This blog used to examine honor as it exists these days...
It lasted six posts...
It sucked...
I think it failed for me because I don't really believe honor exists as it once did.
But Bi-Polar Disorder II; that exists. I was diagnosed with it over 15 years ago. In many ways, the diagnosis has improved my life; and in many ways it hasn't.
Bi-Polar Disorder used to known as manic-depression, but since that conjured up "bad" images, it was re-named with a more "politically correct" taxonomy. I preferred manic-depression, since it was more self-explanatory. Some days, you're manic; some days you're depressed.
The good news is, I have BPD2. That's shitloads better than Bi-Polar Disorder. Regular BPD means you're a risk to everyone around you. Your depression will make you suicidal and your manic periods are dangerously unpredictable. The bad news is, I originally was a coin toss between the two. Yay, me.
Since my diagnosis, I've rarely been ashamed of the fact, but other people have told me that I'm wrong for feeling that way.
As a journalist, I wanted to share the story to give others hope for dealing with it themselves. My editor thought it was a REALLY bad idea.
I don't hide it. I don't shout from the top of the buildings and the hills and wear it like a hair shirt, but I also won't shy away from it.
A lot of people on my Facebook friends list have no idea I've been diagnosed and will have a bit of a time understanding. This is my "coming-out" to them.
Surprise.
For most of you, this is old hat. But it's still something you don't fully understand. Don't feel bad; there are things my wife Dixie doesn't understand about this. Hell, there are things that I don't really understand. There are — however — things I know that BPD2 is and isn't.
BPD2 is not a choice. Many people from day one have asked why I would want to be this way. I don't want to be this way. Who would? Some days are an effort to get out of bed. Some days (Much fewer for me) it's an effort to get into bed. More than once, both of those days have occupied the same 24 hour period. Imagine living in a cave and the weather outside is radically unpredictable; blizzard gives way to blistering summer. Drought changes to monsoon at the drop of a hat. Each day, you get up, get dressed and leave the home and the door immediately locks behind you. Whatever you're wearing has to get you through the day. BPD2 is a lot like that.
BPD2 is not a failing; something to be ashamed of. Society for some reason cannot accept that mental illness is any different from physical illness. Not to trivialize it, but cancer is not incredibly different from bi-polar. Both show signs of being hereditary, both can be treated but not eliminated, and neither is a result of God's vengeance. They are maladies; an unfortunate kink in the genetic make-up in the sufferer. The difference is BPD — by itself — won't kill me.
I was pretty much guaranteed from a young age to suffer from BPD2 (And parentals, please stop kicking yourself for this. It's nothing you did and there was nothing you could do to change the matter.). One of my recent ancestors was never diagnosed, but he showed symptoms of depression. I'm creative (Some days, manically so) and I was an intellectually-gifted child. I couldn't have been more a poster child for BPD2 if they tattooed the word on every one of my genes.
There's your warning: If you're a brilliant artist (whether painter, artist, singer, actor, or whatever) who some days get nearly violently stressed because the lid won't go back on the toothpaste tube, then a call to your doctor is a good thing.
So what got me to finally start writing this blog?
Yesterday, I crashed.
I don't know all of the specifics, although financial burdens have a lot to do with it. What I DO know is yesterday at 10:15 a.m., I told the boss I was taking the rest of the day off, clocked in my vacation hours for the rest of the day, then went home and curled up in the fetal position under my bedsheets for four hours.
That was the lowest point I've been to since my diagnosis 15 years ago. Although an unrelated incident pulled me up quicker than I would have recovered on my own, I'm back to as close to normal as I ever get.
So I started this (hopefully) weekly blog as a way of putting my thoughts down and figuring what the issue may be and also to let others with BPD2 know that they're not alone and there's light out there. Mostly I think, I want others to realize manic-depression isn't a choice, a failure to be "normal," or something I (or anyone else) should be ashamed of.
BPD2 just ... is. Nothing gets better for the sufferer (and yes, we DO suffer on some days, trust me.) or their loved ones until we come to the realization. BPD2 simply is; and you either accept it and do what you can to manage it or deny it and TRULY mess up the lives of you and EVERYONE around you as you deny there's something in you that can't be controlled without help.
So you've got a choice. I made mine.
Dealing with BPD2.
