get it so I lay in bed not getting up because the depression is still there.

Only a little suicide ideation this morning. That is a relief. I should be grateful. Then again, everybody says, "Be grateful you aren't so-and-so, or dead already". What kind of life is it, and what kind of person am I if I go around with my reason for living gratitude? Gratitude to whom?

Breaking the rules

I thought, for some reason, I could maintain my upper mood swing and get away with returning to my drinking lifestyle in tandem with sleeping in. Nine and half hours after four vodkas and here I am, defeating myself. That was four drinks in about six hours. No, really. Maybe even seven. Close to midnight.

And we are invited to the vodka people's house for dinner tonight and will doubtlessly drink some more. The depression is debilitating but I insist on doing things I know will exacerbate it. Also, I don't want to cook tonight.

I already told them I stopped drinking, or at least at home where I can control it. But I then assured them I knew what I was doing. He, (vodka friend) told me to call him whenever I felt depressed. He is thinking of it as if it were short term and got better with a little empathy/sympathy. He is good that way but I don't think I want to bring him into the whole bipolar thing. Going from drinking to not drinking socially or otherwise puts one in a different class. People treat you differently and stop inviting you over. Sometimes they indicate their rejection by asking you if you want a drink, then correcting themselves, "Oh, that's right, you're not drinking anymore." They have a new language they speak with you in front of others. Full of code. You make them uncomfortable.


later

Tainting the experiment

I had a glass of wine last night. About four hours before bed, with dinner out. Since everybody is espousing the virtues of red wine, I stuck with that. Still feel pretty good this morning although I slept in. No mania yet. Dreary sky. Spelling still terrible.

How do you spell mania?

I wanted it and here it is. Getting lots of work done, kitchen in perfect order, a new pitcher of decaf iced green tea, dozens of new creative project ideas, clean, showered, clean clothes on, laundry put away, lawn watered, stinky sport shoes and sandals washed and listening to "You keep me Hanging On" by Vanilla Fudge.

Then there is the occasional wicked grin while jumping up and down with fists clenched and silently saying "GO, GO, GO".

Oh, and I am eating up all the old fruit around the house.