The Human Condition

      We are all so petty, degrading others in a race to prove our outright correctness. Why the hell can't we leave things alone anymore? For all of the 'progress' being spoken of, all I see is mayhem and discontent. Roving packs of rabid rioters causing chaps and hiding behind the lens. Every generation has its "the end is nigh" moment, but I don't believe that's where we are. However, the Civil War is not out of the question. Those who remember better times can only shake our heads and sigh.

All Endings Aren't Storybook

     There is a widespread feeling among many that suicide is "an escape" or "the coward's way out" or a "final solution to a temporary problem". It irks me a great deal when I used to hear (and now read them all over the Internet - apparently teeming with Doctor's and certified therapists) the many reasons people cast shade upon the idea of someone (literally) taking their life in their hands (as opposed to the figurative ideal of straightening ones life, which is smiled upon). All mental illnesses are not the same, and not all of the mentally ill react to life stressors in the same manner. However, I can tell you for those who suffer many illnesses, suicide brings the hope of closure. Those who pass judgement upon us; telling us to "buck up" and "it gets better" will never understand the feeling of waking up each new day and not knowing what their mind will be up for that day. Or having to think about everything that people take for granted - sleep rhythms, drinking alcohol, even the amount of soda I drink in a day can affect my mood. (As well as my belly) Then you have the medications required to try and manage your illness (never cured), and you start to see a glimpse of the stress that merely being RESPONSIBLE for an illness like these can carry. Add to that the shame many of us feel (on some level) for not being able to control our internal typhoon when it sets upon our shores. Many with mental illness don't like to share it with the world, because people hardly ever understand, and this misunderstanding can lead to emotional crisis being dismissed as "a cry for help" or "a tantrum" and even "an excuse". Imagine a person in a dark place getting their emotional turmoil being dismissed out of hand, and what that must feel like.

     My first suicidal thoughts came at the age of 14, when I was living with a Father who had once abandoned me and a stepmother who psychologically tortured me. I had always been a bit darker than the kids around me, but never to the level of angst I would come to embody in the decades that followed. That night at dinner, I began crying in my spaghetti (not as good a song title as "tear in my beer"..... although "Sobbing in my spaghetti" might catch on) and my Father growled at me to go to my room. A short while later, he came in and asked me what was wrong, and I told him that I hated my life and wished I could die. He told me I was being "melodramatic" and that I needed to "toughen up". This was my first interaction with the snobbishness people handle bipolar with. My first suicide attempt that required hospitalization was at 19, and when faced with what ad happened (not decade yet!), both of my parents took the time to tell me to stop overreacting, and that they had not raised me to be a quitter. Today, I look back and laugh; at the time, it was a devastating introduction to the absolute carelessness people handle mental disease with. It just so happens that, to this day, I am very open about being bipolar with everyone in my world, and there are those (as I have grown) who are much better at respecting my limitations and my liabilities. My shame is not from being bipolar any longer, but from not being able to do more for those who love, support and provide me moments in a life worth living.

     Which brings me back to the beginning: suicide is often a desire for closure: to the sadness; the disappointment of not having the motor to match your desire; the mood swings; the responsibilities of being a person with a disease process and the unwelcome assumptions of the masses who can't see your malady and dismiss you out of hand. Suicide is also not a "cowards" way out; you can never understand how difficult it is to go against your internal programming that helps to keep us all alive. Suicide is a way to just stop the day to day melancholy; a way to stem the tide of despair (or agitation or discomfort or fear) that washes over you each day that your mind is "not quite right". In your darkest hour, when all hope seems lost, it at least provides the tumultuous mind an option to the existence it is currently suffering from. Like many other thoughts, it is harmless in our mind, but becomes something much darker when brought into reality. No one has the right to interpret the level of agony that someone who is brave enough to mention mental distress might be going through. No one ever taunts cancer patients for losing weight, but a tortured mind can be dismissed out of hand as unmotivated. Unwilling to "pick yourself up". Giving up.

     A quitter.

     Yes, I have reached a place in my life where suicide is a long ago lesson, and even my bipolar has gone from raging Cyclops to irritable gnomes, and a large part of that goes to finally gathering a great supporting cast around me. At last, I have a wife who cares and seeks to understand and forgives me my (hopefully) occasional trespasses. A best friend who will talk to me on any level I go down, and whose own battles give him a darker, more direct understanding of how I exist. A great number of close friends and acquaintances at my job that accept and encourage me in my darkest moments. Lastly, I have come to recognize over the course of my life that, without my bipolar and my suffering and my suicide attempts, I wouldn't be who I have become. I wouldn't be the voice others could turn to and feel accepted and understood when they are in pain. I wouldn't be so open to any experience or trying new things, as my bipolar beliefs have opened me up to. I wouldn't comprehend so completely the savage fluctuations of a life, mind and emotions in turmoil. I don't hate my diease, it has made me what I am. I do, however, wish some days that I were able to offer more to my wife and friends. I'm not always up to going out when everyone else is ready. How must my wife feel when I tell her I called out from work again because my mind is not ready for people? Does she truly understand? Is there a small voice in the back of her mind that questions if I just wanted to sleep in? How must my managers take it when I call out, again, for mental unrest? Does society have one iota?

