Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 42

Synopsis: Actor Bruce Willis and writer/director M. Night Shyamalan reunite after the surprise success of The Sixth Sense for this supernatural thriller. David Dunne (Willis) is taking a train from New York City back home to Philadelphia after a job interview that didn't go well when his car jumps the tracks and collides with an oncoming engine, with David the only survivor among the 131 passengers on board. Astoundingly, David is not only alive, he hardly seems to have been touched. As David wonders what has happened to him and why he was able to walk away, he encounters a mysterious stranger, Elijah Prince (Samuel L. Jackson), who explains to David that there are a certain number of people who are "unbreakable" -- they have remarkable endurance and courage, a predisposition toward dangerous behavior, and feel invincible but also have strange premonitions of terrible events. Is David "unbreakable"?

Spoiler Alert: This movie sucks but somehow it scored like 7.3 rating on IMDB (nothing makes sense in the world right now). As mentioned before I’m a firm believer that this is Bruce Willis’ worst movie but it got me thinking. This past week has been pretty awful for reasons that I’m still trying to cope with. During one of my coping sessions (I’ll admit it, I’m depressed as a mofo) I started thinking about the possibility of my very own Elijah Prince out in the world.

I mean if Willis is “Unbreakable” shouldn’t there be someone out there who is totally “undeserving”? Instead of walking out of disasters without anything more than a scratch there has to be someone out there sitting in a life full of everything they’ve ever wanted but did nothing to deserve it. I imagine my “undeserving” had everything come easily to them, that they haven’t had to work for anything in their life, and that they have been given everything.

At times I’ll sit at home grappling with the fact that it seems no matter how hard I work, no matter how much I want it, no matter how much I do right I end up feeling like a piece of shit (last week for example). During these times I’m fixated on going back over the events of my life trying to find the answer to why it seems I can’t get off my ass and make it. I overanalyze every detail trying to determine if it was my fault that I’m feeling like complete shit.

I mean why can’t a creepy weird black man enter my life and answer all my questions? Why can’t I have a stalker from afar that is full of the answers? Well maybe because I’m the black man in this completely overrated movie. Could it be that I’m the one that needs to seek out this undeserving bastard that has had his life handed to him? Is it possible that this spoiled dude on the top of the world needs me to come around and creepily attempt to destroy it?

As much fun as this quest sounds to find my more than lucky son of a bitch opposite that’s life has been filled with everything but adversity, I really don’t know where to start (the top 1% maybe, oh conservatives calm down it was a joke). The truth of the matter is I know my opposite is somewhere out there sitting under palms at their private villa with a female companion that’s not superficial at all. While I sit and bitch on my computer in the middle a field by myself (well Tug’s here, but damn it he won’t quit barking). But all kidding aside (except for my distaste for “Unbreakable”, that’s real) even if my opposite is somewhere out there I want to let them know I actually feel sorry for you. I mean living an “undeserving” life that just comes to you despite work ethic and without adversity can only spoil someone. If life comes that easily to them, is it really worth it?

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

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 41

As some of you keen observers may have noticed from last week I’m not really feeling that great. At first I thought it was due to the fact that I lack anything that resembles patience and this was leading me to my irritability and crappy moods. I’ve been feeling some anxiety as I’m anxious to move onto the next step in my life (three years in recovery is starting to test me, I’d like to be able to support myself again at some point of my life).

In order to try and counter this Big D offensive (yea I watched a “Modern Marvels” over the VC tunnels in Vietnam, those tunnel rats had some balls let me tell you) I decided earlier this week to take a hike (without the deer antler helmet, still trying to figure out whoever sent that). I hadn’t been to the Clifton Gorge since I was a kid so it sounded like a plan. I figured I’d take a couple hours and try to find the patience I’ve been lacking.

When we were kids Stubby would take us to the Gorge every so often and it was always a good time. Although I will admit as a kid we went during the spring when it’s wet and there are waterfalls everywhere and the water is running a ton faster (luscious vegetation is what I’m hinting at). This also meant at least one of us boys would bust our ass on the trail but it was totally worth it for the rock climbers and “three hot tubs” rapids. This fall everything was a lot drier but it still didn’t prevent me from turning my ankle around three times (increasingly embarrassing considering there were runners busting ass through the trails that I could barely walk).

