Monday, December 21, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 35

Wishing all seven of .e4 followers Happy Holidays!

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 34

“Hello sports fans and welcome to primetime knee football. We are coming to you live today from the cornfields of central Ohio where the locals have deemed the playing field as ‘back the lane’. It’s not unknown around these parts that the fierce competition that usually results from these epic battles between brothers usually runs over into the Monday morning bus stops for the Thompson boys but this is what keeps us coming back. For those of you new to the game I’ll pass it along to our resident professional Stubby to give you the low down of the game.”

“Thanks Bob. The boys usually start this game somewhere between the pop and shot there to the left in the toy room with the end zones being the toy tractor line to the north and the living room to the south. No pads are allowed in this game so the boys will be on their knees for the duration of the game but heavy hitting and multiple name calling is allowed and heavily encouraged. The game usually lasts anywhere between a half hour to an hour depending on which brother gets upset and decides to quit. The action is always two on one with the offense having the advantage with the extra player. Needless to say we’re in for a treat today as some heated exchanges have already begun during pre-game when the boys were eating their breakfast and watching cartoons.”

Similar to the simplistic Thompson brothers childhood tradition of knee football I’ve decided to start a tradition with my brothers that they have no idea about but one that I think will be a family favorite when it’s all said and done. Every Christmas we are no different than any other family (well one that has Christmas breakfast with their Mom and Step-Dad along with their Dad at their Moms house before opening presents together, we put the funk in dysfunctional) in the manner that we exchange gifts. I usually try to get something for my brothers that I think they would enjoy and that is popular at the time. For instance a couple years back I got them iPod’s (nothing extravagant but nice). I’ve realized that this tradition is missing something so I’ve decided to make a change for the better (at least I hope).

Rather than exchanging traditional gifts I’ve made up my mind that this year I’m going to do something a little different. I’ve known my brothers for their entire lives (and my entire life as well) and thus feel that I know them fairly well. For this reason I’ve decided that every year I’m going to give them their favorite childhood breakfast (Yoo-Hoo and Honeybuns/Root Beer and Funyuns, I’ll let you guess who gets what) along with a gift from TV. Lately I’ve been paying close attention to commercials to find the perfect gifts for my brothers and found it, a Snuggie.

I know many of you are thinking that a Snuggie is a great idea and I agree (aside from the new dog Snuggie, a dog has fur to keep it warm, it’s like putting a rain coat on a duck, they don’t really need it). The reason I chose a Snuggie may not be that common though. During my episode I became obsessed with noticing little things throughout my surroundings. I believed that a hand gesture, the color of a bum’s shirt, the background set in a movie, or the way a person greeted me were all signs or symbols. Now from time to time this feeling will creep back into me and this happened during the Snuggie commercial. I never noticed this before but when the commercial cuts to the fans at a game all wearing Snuggies outside there is a old man sitting in the front left hand side shaded towards the middle with no Snuggie on freezing his butt off and shaking (just rewind the commercial next time and stop it at this spot, pretty entertaining). This guy makes the whole commercial. It’s a little sad yet downright hilarious that no one in the crowd (especially considering the fact they are at least 15 years younger) offers this obvious Grandpa a Snuggie while he is in such discomfort.

A little bit of a lame reason to decide on the Snuggie but I’m glad my mania has led me to noticing the little things in life (although the obsession bit of it I could do without again). I couldn’t tell you how many toys my brothers and I received while growing up but one of the most fun times I had was playing knee football with a pillow with them. It’s like the old man in the commercial, it’s not the big flashy in your face elements of the commercial that everyone notices that hooked me. It was the simple, low key, yet perfect shivering old man that did. At times as much as I get frustrated with my mania I’m glad it’s around to remind me of what is important in life (of course that’s a breakfast of champions with Root Beer, Funyuns, Yoo-Hoo, and Honeybuns).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 33

Bony Ass, Scrawny, Skinny, Chicken Legs, Dope Fein Derek, Twig, Grass Fairy, Skin-and-Bones, Tommy Tape Worm and the list goes on and on.

I am absolutely positive I am not the only one in the world that has been called a nickname from time to time as it’s undoubtedly a rite of passage while growing up. At times these names can be embarrassing or a little bit hurtful but I believe it’s all just part of the game. Everyone is going to be made fun of and name calling is as a part of our culture as deep frying anything and covering it with sugar is. I am by no means immune from this activity as I have so many times in the past name dropped a nickname on some total unsuspecting soul to get a rise out of everyone else. While my intentions were not always of the best nature I hope that the receiver of the nickname has a sense of humor and can let it roll (and if not; next time I poke fun just come up with a creative way of making fun of me when my voice cracked twice while on my first date and meeting her mom, yea I was that guy).

In any case I have learned that in order to survive I must have thick skin. The names I’ve been called and have heard others call people is downright impressive and a bit worrisome. To think how much time and effort someone would take to rhyme a name with any other non-hygienic body part takes some effort and I’m a little scared of what they could do if that energy was spent elsewhere. But I am not here to change the ways of the youth (hell I’m no more mature than them anyways, ask the convenient store guy at the corner of Garfield and Vine whom I constantly am fooling with). That being said I did read my papers from my mini vacation at Porter Hospital and being called psychotic isn’t the best feeling.

I recently shifted through my belongings bag that I was allowed to bring home from Porter Hospital after my episode and needless to say I found a few interesting things. There was the picture of comparing myself to an otter (I’m not even sure what exactly an otter is), the paragraph story of my high school buddies and I waking up on a plantation during the Great Depression (not random at all), and of course my emotions diary which consisted of a business plan for a roller paintball abandoned warehouse game (all rights and trademarks reserved by .e4). While all of these seem interesting the doctor evaluation and labeling of me as psychotic was a little tough to take.

To think I was in state of mind in which I was behaving in such a way that others feared me is something I have trouble grasping. I still think of myself as a 5 foot nothing freshman walking into high school with a bowl cut and weighing 100 lbs soaking wet so to try and imagine someone feeling threatened by me is mind-bottling. To have this label thrust upon you that you are unstable and a threat to others takes just about everything you know about yourself and throws it out the window, you feel nonhuman.

I’m not 100% sure on how I was suppose to take the news that a professional feared me so much as to have me court ordered to be on hold in a psych ward; but to strip away my identity so much as though I don’t feel human probably isn’t the result they were looking for. The only way I know how to try and handle it is to pick myself up and keep going. To say I don’t care or that I don’t think about the names some people might use to describe me would be a lie. But it’s those name calling actions as a boy and the ones I still hear today that motivate me to prove them all wrong. This bowled haired psychotic chicken legged grass fairy can thank those nicknames for making me who I am today; I just wonder how many of those people calling me the names really know who they are.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, November 6, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 32

With Christmas right around the corner I have made it a point to try and start working on my shopping list. Please do not be too impressed with this as it simply involves me just looking at store front windows as I walk down to Jimmy John’s in the Nasty to grab lunch (Country Club=Legit). The other day I was making this weekly jaunt when I spotted a shirt in a window that caught me by surprise (almost as surprising to learn that “Guitar Hero” wasn’t the pulse of the world, another story for later). The shirt read: “Crazy Bi-Polar Bitch” (I can’t make this stuff up folks).

