Plan A(tl).

I've been home just over a year and half now, and I'm getting the nomadic itch again. While home will always be home, it feels more like a base camp of sorts. Besides my mother, sister, and therapist I don’t have much keeping me here. I've moved quite a bit since graduating good ol’ SC, anywhere from 8-10 times, depending on how you are counting, so much in fact, that I have trouble, at times,  attributing my troubles to environmental factors as it seems like something more internal, almost eerily personal and permanent.

That being said, my homeboy and brother from another who has been making it happen in Atlanta for years now, recently recommended that I consider moving down there. There would definitely be more to motivate me in ATL, as I wouldn't want to couch crash for an extended period of time. We make a good team and know how to play off one another's abilities, and if we put out heads together for long enough, I know we could come up with a hustle or two to, at the very least, knock out some bills. Find a decent-gig that suits me, and the rest, as they say, would be gravy. You can't beat the cost of living (down there full time, minimum wage work is definitely livable) nor can you throw a rock without hitting a gorgeous redbone. Yes while I was out there this summer, I definitely noticed a favorable ratio. The culture (yay for diversity), that I’ve absorbed in my two trips down there, also seems to agree with me. Though I consider myself a chameleon, the laid-back, take-it-easiness of the south is diametrically opposed with the hustle-and-bustle linked to Northeastern city life, and as I make my transition back into the realm of the functioning, it’s probably best that I don’t attempt to go from 0-60.  

                His offer comes at a perfect time because I remember awhile back thinking that I did NOT want to ring in 2012 and/or my 30^th living at home as a dependent in a second childhood of sorts. This could be the development I needed to prevent this unconscionable reality from occurring. As my friend is always quick to point out, there is always a plan B to be implemented and executed if A, should fail (and similarly plans C-Z, if those first two should fail).

That being said, those that are familiar with my spending habits know that this month’s temping earnings are as good as gone. Like Kanye said, “I got a problem with spending before I get it,”, and more than likely the nice chunk o’ change is going towards either  (in order of likelihood) 1) a one-way plane ticket to ATL that will allow me to test the employment waters 2) financing a reunion with the college gang 3) PS3 and the new Madden (no it never gets old) or 4)paying off/renewing my gym membership (unlikely)

Speaking of money, I’ve started selling books on Amazon the past couple of weeks, just in time to hit the back-school rush. Though it’s not much money at all (I’ve probably netted $40-45 off of 20 books), I’m trying to train myself to see the value and what I previously would have called, “nickel and dime hustles.” Last I checked a nickel + a dime = 15 cents, and any good hustler can flip that into his first dollar, and so on and so forth. Whatever the case may be it’ll be good to have money for the essentials: Beer (which I’ve been craving) and a steady supply of sweet, sweet nicotine. Other than that I really don’t have much in the way of immediate, short-term wants.

+/-

     I began blogging on a tear, and after a two and a half week hiatus, I'm back... for now. I started the blog, less than coincidentally, the day my shrink left for a two week vacation. I remember being excited and having high hopes for it, but alas that was on one of those random "good days" that I have have from time to time. On days like that (this happens to be one, too) the energy is there, I'm not napping intermittently through(out) the day, and the spirits are up.

    Other (read: what seems like most) of the time, this is not the case. On my "groundhog days" (a nod to the movie and the animal) I wake up from hours of sleep only to find myself seemingly more tired than before I fell asleep. Undoubtedly, the bed and I are soon reunited, usually after a brief period of waking long enough to do my internet rotations and smoke something. The last day and half was a case in point, as I probably slept 20 out of the past 36 hours. It's a matter of physical exhaustion and practical escapism. Some people get high all day, I like to sleep. Sue me.

     Not that I have a problem getting up and at 'em when I need to be as proved by this past Wednesday, when I began temping again. (Shout out to Anne the coolest manager this side of the Mississippi). It's at a small bookstore of a local community college, and it's right up my alley meaning it's low-stress with a chill work environment. Things should start picking up once the students come back in force, but even then they have good energy for the most part as they eagerly do their back-to-school thing.

     I was in the middle of this starred thought when a confidante of mine IM'ed me. As we got to talking she said I sounded numb, defeated, and resigned to my place in life after I told her I had become content and complacent with things. I value her opinion because she has "know" known (as opposed to known of) me as well as anyone for nearly five years now and her brother is bipolar, so besides being insightful, her observations carry the weight of someone with foreknowledge of myself and manic depression. While I quickly conceded that my "contentment" was perhaps a stretch there was no doubting the latter. She went on to suggest that the meds may have put a dimmer on my life so to speak, and I couldn't help but find myself thinking about what she had said. During periods of high stress (e.g. grad school), I was overmedicated, and now that I find myself with minimal stressors, I pop some abilify (20mg) daily. If I miss a few consecutive doses, I'll notice a drop in my mood for the immediate short-term, but I haven't in recent memory been on anything else or off them long enough to know whether it is in fact putting a damper on things. This is definitely something I'll have to ask my shrink and prescriber about, but at this point I feel like I've been on every possible combination of meds used to treat bipolar disorder. Who knows, sometimes even less turns out to be even more.

