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!