At first glance I really didn’t notice the shirt however when I tried to look away the rhinestone jewels glimmered just so and immediately caught my eye. I was taken back at first by the shirt and almost a little bit offended. I really couldn’t comprehend when it became trendy and cool to be so severely manic that admittance to a hospital is required (but I am getting older and losing touch with the youth). This feeling quickly left though and I kind of laughed to myself, not to say my Porter Hospital stay was funny but there is something to be said that the only rule there was was not to cross the purple line and I repeatedly had to be reminded of this fact (it’s like trying to eat just one Lays potato chip, good luck).

I can remember when I first came home the word “crazy” really struck a nerve in me. I had no problems with anyone knowing or learning the fact that I had a manic episode and had been diagnosed BMD but whenever the word crazy would pop into the conversation I would become incredibly defensive. This was really ironic for me because up until the episode I had prided myself for being the crazy one. I enjoyed being the guy that everyone believed was crazy because I naturally aligned crazy with fun and having a good time. I believed that calling me crazy was a compliment and a characteristic of myself that I was proud of (up until I actually did go crazy of course).

Once I moved back home the word crazy took a whole new meaning in my life. Now whenever an instance arose when say Stubby would introduce me he would comment in a way like this:

“This is my oldest Derek, you know his brothers Devon and Denver, and he’s the crazy one.”

There was no harm meant by this and prior to my episode I would have loved the introduction. I would have thought that if you believed my brothers were a good time you would have a blast hanging around with me. However after having a hallucination that Wooderson from “Dazed and Confused’ was talking to me during the movie and was a symbolic truth; being called crazy seemed to hit a sensitive spot with me.

I allowed this to go on for a bit and can recall one day after such an introduction telling Dad I wasn’t crazy and asking him to stop saying that. I thought once I got this off my chest I would feel a ton better, I was wrong.

I forgot for a minute that I’m not in this alone by any means of the imagination. That my family and friends are right there along side me fighting just as hard trying to handle my BMD in their own ways. When I saw how much it hurt my Dad when he realized that saying crazy really bothered me I had a little bit of a revelation. What kind of selfish person would I be if I tried to tell everyone involved in this how to act and to handle this BMD. One of my biggest complaints with my doctors was that they didn’t understand what had happened and therefore couldn’t help. I was doing the same thing to my family and friends. I have no idea what they are going through and can’t understand it but the difference is they aren’t going anywhere. I know I’m a little bit crazy and I forgot how proud of that I am. If I can’t handle a little joke with my Dad then this is going to be a long and lonely ride. If anyone is looking for a gift on my behalf this holiday season, a “Crazy Bi-Polar Bitch” shirt wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 31








Shame…Check (don’t remember bringing that one with me)

I’ve debated with myself (and yes sometimes aloud to spook my neighbors) on whether or not I should write about my latest mania experience or not. It doesn’t have the thrill of my past experiences and is actually a little boring. Ok, ok, if you want me to be completely honest I wasn’t the proudest of it and wasn’t sure if I wanted to share it (then I recalled I repeated Kindergarten for my inability to share so I reconsidered). So in honor of the once cardboard Stop sign hanging from my Kindergarten bathroom door, let’s flip this thing over and go.

As part of my hobbies I list whenever I am asked to fill out a survey I write making lists. The reason I enjoy making lists so much is that it is almost impossible to screw up, I mean it’s your list. There’s not a rule book or right or wrong way to make a list, try it right now and list your Top 3 favorite Holiday candies (mine are 1.) Stale Peeps 2.) White Chocolate Easter Bunny 3.) Multi-color Candy Canes). See my point, it’s almost impossible to mess this up. However from the evidence provided in exhibit A (the top list your Honor) I did manage to achieve the impossible.

This past weekend I departed from the Nasty to make my way to Cbus for a celebration of all celebrations (or a wedding). As before any trip I made a list and packed my things for the haul up north. I brought everything I needed and completed my list without any hang-ups or mistakes. However on my departure list things got a little dicey. I ended up bringing back with me some shame that I know I didn’t come up with, but I did figure out where it came from.

This BMD will throw me a curveball every once in awhile just to make sure I’m still on my toes. As much as I enjoy the random emotional twists I get to graciously encounter they can be a bit annoying. I’ve struggled with a range of emotions learning to handle BMD that have had me in denial, confusion, acceptance, and hatred with everything else in between, so I thought I had seen them all (“not so fast my friend”, Corso, College Gameday 2009).

For reasons that I was embarrassed about I became very shameful of myself over this past weekend. I was seeing friends and seeing how they were taking the next step in their lives.These included getting married, buying a house, moving to a new city, starting a family, and having their careers take off. All of these things I began to envy. I stepped back and looked at where I was at. A 28 year old single guy starting over from scratch because I failed and I felt ashamed of myself.

Not once prior to this had I ever felt like a failure, not when I was admitted, not when I called Porter Hospital home for a week, not when I had to move home, not when I had to resign from my job, not ever until then. It was a lot to take at first and I struggled with it but a crazy thing happened, (pun intended) I began to understand it. I don’t think I would like being the person who didn’t self criticize themselves and didn’t feel the consequences of failure. While I know what happened was not my fault doesn’t mean I should write it off and not learn from it. Maybe I ignored the shameful feelings for awhile because I wasn’t strong enough at the time to handle them. But now I know what they are and where they come from and it motivates me to not go back. So while maybe my list wasn’t the same as it was when I left the Nasty, it’s more complete now.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 30

“What, you don’t think California has good schools? Stanford is right up the road; wouldn’t you want to go there?”

I must admit I had never dreamed that one day I would have the opportunity to even consider attending a school as prestigious as Stanford but somehow now it’s becoming a reality. I would of never thought that a small town farm kid from central Ohio could someday have a chance to walk the same grounds as some of the most predominantly respected people in the U.S. I had felt something different about myself dating back to the middle of January when Poncho and Tater visited but I had no idea it could evolve into this. I am on my way to San Jose to find a place to live and check out my new office and even possibly tour what could be my new campus at Stanford. I am blessed.

I step onto the train at the Denver Airport to head towards Delta’s terminal and it hits me all at once. The colors from the lights brighten and the bells chime loudly in my ears, I am suddenly overcome with a feeling of total awareness. Time seems to slow down and my mind clears allowing for deep understanding of everything that is happening around me. I close my eyes and lean my head back and smile, take a deep breath and let it take control of me.

This is my pilgrimage and the excitement is almost too much to control. I have to maintain control or it will all be gone before it barely started. I know in order to balance this I must involve all of those around me and particularly my family. It was them who have prepared me for this journey my entire life and now I owe it to them.

