Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I've Lost My Damn Mind: A Manic's Mood Chart (29 page)

Submitted on 9/17/09

Red

February ??, 2008 (trippy manic flashback):

The cool, crisp morning-chilled air brushed up against my face and tickled my toes through my flip-flops. I took a deep breath and my eyes opened to focus on the northern horizon. The sun crept over the rooftops to my right as the eastern skies opened up to a new morning in the mountains. I was at peace for a moment as the world seemed to stand still, awaiting my next move, thought and revelation. The few birds that have toughed out the winter began to chirp as the new day approached. It was late February of a leap year, and aside from that I had no need or desire to know what actual time, day, or year it was. I had been chosen, like many others, to complete a mission of utter importance for the good of all mankind, and I would not fail.

The shadows from the house rooftop on which I sat blanketed the light snow dust that had accumulated on the southern side behind me. I looked out over paradise, upon an urban kingdom that rested at the feet of the giant mountains to my left. The mountains carved a symbolic crown in the western skyline. It had become clear to me that my destiny lay within the streets of the city, just as it had lain within the rural dirt roads of those who came before me. The city came alive in front of my eyes, but I heard no sounds and felt only pure ecstasy from my revelation. My heart began to race, and my mind filled with thoughts and ideas deriving from a place I could not even try to imagine. The time was now, the time was ours, and we had to empower others towards the greater good.

I looked around at the rooftops surrounding me, expecting to see the others sitting atop the apexes together, but I was alone. I slid down the southernmost snow-covered rooftop and thrust my arm out, swung through the gap between the chimney and support beam and snapped back--

“
How did I get on top of this roof, and how am I not lying on the ground or metal stairwell below right now?”

15 to 20 percent of individuals with BMD commit suicide each year. This is a rough estimate, but I think it makes my point; trust me, I’ll get to it. To say I didn’t battle the demons inside me with suicidal thoughts and dangerous actions would be a lie. But for some reason, I am still here today when many others who share my diagnosis are not, and from time to time I ask myself why I was spared.

It takes every bit of strength in me to not react hastily and aggressively to anyone I encounter who calls suicide selfish. Until you have walked down the seemingly endless dark abyss inside your own mind that accompanies suicidal thoughts, how can you pass judgment on anyone who has? But I’m not going to stand on my soapbox and preach to you about this as I’ve got a brighter side to convey, and I was merely hoping to maybe broaden someone’s horizons or something smart-sounding like that.

I survived my dance with suicide, as well as my tempting of fate like the above passage during my episode in Denver. I can recall a few instances during my episode where death seemed imminent, whether by a car crash or falling from a rooftop. However, I am still here, and for a while I couldn’t understand why. I struggled to understand 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 outcome. I haven’t had the desire to speed 100 miles per hour down Broad Street in Denver at noon since my episode, or had the urge to climb an unknown snow-covered rooftop in my flip-flops and roof-slide back down. 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 try and enjoy every day and make it amazing. I know what many of you are thinking, that every day can’t be amazing, but I disagree. Before my episode, I put “amazing” up on a pedestal and thought it could only be accomplished by meeting nearly impossible goals. I assumed that amazing was reserved for the rarest of times during almost unthinkable situations. But I think I was wrong; I think an amazing day can be one of the simplest and easiest things to achieve. I think it can be achieved by simply saying hello to and smiling at a neighbor or opening the door for a stranger. It’s amazing how you can make someone’s day by performing the smallest acts of kindness.

Session

JP: There are even studies that show nearly 50 percent of people with bipolar disorder attempt suicide. If someone close to you is bipolar, please be aware of warning signs such as talking about suicide; making comments about being hopeless, helpless, or worthless; switching suddenly from being very sad to being very calm or appearing to be happy; and tying up loose ends or putting their affairs in order. You need to intervene.

DT: A good friend has to do some of the toughest things imaginable at times. Get help for your friend. They’ll thank you later.

KEY TERMS:
TRIPPY MANIC FLASHBACK

Submitted on 10/21/09

Red

February 21 or so, 2008 (trippy manic flashback):

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

-- (Radio Edit), AT&T San Jose Sales Manager

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 now it was becoming a reality. I would never have thought that a small-town farm kid from rural Ohio could someday have a chance to walk the same grounds as some of the most 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 was on my way to San Jose to find a place to live and check out my new office and possibly tour what could be my new campus at Stanford. I was blessed.

I stepped onto the train at the Denver airport to head towards Delta’s terminal, and the spin hit me all at once. The colors from all of the lights brightened, and the train stop bells chimed loudly in my ears. I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of total awareness. Time seemed to slow down and my mind cleared, allowing for deep understanding of everything that was happening around me. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back and smiled, took a deep breath and let the spin take control of me.

This was my own journey, and the excitement engulfing me was almost too much to control. I had to maintain composure though, or the spin would be all gone after it had barely started. I knew that in order to balance these feelings, I must involve everyone around me, particularly my family. For it was they who had prepared me for this journey my entire life, and now I owed it to them to fulfill it.