The hike was great (we’ll call it 9 rock skips so that’s a new record Cuzin Art, deal with it) and afterwards I did feel better and was able to calm myself some. This was unfortunately short lived as the weather changed the following day and then a couple days ago I had the worse day I’ve had in awhile. I suck during the winter (2 hospital stays and depression pretty rampant) and it doesn’t help being in Ohio either. I mean the sun disappears for like three months during the winter here. It’s cold, dreary, gloomy, and dark where normal people get a little down and depressed, imagine trying to deal with all of this while also having BMD (it’s not real fun).

Which means I’m pretty sure my depression is starting to creep it’s punk-ass face out from hiding because during the middle of the week I was awoke around 4 in the morning feeling like the biggest piece of shit this side of the Mississippi (and probably the other side as well). I forgot just how terrible it can make me feel, it’s not even for the birds it’s that bad. I think I got a little spoiled on how good I was feeling over the past few months and that really pissed off the evil inside me (sore loser).

That evil is just as much part of the game I’m in as my mania and my depression. It wants to use my Big D to drive me down, hold me down, and force me to live a life that seems unfair to me. This evil is in the game to win it and while a nature hike may help out it’s far from the answer. My depression feels like it’s out to do one thing alone, and that’s force me to live my life in the corner (or the bathroom). It wants me to fear life and be forced to living one full of compromises. I’ve been through this before and it’s made me want to move from the harsh winters of the Midwest but I’m still here and I need to start fighting.

To fight back I like to think this evil I once believed had been given to me actually picked me. That it goes after the strongest of us knowing that if it can break them the rest will follow. I take pride in thinking that the BMD, Big D or evil feels threatened by me and wants to break me down. Knowing that every time I get back up, each tearful day I make it through, and every last battle I can fight through just makes me stronger, exactly the opposite of what my evil Big D wants (and I’m pretty sure I know who sent me the deer antler helmet now and told me to take a hike; game on).

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

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 40

I spent yesterday (my first day off work) worried sick about bed bugs, yeah it did suck. I was once again a participant in an assessment of my mental health. This is about the 7^th or 8^th time I’ve had this unique pleasure of someone with a degree more than likely from a community college “exploring” my mental health and drug addiction(s). In the past I haven’t had much success with these assessments; for instance two psych ward visits (probably needed those though), placement in rehab (how can I take my lithium when all drugs are prohibited), dropped the f-bomb bigger than shit on a doc (he totally deserved it) and in a my most recent one completely lost trust within 10 minutes of doctors (stop trying to put me on more pills).

I will admit I screwed up and deserved this last assessment from my legal issues (20 hours of class from being resolved though) but to watch the secretary spray down the entire office with disinfectant after I visited with the “community college counselor” was worrisome. Then I overheard said counselor calling corporate to discuss the proper procedure to disinfect the office if a client reports bed bugs (it wasn’t me btw, it was another dirty butt). Not exactly the way I envisioned my first day of freedom from my summer job that seemed a hell of a lot hotter, longer, and not as much fun as it was in college (I did drop like 20 LB’s though, love life still dormant though). As I sat there in contemplation on the consequences of bed bugs (mainly that I’d have to tell everyone I have bed bugs) I began to think, what a crazy problem to have.

It reminds me of the daily, weekly, and just normal crazy problems I have to face in my life on a consistent basis. Finding healthcare, fighting the mania, dealing with depression, worrying about my career, concerns I’ll never be able to support myself, fears of waking up manic or even worse in another psych ward, and the list could continue. I at times envy and resent at the same time people around me for their problems. More times than not over the past three years or so it feels as though the harder I work the further I go backwards (still living off my family for instance right meow).

Then I see people around me finding success in their lives and complaining about it. Maybe it’s just the new “American Way” to bitch all the time but I find it difficult to find pity for your promotion, wedding planning, new home, new member of a family, or whatever “terrible” event in their lives that’s going to cost them so much money. It makes me at times boil inside and makes me want them to have a little taste of my world so they can appreciate theirs so much more.

As difficult as this is at times I need to realize they do not realize what exactly they have or what they’re doing. I may even need to thank most of them because they’ve made this next decision of mine very easy. I grew up in a town that preached the morals of Christianity, to have love and charity towards others that are less fortunate. To treat others as you would want to be treated, and for the most part I see that in my community now even with the “American Way” of bitching. This past summer I spent a majority of it running the business I worked in college as my family member who owns it was hurt in a wreck. I had zero problem helping out, it’s what everyone does when a family needs help in the community (seen it from Stubby to Poncho’s accidents) and he received a ton of support from the community.