Airports are the portals between the perceived reality of us and the secrets hidden in plain sight around us. I know if I slow myself down I can see the true meanings behind all that surrounds me. The trick is to be aware but at the same time seem totally oblivious. I can feel the energy and emotions rising steadily within me as I am guided to places and shops throughout the airport for my family, as if they are leading me on my path. It almost becomes too much, I almost blow my cover, but then as I look up I am standing in front of my savior.

“Twenty minute massages in the airport, relax while you wait”

It’s almost too perfect. I have never in my life received a paid for massage and I smile as I know this is a gift. My heart is racing and I need to settle down before the plane or I could cause a catastrophe. I wait my turn and willingly yet nervously take my seat. I close my eyes and drift away.

As the masseuse works her way around my neck and back my mind travels further and further away. I become overtaken with complete relaxation yet my mind is moving faster than I ever thought possible. Suddenly all the fears come rushing back to me instantaneously and I jolt up from the seat.

“I’m going to have to start all over now.”

I am overcome with guilt as I realize what my actions have done. I have the sudden realization that she is with me and with us and that I have postponed the next part of the journey by not finishing the massage in one sitting. I apologize in a manner that conveys my message of unity and sit back down. She completes her task and I thank her whole heartedly and make my way to the gate…

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 29

Fat Chicks Rule

This was the bumper sticker that I was staring at as I made my way into town on Friday. Some people absolutely love these ever revealing stickers attached to vehicles while others just despise them. I on the other hand am completely fascinated by them. I have only had one of these bumper stickers in my life and it was of a soccer ball in high school (grass fairy). Needless to say the soccer ball wasn’t much of a statement and really didn’t bother anyone (aside from the guys still questioning their sexuality and expressing their frustration by calling me gay for playing soccer, you know you are) so I was ok with it. Some people find the practice of bumper stickers to be tacky, cheap, obnoxious, and down right pathetic. But let me tell you why they fascinate me and I’ll begin with a list of some of my favs.

Gas, Ass or Grass. Nobody Rides for Free
Dip Me in Beer and Throw Me to the Drunk Chicks
I Support the Right to Arm Bears
Nice Truck. Sorry About Your Penis
-Caution- I Brake For Hookers

It’s beyond obvious that these have no real message to put out there but I heart them. My reasoning behind this is that while the people sporting these stickers aren’t trying to change the world they are at least living in their own. These aren’t really words of wisdom or the key to life (well excluding the sticker that reads: What if the Hokey Pokey Really IS What it’s All About) but they make me laugh and make my day a little better.

Prior to my episode I think I was living my life for some of the wrong reasons. I had strived to be good in school because that’s what I was suppose to do in order to go to college. In college I tried to be the guy that everyone liked and never wanted to step on anyone’s toes. I got a job out of school with a big corporation and lived the mundane office life for a few years because that’s what I was suppose to do. I never really took a side or position on anything of importance because I didn’t want to separate myself from the whole or mass. I definitely didn’t have a bumper sticker because it wasn’t what “respectable” people did.

It seemed like I was living my life for everyone else and not for myself the majority of the time. For some reason (despite the abundance of bumper stickers reading No Fear) I feared being different than my peers and for being an individual or myself for that matter. I cared so much about what other people thought about me that I’m not sure I even knew exactly who I was. I can recall in college my girlfriend asking me who I was (10-15 cocktails deep, but a fair question nonetheless). I was absolutely crushed to think that my girlfriend lacked confidence in me and doubted me. I became defensive and felt betrayed by her (all the best to ya though Jen, and you were in my dream last night, weird). The funny thing is she was right, I didn’t know who I was at that time (it only took a psychotic episode for me to figure that out, no big deals).

I’ve since really tried to live my life the way that I feel I should. I no longer fear being not accepted or liked or understood. Sure I’m scared from time to time about this BMD and what might happen but I’m not going to let it dictate my life and prevent me from being myself. In fact it has actually allowed me to step out and find who I am. I no longer care nearly as much as I use to if someone doesn’t like me or if they disagree with me, I enjoy it. I couldn’t imagine a world where everyone liked each other because then we’d all be the same and what’s fun about that? In that crazy world there’d only be one bumper sticker and it would probably just ask how your day was going. I’d rather know the opinion of the obese, drunk, crazy, obnoxious, prideful, straight, individualistic, liberal, atheists, spiritual, conservative, alternative life styled, bastards and bitches of the world. It’s just a lot more fun.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 28

First and foremost I would like to take some time and thank the residents of Athens, GA for welcoming myself and JD over the past weekend. It’s not the easiest of things to make a Yank feel welcomed in the south and I truly appreciate the effort. I mean asking that all the ladies wear dresses for the UGA game in our honor was more than anyone one man can ask for (I even saw a few wearing cowboy boots and skirts, thank you so much).

Now back to my original train of thought, or at least as close to it as possible as I am now having issues with focusing on anything but the southern belles from the weekend.

While driving back from the ATL this weekend I would experience glimpses back into my past at times (not weird at all). Not necessarily visions or anything that is really cool like that, but a sign, song, car, conversation, or billboard would send post it notes to my mind. At times these occurrences would bring back to light a feeling or idea I was having during my episode. The majority of the time I was manic in Denver my memory is gone (not sure if that’s for my own good but I think I’m thankful for it). The common themes and overall objective during my episode are there but the day to day or hour to hour activities I was partaking in are lost. However from time to time (for instance on my drive back) something will pop into my head that I can recall and relate to instantaneity.

Sometimes when this happens it can get a little confusing and scary (say for a split second I’m convinced they know me and I’m failing) and then at times it can be pretty fun. If you’ve ever had that feeling right after a crash is imminent but somehow you miss it you can relate. The chills and tingles are running up and down your spine and your head and you feel like you cheated death, that feeling is pretty cool (at least for a crazy person like me). The feelings usually just pass away after a few seconds and I’m good with my day but then there are the bathroom times.

Bathroom times for me are when things might get a little bit much and I need to settle myself down. I don’t really understand this BMD or how it works but I know what works for me. Sure hanging out in a bathroom doesn’t sound like the most normal thing to do, but it works. For some reason I can calm myself down in there and I feel kind of safe or something (can’t wait till my next girlfriend finds me sitting in the dark in the bathroom by myself, which will be a fun conversation).

The reason I was investigating the d├ęcor in the bathroom in Hamilton by myself during the wedding was my own fault. I’ve come to terms with what happened during my episode (about as close as you can I imagine) and while it’s never completely out of my mind I’m not dwelling on it. However the majority of what I’m handling is derived from the fact that I can remember what happened. Jazz was there among a few others during this roller coaster ride so I wanted to talk to him about what he saw and the such. Sure what he said freaked me out a little bit with what I was doing, saying, and the way I was acting. All of which I couldn’t remember and to think I was that out of control gets a bit concerning. I know it all kind of caught up with me two Saturday nights ago and a date with a bathroom was bound to happen.