     When I spoke of my referred to my circumstance and place in life above, it was that of a bipolar, broke, bum, burnout an excoriating, at-worst alliterative string that describes a life absent of fire and desire as one Rick James put it. Though I do suffer from "stinkin' thinkin'" from time to time, in my eyes it's easy to see why: 1)I'm in massive debt 2) Haven't been able to find FT employment since I've been back home (and even if I had been able to find FTE, in my past is any indication it wouldn't have lasted. The longest I've ever held down any job was six months, and after doing a recent lookback at my lifetime earnings, academic monies included, it totals less than 100K. 3) the Master's is on indefinite hold until/if I ever hear back from my advisor, who I believe has washed his hands of me 4) the list of dating-dealbreakers (see Quid pro quo, Cupid post) enumerating a list of things I don't have that nearly all people my age do, and the list goes on. This time last year, I figured it would be a good year if I could save up enough money to make my boy's wedding reception and all subsequent college-gang reunions. So far so good in that regard. But something tells me I could and should be doing and hoping for more for myself. Living like the quality of your years will expire at or around 60 is somewhat is a good entry point for a pretty nihilistic existence. That being said, the transition to an independent adulthood hasn't quite been going as planned, so we shall see.

     Just so you know that I know that it's not all bad here's the inverse to the said thinkin' above.

1) debt, no matter how massive can be paid, and really truth be told it's probably less than many of my peers who have school loans (the bulk of mine are medical) 2) I'm a FT gig away from being independent 3) I'm only one incomplete, one class, and one exam short of my Master's, and with a final active push, I know I could win my advisor over


    And more good news 1) there's no more bad news! Seriously though, there is a dose of it coming in the next post that could change things in a (hopefully) pretty major way.

Quid pro quo, Cupid.

     I'm on a dating website that shall remain anonymous (hint: it rhymes, and perhaps fittingly so, with "no way stupid"), and on my profile I enumerated a list of potential dealbreakers up front, figuring that secrets untold would eventually come to the light after any decent courtship period. Because I'm too lazy to summarize I'll just copy and paste to save myself the trouble of rehashing the points here (the profile info is listed between the underlines): _____

I do have :

1) bipolar disorder (formerly known as manic-depression. Although I'm grateful it's been in sound remission for some time, I understand there are a myriad misconceptions and taboos regarding mental illness in general and bipolar disorder in particular. That being said, feel free to shoot me any questions you may have.)

2) a tattoo of a-once-upon-a-time-g/f-turned-"BFF" on my wrist.

I do not have :

1) my own place (I live at home).
2) access to a vehicle (you can't beat public transit, the chariot of the people, or at least that's what I'm telling myself now)
3) steady employment
4) money
5) a cell phone

Yes, indeed, I am living the dream as they say.

Irrespective of any extenuating circumstances mitigating the aforementioned deficiencies (which are of course, subject to change - here's to hoping), I figured, it'd be best to let you know off top where I currently stand, so that you may 1) keep it moving or 2) walk with my now, in hopes of flying with me later... No guarantees though, we could be crawling, too.

______

     Whether I should even be on a dating website at this particular time is neither here nor there, but for the intents of the blog, I was taken a back, when in a rather lengthy correspondence a woman thoughtfully wrote the following:

     "The other unsolicited feedback I'd give is that I don't think you should for a moment consider yourself "un-dateable"; nor do I think you need to be so explicit about your manic-depression in your profile. I appreciate the desire to be honest and up-front, but I think it would be entirely fair if you waited until you met someone in person to share that information. I, for one, would not have felt "misled" or like you wasted my time if you withheld that information until we got to know one another a little better."

     Hmm, I thought. I heeded her unsolicited, yet thoughtful, advice for all of 24 hours or so, during which I deleted the first presumed dealbreaker. I thought about it further, however, and quickly reconsidered. Later on in the same message, this brave soul went on to tell me of her bouts with depression during a formative time in her young adulthood; shortly thereafter another woman heard of my confession, she, in her very next email told of her bouts with bulimia, anxiety, and depression. This first woman went on to recommend a book on depression, which she had found so helpful that she had gifted it to at least half a dozen people: The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression by Andrew Solomon.

     

      Flash forward to the present. Somewhere, sometime in the past month or so, my mother's German Shepherd, Beta, brought home fleas that left her scratching her skin raw. To rid the house and dog of these pests, my mother decided to bomb the house with insecticide today, forcing she and I to flee (no pun intended) the premises for four hours. Earlier in the week she mentioned dropping me off at the library for some time, and while it's not normally exactly my idea of a good time, they do have computers, because after all, I don't spend enough time bullshittin' on ours at home. More importantly though, I, also in the back of my mind, I figured it would be a good time to look for the book that my new friend had recommended.