Airports were the portals between perceived reality and the secrets hidden in plain sight around us. Knowing this, I slowed down so I could see the true meanings behind all that surrounded me. The trick to this was to be aware but appear totally oblivious. I could feel the energy and emotions rising steadily within me as I lost control. I was being guided to places throughout the airport, as if my family were leading me on my path. It almost became too much. I almost blew my composure, but then I looked up and saw I was standing in front of my savior.

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

It seemed like a sign, symbol or message. I had never in my life received a paid-for massage, and I smiled as I knew this must be a gift. My heart was racing. I knew I needed to settle down before I boarded the plane or I could cause a catastrophe. I waited my turn and willingly but nervously took my seat. I closed my eyes and drifted away.

As the masseuse worked her way around my neck and back, my mind traveled further and further away. I was overtaken by complete relaxation, yet my mind was moving faster than I ever thought possible. Suddenly fear came rushing into me and I jolted up from the seat.

“
Now I’m going to have to start all over for you,” the masseuse suggested.

I was overcome with guilt as I realized what my actions had undone: she was with me and with us, and I had postponed the next part of my journey by not finishing the massage. I apologized in a manner that conveyed my message of unity and sat back down. She completed her task, and I thanked her wholeheartedly and made my way to the gate.

TBC . . .

Session

JP: Researching this entry, I found that conspiracy theories about the Denver International Airport are rampant, ranging from a secret underground military base, to “one world” military order depicted in the murals, to unusual words cut into the floor being Satanic, Masonic, or just some impenetrable secret code of the New World Order. There is also
a dedication marker in the airport allegedly inscribed with the
 
Square and Compasses
 
of the
 
Freemasons, along with a listing of the two Grand Lodges of Freemasonry in Colorado.

DT: Freemasons, you say? No wonder I was convinced they were following me. Sneaky bastards.

KEY TERMS:
NEW YEAR’S EVE, “FIGHTING,” PRICKS, HELP

Submitted on 1/3/10

Red

New Year’s has never been one of my favorite holidays (I always fancied, yeah I said fancied, big whoop, St. Patty’s Day) but this past New Year’s Eve is one that I will soon not forget. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve prided myself on “fighting” BMD with no help from meds. For reasons that are beyond my comprehension--OK, that’s BS, you called me on it. For reasons that I was afraid to admit to myself, I refused help.

Call it my manly instinct (a.k.a. how to pick up chicks instinct). I was under the belief that I could conquer BMD all by myself. I was convinced that if I could live my life without meds, I would be making some profound statement about just how manly I was. The idea of my hypermasculinity is easily refuted by an examination of my immense fear of pricks; needles, that is. I was under the assumption that I was somehow stronger than I really was. The past few days have opened my eyes, once again.

I am writing this entry from the hospital, for my mania has gotten the best of me. The past few days, I have experienced things that words cannot adequately describe. I had another episode and am fighting to understand it.

Since episode uno, I have tried to beat BMD by writing, working out (the scenery isn’t bad at the gym) and trying to be happy, but that just isn’t enough. I’ve read blogs by others stating how they’ve overcome BMD med-free, and I envied and imitated them; I even posted a video in support of this path. However, I am only human (I think . . .). I can admit when I’m wrong and ask for help. I need
 
all
 
the help I can get.

They say New Year’s is a time of new beginnings, resolutions, change. Maybe that’s why I disliked New Year’s so much. I didn’t want to admit I was weak and needed to change. Funny how my mind can play tricks on me; if I had to guess, I’d bet my mind loves Halloween. Lately, I have said some things and acted in ways that I never thought were in me. Am I proud of these things? To a degree, I am, which leads to even more questions, but it makes me smile because I would hate to get to that point in my life when I thought I no longer needed answers.

There is a single question on my mind right meow though, and I hope the answer to it comes soon. Will my new medicine help me? Deep down, I hope and believe it will but only time will tell, and I am now grateful that I still have that time to wait and see. Happy New Year (this holiday is slowly climbing up my chart, BTW).

Session

JP: I’m not a big fan of New Year’s, either. I can’t even remember the last kiss I got at midnight; I’d have to say it was at least a couple of years ago.

DT: Shit, that’s nothing. Mine was like ten years ago. And I immediately regret admitting that.

JP: Yeah, you probably should.

KEY TERMS:
REFS, EUPHORIC, ENLIGHTENMENT, PUZZLES

Submitted on 1/12/10

Red

December 27, 2009 (trippy manic flashback):

The TV was on but I had little to no interest in what was showing. I was more concerned with the game being played between my reality and the perceived truths of the “outside” world. I had tried to watch the game earlier that day, but every time I concentrated on it, I adversely affected the outcome. Players were dropping like flies and the controllers of the game, the refs, had been compromised and this totally disgusted me. It was a cruel and devious act to take away one of my ultimate pleasures, and one for which I would seek revenge.