Sure I could go on with my life and act like the episode never happened and I could hide from this BMD but it’s not going anywhere. It’s a part of me now and it really is who I am. I know there are going to be more conversations with my friends about what happened and some are going to be harder to take than others (fact), but I need to know. I feel like I owe it to myself, because no one else is going to do it. I’m truly thankful my friends are there to help, even if I end up freaking them out in a bathroom from time to time.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 27

I, for some unknown reason, have always found comfort in the bathroom. While growing up if the occasion ever happened when I would come down with a sickness I could more than likely be found curled up in a ball or spooning the toilet (the linoleum was amazing, like as cool as the other side of the pillow times 10). This trend followed me up through adolescence into my current life and seems to be a fixture now. During my episode I spent an inordinate amount of time in my bathroom (where else could I move from dimension to dimension without having to hassle with travel agents, they’re so pushy). In any case Saturday night I ended up in a nice little bathroom on the second floor of a hotel in Hamilton while my friends celebrated and drank, I tingled and thought.

It seems that from time to time my mania will decide to remind me its part of me and come out to play for a little bit. I’ve recently been able to see the signs of it coming (usually my hands tingle, vision warps in a tunnel aspect, and whatever feelings I was having are replaced with a feeling of total awareness, yeah not weird at all) and I politely remove myself from the situation (a.k.a. rushing back to my apartment to chillax in the bathroom). Thus far these occurrences are completely random without any triggers and it has been explained to me that they are just part of BMD, so I’m alright with them however I have a feeling I freaked out some friends this past weekend (my blunder).

The weekend was destined to be one for the record books as a couple of Witt friends of mine were tying the knot, getting hitched, or getting married. This of course led to Tigers all over the land to make the trek back to The Nasty for the ceremony. I was held responsible for picking up one such individual (as I’ve mentioned before I’m a man of integrity and will not use their name as I do not have their permission to use their likeness) from the Dayton Airport. Knowing I had such a huge responsibility I thought I had to make their arrival a memorable one, I was like the lynchpin to having a good time (or something like that). There’s nothing more exciting than seeing people get off a plane and their family/friends/loved ones holding a sign welcoming them back, I knew what I must do.

I spent a solid afternoon (4.5-5 hours if you’re counting) making the most flamboyant welcome sign I could. The colors and content of the poster would cause a town hall meeting anywhere in Texas so I knew my sign was a success. I arrived a tad bit early for the flight and placed my sign and giant rainbow colored lollipop beside my chair and waited. Soon the airport began to fill with boyfriends holding flowers, parents holding tissues, and Wright Pat personnel carrying their spear headed flagpole with their colors (perfect). Jazz (I should note that since much of my mania is centered on music I decided to nickname the individual in this story a random genre of music) walks out from the arrival sign and I stand and yell and point to my sign as he is one of the first ones off. There were a few murmurs, some laughter, and some total disgust as well arising from the crowd but nonetheless hilarious I feel. You may be asking me, “Was it all worth it for this stunt, I mean the labor involved in making the sign, the cost of the sign, the time and effort spent on this, the reactions from the airport, the fool you made yourself out to be, was it worth it?” Well did the big man upstairs ask if it was worth it on the 7th day? Yeah me neither.

TBC (that stands for To Be Continued)…

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 26

What lies before me is undoubtedly a daunting task but I had a decent night sleep last night (I only was woken up about 3 or 4 times by my crazy dreams involving quoting movies that I was making up at the time, weird I know) and feel that I am up to the challenge. Never before attempted on this blog I am going to try and achieve a world record (false) by connecting White Castle Chicken Rings (amazing BTW), the fact that the world is said to be truly flat, advancement in corporate America, and my IQ of 164 (well that is highly debatable but what else can you expect from an iPhone app) all in one post.

My usual daily bed-e-bye time (yes I still call it that, pathetic I know) consists of me surfing through my iPhone apps to catch up on the news and to entertain me during breaks in football. Last night I downloaded an IQ test and was completely astonished to realize that while at the same time that I only could interrupt 2 of the 8 or so questions I scored a 164 (I’m a good guesser). Now the previous night during this routine the fast food hunger instantly hit me as I was perusing through the Street (that’s what I call the Wall Street Journal to make it hip) and the only thing I could think of was White Castle Chicken Rings. I skipped (ok walked, but my excitement was nonetheless still evident) down to my car and made my way across the river to the deliciousness awaiting me in circular form.

While waiting for my turn to be as polite as possible to the intercom and thereby the employee speaking to me from it (pet peeve I, people that get upset and yell at fast food people, come on you’re at an establishment that prides themselves on serving you hot food in less than 3 minutes, what do you expect) I noticed that on their menu board you can order in advance. I actually laughed aloud at the mere concept that we as a society are so fixated on going and going and going that we have to order fast food in advance. I’m still in awe of it right now.

I’m not passing judgment without consideration as I was once part of this mass of common thought that if you’re not moving up your dying off. I was a loyal follower of corporate America’s philosophy of advancement for the betterment of you. It’s definitely difficult to not get caught up in this whirlwind “revolutionary” train of thought. I mean who doesn’t’ want to better themselves, who doesn’t want to make the most of their life, who doesn’t want to make a lot of money, who doesn’t want to succeed? But at what price?

I know I fell victim of the belief that if I was not advancing myself right now that I was missing out on something else better down the road. If I didn’t order my chicken rings in advance I might be a minute late for my meeting because of which my boss would give my promotion to my team member who ordered food in. But a weird thing happened after my episode, I woke up. I’m not trapped in a dream bubble (I got out of the Witt bubble a few years ago, I think) and am ignoring the fact that in order to succeed someone must advance. I’m just asking why does it take top priority and have to be right now? I feel like we’re missing out on something.

It really concerns me when dealing with the medical staffs I’ve encountered since my diagnosis. The whole time I was being treated it seemed like all the priority was advancing me to the next stage. Get me to their ideal level or what have you. We were always pushing to advance my treatment without taking account on what was really happening I feel, and what if we are missing something because we know it to be true from past experiences and advancements. What’s wrong with slowing down for a second to try to become aware of what’s going on to better understand it. Why must we rush through life always trying to advance ourselves rather than being grateful for what we have, who knows what we might learn. We knew it to be true 1600 years ago that the Earth was flat. We knew it to be true 450 years ago that the Earth was the center of the Universe. We knew it to be true 145 years ago that slavery was acceptable in society. We knew it to be true 90 years ago that women did not have the abilities to vote. We knew it to be true 15 years ago that I couldn’t share this with the world by a simple click of the mouse. What do we know to be true today? (Success on achieving the world record I think).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 25