Unless of course you have a mental health issue like mine. See no one dropped what they were doing to ever check on me, I didn’t receive one phone call, text message, email, letter or visitor in the past three years checking on me. However they weren’t too busy to expose the real reason I was hospitalized and brought home; drugs you see (yeah not BMD I guess).

I was resentful of this for awhile but I should be thanking them for this. By them I mean all of them, the assessment “counselors”, bed bugs, ungrateful peeps in my life, and my hometown Christian community. If it wasn’t for them I probably wouldn’t have the desire and drive to better myself I have today. Even despite the fact that at times it feels the harder I work the further behind I fall I’m not going to quit. I’m going to keep going and finally make it, because I don’t think I can stand to be around these peeps for the rest of my life (no I take that back, I know I can’t).

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

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 39

I’m not entirely sure how true this story is about my Grandpa Dick but Poncho has been told it miles away in a small town bar years after it happened and Stubby claims to be an eye witness to the account. So uh here uh, here uh, here uh, here uh we go.

My mom and aunts grew up with horses of which their lives were completely ruined by according them (tough life when you have a pony isn’t it?) oh yeah owning a pizza house to eat from whenever must have been terrible as well. In any case seeing how it was 6 females versus my grandpa he tended to drink (can’t really blame the man) and one of his watering holes was just up the road from the house.

Well seeing how the distance was too far to walk and Grandpa was all about safety first and didn’t want to drink and drive he would ride the horse up to the bar (genius I know). So one day Grandpa is more than likely up to his eyes in estrogen so decides to take a ride up to the bar. Unfortunately on the way there it started to rain so being the animal lover he was Grandpa Dick simply rode the horse into the bar to get it out of the rain (I mean it only makes sense you know).

Everything was going fine until the horse took a shit in the bar by a game of 8 ball and really upset everyone in the bar except for Grandpa Dick (where else is it supposed to go, I mean it can’t flush a toilet). Some family members were called to come and get Grandpa Dick and the horse out of the bar and they did but there were some consequences for his actions. The bar soon after put up a sign that read:

Banned 1 week from the bar:

Dick Leach and the horse he rode in on

Hahaha that makes me laugh every time I hear it. I was reminded of this story the other day when for some unknown reason I was thinking about my first stay at Porter Hospital. I’ve mentioned how in the Wards us patients really lean on each other. I didn’t know this at first and was kind of caught off guard on how honest everyone was in there. It was inspiring and made me search out for others to help.

The first girl I spoke with was a rodeo cowgirl, I think she did barrel races, who was in the Ward because of a boy (aren’t we just pricks sometimes, but you ladies aren’t all sugar and spice all the time either). She had tried to take her life because of him. We talked for awhile and we were able to come to the conclusion that that prick definitely wasn’t worth all of this going on around us.

It was a great feeling to help someone out like that, it made it easier for me to handle what was going on in my life. Maybe that’s why the Wards leave us to ourselves a lot. They know working together and fighting together is the best medicine (although it’s probably more of a budget thing but a guy can dream). So what’s the moral of the story? Is it the connection of the rodeo cowgirl with my mom and horses being some sort of sign? Maybe it’s working together should be something I look to achieve in more areas of my life other than just fighting BMD?

Nope, the fact that the cowgirl was released that next day and I was stuck in that Ward for days afterwards proves I must really have been bat-shit crazy. But I mean my Grandpa finds solace by riding a horse into the bar and allowing it to drop a deuce on the floor by the pool table, should I have expected anything else?nce 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!

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

ming Correct, d01roK

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 38

I know it seems hypocritical of me and all with my fear of scary movies but I’ve always loved Halloween. I mean what’s not fun about dressing up and wearing make-up to pretend you’re someone else (just ask Hollywood, they do Halloween like year round). And I’ll admit it; sometimes I can get a little carried away with my costumes.

For instance I’m pretty sure my costume last year offended someone to the point that it resulted in the “forgetting” of my invitation to a friend’s (or so I thought) wedding. Although I should be fair and divulge all of the facts here. I was wearing a towel that had about a 2 foot dick drawn on it, it was a RIOT (get it?). But at the same time I’ve had some pretty clutch costumes in the past like:

(Yeah that’s me as the Hamburglar at the McDonald’s where I just had stolen (ok I paid for) some tasty burgers.)

