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,
d01roK

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,
d01roK

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,
d01roK

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,
d01roK

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,
d01roK

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,
d01roK