The cool crisp morning chilled air brushes up against my face and tickles my toes through my flip flops. I take a deep breath and my eyes open to focus purely on the northern horizon. The sun creeps over the rooftops to my right as the eastern skies open up to a new morning in the mountains. I am at peace for a moment as the world seems to stand still awaiting my next move, thought, and revelation. The few birds whom have toughed out the winter begin to chirp as the new day approaches. It’s late February of a leap year and aside from that I have no need or want to know what actual time, day, or year it is. I have been chosen, just as so many others, to complete a mission of utter importance for the good of all mankind, and I will not fail. The shadows from the house rooftop from which I sit blankets the light snow dust that has accumulated on the southern side behind me. I look out over paradise and upon an urban kingdom that rests at the feet of the giant mountains to my left, carving a crown in the western skyline. It has become ever so clear to me that my destiny lies within the streets of the city before me just as it had been with the rural dirt roads of those prior to me. The city comes alive in front of my eyes but I hear no sounds and only feel pure ecstasy from my revelation. My heart begins to race and my mind fills with thoughts and ideas deriving from a place I cannot even try to imagine. The time is now, the time is ours and we must empower others towards the greater good. I look about the rooftops surrounding me expecting to see the others sitting atop the apexes together, but I am alone. I slide down the southern most snow covered roof and thrust my arm out, swing through the gap between the chimney, roof, and support beam and I snap back…

“How did I get on top of this roof and how am I not laying on the ground 40 feet below right now?”

15-20% of BMD individuals commit suicide each year, that is equivalent to 1 in 5 or roughly 600,000 Americans a year (these statistics are estimates but I think they make my point, trust me I’ll get to it). To say I didn’t battle the demons inside me with suicidal thoughts and nearly actions would be a lie (plus I pride my self on honesty). But for some reason I am still here today when many others that share my diagnosis are not, and I from time to time ask myself why I was spared and they were not. It takes every bit of strength in me to not react hastily and aggressively to anyone I encounter that calls suicide selfish. Until you yourself have walked down the seamlessness dark abyss inside your own mind that accompanies suicidal thoughts then how can you come to pass judgment on anyone who has (but I’m not going stand on my soapbox and preach to you about this I’ve got a brighter side to convey and I was just hoping to broaden someone’s horizons or something smart sounding like that)?

I survived my dance with suicide as well as my attempts to mess with fate from the above passage during my episode in Denver. I can recall a few instances during my episode where death seemed imminent for me whether it would have been by car crash or falling to my demise from a rooftop. However I am still here and for awhile I couldn’t understand why I was. I struggled with understanding why someone or something or whatever you want to call it decided I deserved to live, because I know I was not in control of that (I really haven’t had the desire to speed 100 mph down Broad Street in Denver at noon since my episode or for that fact have an urge to climb an unknown snow covered house rooftop in my flip flops and slide back down since then either). Although I do have the feeling that I now have a second chance at life and I want to make the most of it. I want nothing more than to enjoy everyday and make the most of it by making it amazing. I know I know what many of you are thinking that everyday can’t be amazing but I disagree. I think before my episode I put amazing up on a pedestal and thought it could only be accomplished by meeting unbelievably impossible standards. I assumed that amazing was reserved for the rarest of times during only the nearly unthinkable situations. But I was wrong; an amazing day is one of the simplest and easiest of things to accomplish. I think it can be achieved by simply saying hello and smiling to a neighbor or opening the door for a stranger. It’s amazing how you can make someone else’s day by doing almost nothing at all.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 24

Seeing how the NFL kicked off its season last week I feel I have an obligation to cover some aspect of the opening weekend (I think they would revoke my man card if I didn’t). Seeing how I’m not one to sit and analyze the games or try to predict the future (although I did time travel in Denver, or at least my running around the apartment complex barefooted while racing the elevators from floor to floor felt like time traveling) I’ve decided to give you a couple of points to ponder from my observations. Numero uno is that I am no longer on speaking terms with the city of Denver. This is a bit sad to admit as I always felt like our relationship would somehow rebound after the episode but it’s evident Denver wants nothing to do with me. I knew we were in trouble after I found the city to be negligent (can you tell I’m taking a law class in Grad school or what) after my episode but I retained hope that someday we could make up and be happy again. While I was open to trying this Denver obviously had different intentions when it symbolically ripped my heart out and wiped its butt with it from the play I’m simply calling The Tip (I refuse to go into more detail because it hurts too much). Next I’ve always thought it would be hilarious and utterly downright fun to have a little person (I’m pretty sure that is PC but if not to the whole five people that read this I’m sorry if I offended you) dress up in the same outfit that I was wearing and follow me around for a day. I wouldn’t acknowledge the creepiness involved or for that matter that they were even there despite the fact I would have them mimic my every move. However it was pointed out to me that I would simply be ripping off the intellectual property (another law term, on fire) of Mike Myers and I don’t want to get on the bad side of the Canadians so I dropped the idea. After this weekend I’ve decided that I would want to hire one of the professional water boys of the NFL to follow me around for a day. I’d have them dress up in green and black, wear .e4 gear along with my logo (that’s the thing to the right on the blog, we’ll get to that one day as well, once again control your excitement) and every so often I’d blow a whistle and stop the clock for a timeout and have them squirt water into my mouth while they covered my chin with a towel (a little weird but so refreshing).

Now that I feel I’ve done my due diligence as a man to comment on football this past weekend I’ll go ahead and talk a little bit about what brought me to those observations. My Step-Dad made his way down to The Nasty this weekend as we had plans to attend a fly fishing school on Saturday and the Bengals game on Sunday (all in all a nice little weekend despite the misery associated with being an Ohio football fan this weekend, I’ve since decided that I’m jumping on the UC Bearcats bandwagon, I figure if all the Steelers fans can do it why can’t I be a front runner). On Friday night we decided to try a local Brazilian Steakhouse downtown and it was the bomb diggity (that means good). During din din we got to talking and stumbled upon the topic of what I think would have happened if I never moved to Denver and stayed in the ATL. To be completely honest I never really had given much thought to the idea (it may have passed through my mind before but it wasn’t anything I really dwelled on) because I felt that what happened was destined to happen no matter where I was. I’ve become a firm (haha I said firm, shouts out to my southern sis) believer that everything works out like it’s suppose to. And even if something strange, unpredictable, terrible, or horrific happens to you (say you believe you’re a soldier for the light fighting against the darkness of evil to protect a sacred blood line, or something to that effect) it’s what you do afterwards that defines you as a person. We continued our discussion with dissecting the “ifs” scenarios of staying in the ATL. “If you were in ATL do you think it would have happened?” “If you were in ATL do you think the episode would have been as severe?” “If you were in ATL do you think the episode would have lasted as long?” “If you were in ATL would you have long hair that was combed to the side while you wore boat shoes, short khaki shorts, and sunglass neck cords (ok that really didn’t come up in conversation but I had to take a little jab at the boys in the south, still got nothing but love for ya guys though). All in all after some thought I don’t know the answers to those if questions but I do know one thing about them. When I focus too much on the “ifs” in the world I am missing out on so much more, because they are all just part of life.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Monday, September 7, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 23