(Superbad, and yes I showed that Fake Fake Hawaiian McLovin ID at the bars, they really weren’t as amused at it as I was.)

I’m sure right about now that one or two of you are thinking: how could I be such a fan of All Hallows Eve when I’m such a pansy when it comes to scary movies? How can I have a fear of horror movies and then such a love for All Soul’s Day? And the answer to that is easy.

First off if you have ever seen a college campus during Halloween weekend and experienced the “costumes” the ladies are wearing (and you females know damn well what you’re doing, and I must say I like it) then you’d understand. Secondly how can I fear something that while growing up hooked me up with a stash of Smarties, FunDip, Nerds, Skittles, Reese Cups, and Mini Three Musketeers for a month?

So for you two who doubted me I hope you feel bad about yourselves. But I never like to leave anyone upset so I will say thank you for providing this transition into my fear of randomly one day waking up manic. While in all honestly I was hoping for a little bit smoother transition; well, shit happens.

For me it would be a complete lie (and I pride myself on honesty, well that and my unbelievable sliding ability during Little League) to say I do not fear waking up manic one day but I do not live in fear of it. It’s similar to my fear of snakes (damned creatures of Satan I tell you) in that I don’t wake up every day fearing that I’m going to have a snake attack me at some point of the day (but if it did I assure you I’ll be running as fast as I can the other way, just the toughness in me I guess). I don’t get up and think about snakes and hope that I never come across them and let my fear consume and control my day. That’s the difference to me of living in fear of something rather than living with the fear of something.

The same can go with my BMD and mania. I do fear waking up in a psych ward again (in good cause, those places are for the birds) but if I lived in fear of this rather than just with it then I really wouldn’t be living my life at all. That’s exactly what my mania wants to do, to hold me back in fear. It wants me to live in fear of it instead of living my life just with the fear of it. Simply put it just wants me to give up on my life (no way is that happening, I’m not giving up dick towels, skittles, and cleavage; it’s just not going to happen).

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

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 37

There’s those few and far between moments in my life when I hear something and I’m totally caught off guard. At these occurrences of rarity in my life I can more than likely be thinking:

“Holy Shit! I really wasn’t expecting that.”

One of the first of these times of astonishment and awe happened when I was in high school. I was visiting my G’Pa and G’Ma when G’Pa stole the show and took over the story for my G’Ma who was “telling it all wrong!” I’m not sure why but we were talking about when I was born. Being the oldest grandson of a multi-generational farming family I was expecting to hear a story about maybe how proud and happy they were when I was born. But then again I am talking about my G’Pa so I should have known better.

Instead I received the story on how perplexed everyone in the community was because I was such an ugly baby (I wish I was making this up). He went on to say he couldn’t believe how such a good looking couple like my mom and dad could have such an ugly baby. To make things better for me he mentioned another baby in the community who was recently born and who was ugly as well with great looking parents (it really didn’t make me feel any better at the time).

What got me thinking about this was the conversation I had with my new doc in Xenia (wait a minute; Xenia=Twister=Wizard of Oz=my mania; weird) I had a couple weeks back. I must say that I really like this new guy (btw that reminds me a huge thank you to my Aunt (sort of) for getting me into to see him, your wish is now my command) and its not only because he said he thought I was the most insightful person with bipolar disorder he’s ever met (who am I kidding, that’s a big part of the reason). Actually we get along for a couple of reasons and one important one is that he made me think: “Holy Shit! I really wasn’t expecting that.”

I’ve made it pretty evident that I do not get along well with docs (but damn it they can be a pain in the ass at times). My main trust issue falls into the belief they are not serving my needs as the patient as their number one priority. As if they have their own agendas that they’re worried a hell of a lot more than they worry about my needs; these usually involve a new “wonder drug” they’ve had so much success with in the past treating (or should I say masking) bipolar disorder. I was fully prepared for another marketing pitch to me in the doc’s office that felt a whole lot like the sales presentations I used to make to potential clients at AT&Tizzle.

But rather my new doc dived into his belief that there were only two drugs (depakote and lithium) that should be used to treat bipolar disorder mania, end all be all, and the end. “Holy Shit! I wasn’t expecting that.” It was utterly refreshing to finally meet another doc (El Doc the other) that took the no nonsense, cut through the bullshit approach to not only treating but understanding this BMD. Not once did I hear him even mention another drug which is a warm welcome from the usual bombardment of medical propaganda I’m used to receiving in docs offices.