     About society: why has mental illness always been so hard to accept? In a world where so many are standing with their hand out to the Government to make things better politically, why is it not imperative to sure the plight of the mentally ill that we all can (in some way) relate to? Why is it that race and sex and religion and acceptance are on every debate, yet no one can find the time, means and money to build facilities or monitor people with illness? Where I live right now, I have a young lady who was recently diagnosed with bipolar, but cannot find hep because there aren't enough outlets for her to learn how to work through this life changing experience? The local papers cry out for not harassing drug dealers or getting homeless off the streets, but the only mention of mental illness comes when discussing drug addicts and those inhabiting skid row? Just because I have made it as far as I have in life (I.e. I share a home and have a job while going to school), that solute lay does not leave me not wanting at times - wanting for a voice to say it's going to be okay. Yet my struggle to find light behind the dark shade of despair isn't a sexy enough topic - it doesn't get people mad enough to go and vote their allegiance to a cause. The mentally ill are taught that we are bastardized children that God must have used subpar parts in creating, and that our problems are ours alone to bear. We have come a long way since we were getting holes frilled in our heads to release the demons, but giving me a medication that effectively lobotomies an individual isn't a whole lot better.

     Will it ever change?

What Hath We Wrought?

     Ours has become a society of self righteous indignation at any mention of civility or sense, it would seem. The loud minorities lift up their flag of the disenfranchised and lash out at every perceived slight. Manners, tradition and intent be damned; if they see fit to impose their will on others (ironically, this is usually done when THEY feel put upon), the world is to sit up and respect their wishes!

      There is a current firestorm around an article that proclaimed that a woman should be skinny to wear a crop top. Logically, a woman would want to show her best assets, and having her belly pop out from under a short shirt seems counter intuitive, at the very least. For the uninitiated, the shirt in question leaves a few inches between the bottom of the shirt and the jeans, exposing the belly button. So, large women everywhere took to Twitter to show they too could wear the shirt in question! Damn society for the cruelty of shirts only for skinny women! You know what? All they did was succeed in looking like bitter harpies in the matter. Just because it is possible doesn't make it reasonable.

      Then you have the 'great' legislation passed in South Carolina over the confederate flag. A bunch of politicians vowed to controversy and made a decision FOR their constituents that the flag belonged on state grounds no longer. Why? Because a psychopath had it in his Facebook photos. However, when ANOTHER Islamic radical attacks our military on home soil, where are the cries to corral the 'jihadists'? Somehow, that is given a passing glance because..... Why?? Also, why wasn't this change voted on by the VOTERS of the state to determine?

     Even here at home, a group of construction workers who work for s construction firm are protesting the CLIENT of the firm (with a much bigger name) to make the construction contractor pay its workers differently. How does THAT work? Everyone is a victim in this capitalist enterprise - except for the people whose ideas/ companies are being besmirched in public opinion. There are many more examples as foolish and irresponsible, but in the end, none of it matters. We have become a nation of victims who preach against injustice by seeking to criminalize everyone else.

      And it SUCKS.

I Am A Poet (You Know It!)

     Tonight I was offered a spot for a poetry reading at my local library. I was honored that my poem was considered stron enough to be read, but - oh, what I witnessed! The wife and I went with our friend Marcus; and what merriment was made! It's really as if the stories write themselves at this point....

      So we arrive at the library and are unsure of where the reading are taking place. We go to the room where there is a lot of commotion, and when we walk in we see what looks like a hipster old folks home. We are unsure if we are in the place until the wife asks and, yes, we are in the right place. The leader of the pack is handing out (in his words) "Propaganda" for an event this weekend. This particular gentleman has straw-like ghost white hair, A scarf (which seemed to be the appropriate attire), and way too large glasses. Also in the crowd we had a mid life hipster with a scarf (of course!), a blazer, and what appeared to be Salvation Army quality tennis shoes. We had what looked to be a 70 year old man with flowing white hair and a bright yellow shirt. Mix in some females and males of non descript origin and the three of us knew that hilarity awaited us. Little did we know the full scope of what we were to behold....

      I will give all the poets due credit - the poetry was all very descriptive and engaging on some level. It seemed very sterile and unemotional (to me), but not everyone is writing love/ like/ hurt poetry like my crazy self. However, the themes of the poems is what REALLY is the story. We had a lady writing about walking through poop in a small town, a young girl writing a story about coffee and sorrow, another young girl doing fan fiction about dancing the tango with a fairy (that seemed moments away from turning to porn) - then we had the heavy hitters. To say my wife and I were the only conservatives in the room would be a significant understatement. Yes, I live in California (the last communist post in the West), but holy mackarel what mine ears did witness!! We had the guy who started his poem about hoola hoops and ending with the horrors of Capitalism. There was the lady who woke up one morning and wanted nothing but world peace. NOTHING. Another guy describing a hobo (with a snap!) and referencing Diogenes. The amount of pretentiousness was enough to choke a horse with! The preached qualities of leftist philosophy was humorous, at best. Even Marcus, who is more left than right, felt like the things being said wee silly. I don't understand these people who want to tear down America for some communist ideal that died a terrific death 14 years ago. If only "love it or leave it" ws enforceable.

Anyway, a poem from today:

Out of sight,

But not out of mind.

Irritation clouding

My demeanor,

Darkness overwhelming

My soul

Manic or depressive;

Always left at the

Whims of a mind

Incomplete.