I think you can make a pretty accurate judgment on what kind of experience you are in for from the selection of the reading material in the waiting room. As much as I hated going to the dentist growing up, having those “Highlights” magazines there to entertain me during the minutes leading up to the anticipated oral misery about to be upon me made the trip seem not so bad. While awaiting my turn in the barbershop chair I can always count on getting caught up in my sports with “SI”, “ESPN the Magazine” and other sports themed mags (and the occasionally skimming through of a “Glamour” is purely accidental mind you). While working in my sales job in The Nasty I would time from time be on appointments in which I was forced to wait until my contact was available to meet. During those times I could be found browsing through such periodicals themed in hunting, cars, the Civil War, politics, and television entertainment. Each one of these reading materials would mentally prepare me (good or bad) for the encounter I was about to undertake based solely on what I had just flipped through. Whether this quirk of mine is shared amongst others or not I somehow seemed to try to envision the person and experience I was about to undergo based upon that material sitting out in the waiting room. Imagine my complete dumbfoundedness (yeah, obviously not a word since I get that red squiggly line under it after I type it, but I’m keeping it in all the same) when I walked into THE Ohio State University Harding Hospital (Mental Health and Psychiatry department) and found but one magazine and it was so awful I can’t even remember what genre I would even try to categorize it under (needless to say this wasn’t a good start for me).

At this point in my life I had obviously made the trek back from the mountains to settle into the familiar flat farming fields of central Ohio, I was home. While I really didn’t know if I wanted, or for that matter thought I needed, to see a doctor (psychiatrist/psychologist) I felt so lost and confused with this whole thing that I agreed to go partly to entertain my parent’s wishes, partly to look for answers, and partly because I felt it was the responsible thing to do. Granted I did not have the best experience with my medical care in Denver (that was more than likely contributed to the fact that I at the time could not come to terms with the BMD diagnosis and therefore felt that I was not different and did not need any help, strike 1) so my reluctance to see anyone in Ohio was fairly prevalent. However after hearing that my Mom had gotten me into THE Ohio State University Harding Hospital even though I had no referral and the wait list was about six months (she has a gift of persuasion, some would use other terms to describe it, but it’s definitely a gift) I figured it was a good thing. Sitting in the waiting room with nothing to read and no idea on what my doc looks like I kept pulling the fake stand up whenever someone would walk by and make eye contact with me. Finally a shorter man with glasses and a beard walks into the room and beckons me to follow, I figure I’ve got nothing to lose and follow. We enter his office and I ask if he is doc so-and-so (that really wasn’t his name but I’m a man of ethics and decided to respect his privacy, the favor will soon be returned) and he replied yes. He explains to me that he doesn’t use names in the waiting room for confidentiality reasons (I didn't get it, I’m in the mental health hospital at THE Ohio State University, it’s safe to say the majority of people around have a good idea on why I’m there, but que-evs it’s a nice gesture nonetheless).

He opens the conversation by asking me to tell him what happened and who I am (in a nutshell). I am a little set back because I’m not sure how to answer, for some reason I feel embarrassed and set-back from this procedural like interview I was in. It felt almost as if the doc had a standard set of questions to ask with no real interest in the answers only that there was an answer so that they may make their way to the next question. I start out by telling him my name, where I was from, where I went to school, what I had been doing with my life, and of course recalled as many details from my episode as I could but my noncommittal mentality to the convo had to be evident. It did get easier to talk to the doc through the conversation but I never felt comfortable with it. For some reason I felt ashamed of myself for what had happened and nothing was really happening in that office to make me feel any different, that was my fault. Just as I had no expectations or visions from the lack of reading material in the lobby/waiting room, the feelings were just the same in the office, really there was nothing but I wasn’t trying that hard either. While these emptiness feelings were out of my control I could have handled the situation a lot differently. I ended up heading back a few times to Harding Hospital but then I took a job in The Nasty and stopped my meetings with the doc. I wouldn’t change anything in my life but at times I do wish I would have handled them a bit differently. If there was one thing I could do over from that initial meeting it would have been that I would have walked in with my head high, chest out, and smile on my face and started out by saying:

“My name is Derek Lee Thompson. I was raised in South Charleston, Ohio and was recently diagnosed as being bipolar; which to some is considered a mental illness, but I would have it no other way and this is my story…”

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 22

I’ve slowly become addicted to a new channel on my cable service known simply as the Science Channel. I am totally fascinated at some of the discoveries/theories/observations that some of these people can come up with (for instance the whole multiple dimensions and parallel universe ideas going on right now are re-dunk-u-luss, yeah I said it, re-dunk-u-luss). My intelligence is way, way, way too underdeveloped to even to try and imagine to debate some of these theories previously mentioned but there’s one I’d like to take a shot at; the “universal” language.

For the sake of argument (plus I’m not sure if I’m suppose to use MLA, APA, or Chicago style to cite in a blog) we’ll go ahead and assume that mathematics is the “universal” language. The supporters of this so called theory present the fact that mathematics do not lie and that everyone agrees on it’s principles and formulas and bottom-line equations. I am not one trying to debate any of these facts (that would be intellect suicide, and while I’m not a chart topper in this area any kind of criticism in that arena on my behalf couldn’t be good for me) but I will be the devil’s advocate here and ask “what about music?” Call me old fashioned but I believe the term universal should be defined as all encompassing, in other words every person (let’s not muddy the waters and stay with facts, hint hint intelligence beyond our atmosphere) should be able to communicate while using the “universal” language. I for one cannot imagine that of the 6.7 billion people on this earth they all understand mathematics. But I would bet my prized Sean Casey autographed baseball card (he wrote D-rok on it, SSBT) that all of them can relate to some kind of music.

That is what I consider the amazing thing about music, it speaks to all of us in one manner or another. I for one do not have a lick of musical talent in my bones; I can’t read music, play music, sing, or write music (it should be noted though that I could jam on a mean recorder back in my middle school days). However there’s something unbelievable about music that no math problem could ever do on me, send me back to another time. I love it when I hear a song on the radio or what not and I am mentally thrown back to the era in my life when that song was most prevalent. “Jump” by Van Halen came on the other day and I was instantly thrown back to my Dad’s rescue ranger in the mid eighties with the windows down and the music up. My two brothers and I standing up all in the back half cab of the truck just jamming out to this hair band classic as we cruised around the back roads of Clark, Greene, and Madison counties (mind you we were around the ages of 3,5, and 7, sorry Mom you had no chance with us). I think everyone is more than likely thinking of that one song when they grew up and I dare you to go download it now and play it, the images, feelings, emotions, and utter delight that rushes back to you kicks the crap out of logarithms.