It feels pretty damn good to think I’ve got someone on my side that gets it, it’s even helping me deal with the self-image issues I have somehow acquired about my looks (you can grow out of ugliness, right?).

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

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 36

Half way creative bipolar man seeking extremely talented musician for accompaniment for a potentially “Sweeping the Nation” single. Lyrics already provided merely seeking melody, rhythm, pitch, and musical presence that ‘gets the people going’. Any and all interested parties please reach out to the comment section of this post with contact information.

Prior to my episodes I was never really known for my writing; in fact I was absolutely terrible at it. English was my least favorite subject in school (History and Art here, yeah using both sides of my brain totally makes sense now, bipolar remember?). On my ACT I would have scored about three or four points higher if it hadn’t been for my below acceptable English scores (yeah Mom made me take it twice) on the exam. I’m not sure why I sucked so bad with writing but it was definitely evident.

I was absolutely horrible with run-on sentences (I mean I am manic though), grammar (Kelsey is the only Grammer I care about, terrible joke I know), and punctuation was just another example of one of my arch-nemeses (BTW I recently saw a bikini picture of Kristen Cavallari and even though I did not think it was possible it made me hate Jay Cutler even more). I could dive into why I think writing and English were not my faves but it’s more than likely because I thought I sucked at it.

It reminds me of why I ran track through high school and college (well until I jacked up my ankle trying to sled down the snow covered hill at the track on my butt, way to be smart Derek). I, like any normal person, really don’t care much for running, in fact it sucks. However I really like winning hence the reason I ran track (OK confession time, my first 400 meter hurdle race in college my girlfriend actually ran a faster time in her400 hurdle race-but she was on scholarship damn it) and no one I’ve ever met enjoys the pain and suffering one feels after running a 55.6 second (personal record) 400 meter hurdle race (that was totally dropped in there to make myself feel better about my girlfriend kicking my ass in the earlier comment). Sucking at something really makes me not want to do it.

That’s why after my freshman year in college I never took any more English or writing classes. I didn’t particularly enjoy writing and that was evident by my persistent procrastination to write term papers. I guess it’s really weird to think that now because one of my biggest tools in fighting this BMD is sitting here writing (the world is a crazy place). I’m really glad I’ve found something to release the craziness inside and it’s really growing on me, I mean I actually look forward to our weekly chats. I’m thankful for that, I couldn’t imagine trying to fight this without writing (it also helps that I’m pretty sure I don’t totally suck any more at it-well my editor would disagree with some of that, especially my punctuation and grammar, but at least I’m trying to get better).

In honor of this semi-new revelation of mine I’m actually going to share with all of you the first thing I wrote. It wasn’t a post, or story, or anything of prose form but actually a song. I wrote it sitting in the seal truck a few years ago to offset my boredom (no radio is the pits man). This song is of course only lyrics because I definitely can’t write music which is why I put out the call for help at the beginning of this post. Nonetheless it still makes me laugh and I hope you all enjoy it as well. It’s called “Worst Enemy”.

All I wanted to do was stay home with my girl and watch a movie

All I wanted to do was have her pick out a new DVD

All I wanted to do was introduce her to my good friend Ron Jeremy

But as we walked thru the porn shop door

She walked right past those DVD’s, she walked right to the back to my worst enemy

Vibrator, Vibrator this is your song

Vibrator, Vibrator you did me so wrong

Vibrator, Vibrator why are you so long

Vibrator, Vibrator stop being a bush hog

All I wanted to do was open her mind to new experiences

All I wanted to do was have threesome with one of her friends

All I wanted to do was her best friend Jen

But as Jen walked thru the bedroom door

She walked right past me and headed to the drawer and my worst enemy

Vibrator, Vibrator this is your song

Vibrator, Vibrator you did me so wrong

Vibrator, Vibrator why are you so long

Vibrator, Vibrator stop being a bush hog

All I wanted to do was have a simple night alone

All I wanted to do was call a sex line on the phone

All I wanted to do was play with my own bone

But as I started to crank my mind started to think

Just how good could it be with my worst enemy

Vibrator, Vibrator you rest in my palm

Vibrator, Vibrator I switch you on

Vibrator, Vibrator my you’re so loooong

Vibrator, Vibrator this was your song

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