During my episode last year I had one of these musical experiences however the outcome and overall play out of it was a bit different. I can recall sitting in my living room listening to music when all of a sudden the urge to spark a J hit me (that’s marijuana in case my hip lingo left you behind). At this point in my episode I was smoking from time to time to try and calm down (while being as high as the Rockies in a manic state sounds fun, it’s not quite what you think it would be if you’re still in your living room but think your on top of the mountains) so that wasn’t the unusual thing, it was that I was smoking with Jimi Hendrix (mind you prior to this meeting I had heard Jimi’s tunes, who hasn’t? but I did not own any of his records or knew much about him to warrant this introduction). There are a few difficult things to explain about this; one Jimi Hendrix is dead, two I don’t know how to roll a joint, and three Jimi Hendrix is dead. How I rolled that joint, I couldn’t tell you, why Jimi Hendrix was there, I couldn’t tell you, how Jimi Hendrix was there, I couldn’t tell you. Jimi Hendrix was 27 when he died, I was 27 at the time, Jimi Hendrix was BMD, I’m BMD, and Jimi Hendrix loved music, I love music. While these three things seem so simple I think that’s the point. I continually look to make things out to be more complex than they really are. Life is simple and I need to try and realize that and live it for what it is. The “universal” language isn’t complex math problems, it’s the simplistic expression of ourselves and what better form than music; something everyone can relate to.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 21

I never thought these words would come out of my mouth but I’m actually excited for school (don’t get me wrong, I used to get pumped to go to the View and check out who was in my class from the posted class assignments on the front doors but that’s a bit different). I’ve recently started classes here in the Nasty for my graduate degree and for the first time in awhile I’m happy. Stubby and I headed out to lunch yesterday and we were talking about how as long as you are doing something you enjoy or love that it doesn’t seem like work. I’ve talked about how bizarrely unpredictable this world is and to say I would have ever thought growing up in South Chuck that I’d of been able to live around the world and across the US I would have never believed it. Sure this BMD has totally changed my life (some for the bad but the most for the good) and I’ve essentially started completely over from scratch but I’ve learned some valuable lessons and a lot about myself along the way. Today I feel more like myself than I have in a long time and there’s nothing fun about totally losing who you are (there’s not a lost and found for that one, just imagine how much that thing would be raided).

Since my episode I’ve looked at my journey back to finding myself as having some bumps in the road and then at times being smoother than a criminal (my favorite MJ song, still a fan despite his legality issues, I think). There are too many things that I know I enjoy or like to list but I can tell you of three that I absolutely without a shadow of a doubt do not like or have a desire to try; motorcycles (I’m a wuss I guess), shooting something dead (double wuss), and going through depression again (just the word depression sounds awful).

Now for the motorcycle and shooting something dead activities I’ll go ahead and group them together under W for wuss and therefore it allows me to write about them at the same time. My brother, Step-Dad, Mom, as well as Aunts are big motorcycle enthusiasts so it should run in my blood, but it doesn’t. I have never been on a motorcycle and despite the attempts of the fam to have me take a ride on one (something weird about two guys on a bike that doesn’t sit right with me, I’m not sure of the proper hand placement in this situation and not too thrilled to try and find out) I never will, I know that I have zero, nil, nix, nada, naught need to be on a bike (I bet you liked that alliteration). Poncho would be the killing things enthusiast in the family (or hunter if you want to be a dick about it). Don’t get me wrong I have no problems with hunters (other than hunting was an excused absence from school growing up, what a country!) but it’s another one of those experiences I could do without and feel I lived a pretty full life (you have to get up early, it’s cold, wet, dark and I don’t want to do it). Despite my obvious disdain for these recreational activities I do understand the appeal of others to partake in them, this next one I don’t know anyone who likes.

For the longest time I looked at depression as just someone being down on their luck and maybe need to just look on the brighter side of life. I couldn’t have been more off on that assumption. Since I can remember I’ve always been a pretty light hearted fellow that really never got down or felt anything but happy, even in tough times I’d try to look for the positive in it (TPO; Team Positively Optimistic member here; that was actually the name I gave to my team at the Tizzle when I mentored apprentices, they loved it or at least acted like it at the time). I don’t know if it was my mind/body trying to put itself back into balance after my episode or what but I went through depression and it was the worst time of my life. The feelings of worthlessness, of being pathetic, of hopelessness, and just pure disgust in myself was almost more than I could handle. I may get a little annoyed with my mania from time to time but I would take it over depression ten fold, I know I couldn’t live with it (and unfortunately almost didn’t). I’ve read that with BMD cases a majority of females are on the depressed end of the spectrum opposite of me and my heart goes out to them, they are stronger than I could ever be. I’ve learned from all of this that judgment (while it may be an implicit function of being human) is something I work on overcoming everyday, it’s beyond unfair to cast opinions about someone or something that I cannot, and more than likely am fortunate enough, not to have to experience (whether that be a single occurrence or a regularity in daily life). I would ride a motorcycle with three men at the same time while picking off squirrels with a 22 before I’d make the choice to go through depression again.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 20

Yeah, uhhhh, so, about Tuesday, my bad. Why does it feel like I need to be apologizing for being a complete spaz or something for my behavior on my last entry? For some reason last night when I was thinking about what I wanted to write about and going through my notes (yeah I’m that guy) I felt like I needed to apologize for my behavior on Tuesday. The weird thing (aside from the fact that I take notes now, but of course that’s better than the voice recorder I was keeping during my episode) is that I know I shouldn’t be apologizing for something that’s out of my control. The docs all told me that there are going to be good and bad days with this BMD and that’s just part of it.

As I’ve mentioned before I have decided to try and handle/deal/cope/live with BMD without any prescriptions or meds. The reasoning I used to stop taking my meds was that I wasn’t myself on them and they made me feel worse than I thought was humanly possible. It’s kind of humorous (well probably not to most but at least to me) on how the docs tried to treat and rationalize the reasoning they were pumping me full of meds to “bring me down”. My all-time favorite right now is when they would say something like “Well, if you had diabetes would you not take insulin?” and my rebuttal (now, I’m not man enough to say it to their face, or I really wasn’t sure where I was at when they told me this) is that sure I would, but that’s because you know what my body needs. When it comes to medicating BMD it felt like they were throwing darts in the dark after playing dizzy bat (hit or miss if you’re not picking up what I’m putting down). Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they hit the bullseye at times and really help people but I’m not the kind to wait around and play a human dart board (trust me it’s not as fun as it sounds).

Don’t misunderstand me here, while I was on my pills I wouldn’t have mania experiences as often (really not at all now that I think about it) but that’s because my mind felt like it was shut down. The closest comparison I can think of is let’s say you severely twist an ankle and go to the doc and tell them “I’m not sure what happened, I was walking down the street like I do everyday and my lower leg started to hurt.” They would more than likely run some test, take an X-Ray and what not but would find no break, fracture, or complications other than you saying it hurts. The doc would explain it to you like this “We don’t see anything wrong with you but we know it’s not right so we’re going to put a knee-brace on you and come back in a few days and check on it.” Of course the ankle isn’t healed when you return and the doc goes “We obviously know something’s wrong so let’s also treat your back at the same time, wear this back brace it should help.” Once again you leave and come back a couple days later but the ankle is still not right so the doc tries a few other treatments but nothing seems to work. You then wake up after surgery and the doc comes in and says “We think we found the solution, let us know if you have any pain any more.” Of course you don’t have pain because they cut off your ankle. Sure the “problem” is fixed but they just totally eliminated the area of your body with the issues.

For me that’s how it felt on meds, sure my “problem” was taken care of because they took my mind away. The craziest part (pun intended) about this whole thing is that even when I was on pills it was explained to me that they are precautionary not preventive. So basically they were telling me I get to feel like poo on these pills a majority of the time just in case I have a day like Tuesday when it would be bad but not as bad if I wasn’t on pills (thanks, I’ll pass). I guess I’ve come to the realization that I’m going to have bad days when things are rough and at times I question my decision to stay off the meds. But those days are few and far between and the days filling the time between them are much better clean than on meds (walking around with no foot is one thing, with no mind is a totally different story, hailing a cab is nearly impossible without a head). So while I felt like I needed to apologize for what happened I’m glad it did, it reminds me I’m me and still alive (the alternative is much worse).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 19 Continued...

I’m sitting in my bathroom with the lights off talking to myself and the dialogue goes something like this…

You know I’m not even sure I can willingly put on paper what’s been happening to me today but I’ll give it my best shot…

My thoughts have been all over the place today, it’s nearly impossible to concentrate for longer than a few minutes on one topic without my mind skipping over to the next…

This morning I drove around The Nasty for about an hour with no place to go or really any reason to be driving other than I needed to get out of my apartment…

I spent the majority of my afternoon sleeping, at times my mind is in overdrive and it wears me out to try and control it…

I’ve cried around four times today and for some reason the tears are coming back now, but I’m not sad…

I’m scared, I’m really scared…

But at the same time I’m totally relaxed right now, I have faith that this will pass and I know I’ll be ok…

It’s the times like now that are the toughest to try and explain, because they make no sense…

I’m not sure I can say much more about it but hopefully I’ll try to explain it at some point…

At least I’ll always have hope and I’ll never quit…

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 19

Growing up in South Chuck really gave me a unique appreciation for driving. I think the reason for this is that in order to get anywhere or to do anything you had to drive the equivalent of a marathon (twice). To just get two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun involved somewhat of a plan to get there (no wonder I thought Red Lobster was such a nice place, it took almost two days to get there and back). The funny thing about that is that I ended up really enjoying driving around. My high school girlfriend lived around an hour (one-way) from me and then during college she was an hour and half. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for me to jump in my car and drive 3 or so hours to her track meet and then make the same haul back afterwards. Ever since I can recall I’ve always volunteered to drive because I enjoyed it, that all changed during my episode.

Since I was 16 I always had a five speed (T.A.N.) until the beginning of 2008 when I purchased a new vehicle. I was moving to San Jose where I looked at the situation as I was moving up in the company and starting to work along side, for, and with the big boys (and girls, no need to be sexist) and therefore needed a big boy car.

I’m not sure what it is today but I’m having a real tough time writing, it’s like I have this unknown pressure, energy, funk or something kind of blocked up inside me (wow, that’s not weird to say out loud or anything). My legs feel like they use to right before I would run the 400 Meter Hurdles at Witt, they’re tight but at the same time my muscles are semi-relaxed. From my neck down to my back it feels like I need to stretch or run or unwind myself in some way or fashion. Usually when I feel this way it’s because I haven’t flushed out the backed up crud in me from my mania (I bet you like that medical approach there). I need to do something to get this out of me or this day is going to interesting…

Today is a bad day...

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 1 Issue 18

I’ve been sitting in debate for the past few minutes trying to decide which life changing topic I wanted to write about in this entry. The top 3 in discussion are: my dysfunctional attempts to date since my episode, my first show (concert) I’m heading to since my episode, or my childlike excitement for “Hard Knocks” season premiere tonight. Seeing how everyone in their right mind is excited for the “Hard Knocks: Training Camp with the Cincinnati Bengals” (insert felon joke here) I’ve decided to concentrate on the other two promising topics; the first we’ll meddle in is my feeble attempts at dating.

Not that I was any kind of expert in dating prior to my belief that I was a member of the Knights Templar evading capture from the KGB but try and imagine explaining that to a girl you’re trying to date (it gets a bit difficult). When I was first released from the hospital you could say I was having a little trouble adapting back to my life (well if you call running home from the bar to lay in your closet trouble). So I was wide open to any advice on how to handle this transition and luckily my friends were there to provide some guidance. One of my good friends lead me to some helpful websites and she also mentioned to me that she had read that when dating I should wait around 6 months or so before telling the girl I was dating I was BMD (danke for that BTW). All in all it seemed like a really good idea, I mean why bring anymore hardships to the relationship (there’s more than enough without the BMD considering she’s dating me to begin with)?

Needless to say the first 8 months after my episode I was in no condition to date or even try to, unless I could find a girl in Browntown that enjoyed depression and the inability to take care of myself (not too many takers, I checked online). So once I pulled myself off my parent’s couch I moved down to The Nasty and started living a semi-normal life again I decided to try and possibly date as well. I met a girl a couple weeks ago and had a real good time with her. She was the first girl I’d considered trying to date in awhile (even though she wasn’t blonde, she had dyed it dark though) and I remembered the 6 month timeline advised for people with BMD when dating. There was a little problem I had, the only way I’ve figured out how to handle this is to be straightforward and honest about it. I mean this is a part of me now and plays a significant role in my life, I’m not sure I could hold something like that back 6 months. Knowing this I made the decision that I’d be forthcoming about everything right from the start, but this also means I better be pretty confident this girl can handle it because I’m fairly sure casual dating is out the door for me (there’s just too much crap to deal with me, for instance I’m a red-shirt kindergartener not to mention my mania). Long story short I don’t think it would be fair to put this girl through it if I wasn’t totally into it, (that’s right this eligible bachelor is still on the market) so to ease my pain I’m heading to Blink 182 with the elite from Browntown and tons of teenagers tomorrow (perfect).

Prior to moving to Denver the state actually makes you sign a contract stating that you will call all concerts “shows” and that you must attend at least one a month in order to be considered a true Coloradian (it’s a weird bylaw in their state constitution, kind of like it’s illegal in Atlanta to tie a giraffe to a telephone pole or lamppost). In any case I agreed to the terms in order to move and became pleasantly surprised on how much I enjoyed calling concerts “shows”. I have a confession to make, the Blink show is actually my second show since being back home, the first was O.A.R but it was right after my near manic episode in The Nasty in which I resigned from my job so I pretty much got sloshed for it (don’t remember the show therefore it doesn’t count). I really don’t have much to say about the show but it seemed like the prior topic was getting a little bit too serious and we can’t have that now can we?

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,