     After spending about sixty of my ninety minute of alotted computer time surfing the net, I decided it was time to look for The Noonday Demon, whose call number I had memorized to six digits. Thinking this was sufficient I walked over to the reference desk and asked the librarian on duty where I could find the "600" section. She, without hesitation, pointed me in the proper direction, and I was off.

      "616.852" I thought. Sounded specific enough. Of course as luck would have it, it was not. As I circled which held the "616's", I looked up and down for the next three digits, so I could be on my merry way. As my eyes looked up and down for the title and author I noticed there were rows full of books with the "616.852" prefix, when I struck gold. I seemed to be in the pysch/self-help section, because all of a sudden books with, "Bipolar" in the title began appearing. There weren't rows upons rows, but enough to make me feel 1) at home in a very real way and 2) compelled to do something about this shortage.

     After doing a quick materials analysis, I chose three books strictly based on their appealing titles and covers. The first is called Detour: My Bipolar Roadtrip in 4-D by Lizzie Simon, the second, Bipolar Life: A Journey Filled with God  by Jason Taff, and the third, The Hypomanic Edge: The Link Between (a little) Craziness and (a lot) of Success in America by John D. Gartner.

     Despite my academically induced aversion to reading I hinted at in my blog profile, I do, when I think about it, enjoy a good read, so long as I find it applicable and entertaining. (The last book I read was a copy of Rich Dad/Poor Dad that my mother had in her collection. I'm not big on financial prudence, let alone investment, but I got through it nonetheless. The last book I read and actually enjoyed, however, was Black is the New White, a memoir by comedic legend Paul Mooney-- who because of my sister's hosting prowess, I had the pleasure of meeting in St. Louis). That said, I was determined to find the Solomon book; after all it was what I had come in search of and it was, according to the catalog, available. With my three books on Bipolar Disorder happily in hand, I continued my search and found it a short time later.
     All of this is to say, or rather to borrow from rapper Ice Cube, "Today was a good day." It started off slowly like most of my days, but now I'm home, awake (which I usually don't feel until I've napped till the late afternoon/early evening-- that's when I have nothing else to do of course), and in good spirits as I type this with my four books next to me. And to think this was all made possible by being open with my situation, on a "stupid" dating website.

Wrestlin' with Mania.

     Bipolar disorder, formerly known as manic-depression, proves tricky to decribe at least from a personal perspective, and I have spent considerable time thinking about how would be best to go about doing so here. The first thing, amongst many that is important to understand, is that Bipolar disorder, is a mood disorder with Bipolar I (with which I have been diagnosed) being defined as having at least one period of full-blown mania either preceded or followed by a period of clinical depression. This brings us to our first key term: mania.

     It seems that most people, whether they have suffered from clinical depression or not, have a pretty decent handle on what it means, and thusly they understand the "depressive" side to the manic-depressive binary. From a textbook perspective it is defined as a prolonged, persistent, and seemingly unshakeable period of sadness. In depressive phases life becomes not just a bore but a chore as well. When I am depressed, sleep becomes excessive and staying awake for a even handful of hours at a time becomes an accomplishment.

     Mania, or the other hand, was completely foreign to me before I had any experience with it (so for the purpose of informing, I'll assume that it is equally so to the reading public). As far as I was concerned, the only mania that mattered was Wrestlemania, the World Wrestling Entertainment's, annual, flagship event. For the sake of consistency and reference I will begin to descirbe mania, and my experience with it, based on clinically standard definitions of the term. For starters, it is important to note that if you are suffering from mania, you are deemed what is called, "manic"or in the midst a "manic episode (or episode in short)." Mania is typically described and based on the following italicized criteria (source: www.counsellingresrouces.com ; N.B.: my notes or the criteria are in regular type face):

A. A distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood, lasting at least 1 week (or any duration if hospitalization is necessary).

Typically, I am as reserved as they come; an introvert's introvert if you will. When manic however, and severely elevated, whatever shell in which I typically find myself is lost as are any filters. I not only talk to anyone about anything, but feel the pressing need to do so. At the same time, this extreme talkativeness can be mixed with a highly sensitive irritability. I can remember countless times where anyone from parents, to police, to friends, and even my therapist rubbed me the wrong way and caught my manic wrath.

B. During the period of mood disturbance, three (or more) of the following symptoms have persisted (four if the mood is only irritable) and have been present to a significant degree:

1. inflated self-esteem or grandiosity. Depending on the severity of the episode, at the very least my confidence and belief in myself runs from extremely high to grandiose. I believe anything I put my mind to can be accomplished by sheer will, no mater how preposterous it may be. At one point during my first manic episode I believed that a simple letter to Bush (who was presiding at the time), would have him step down as I took my rightful place as leader of the free-world). Schemes to get rich quickly, successful, or blast meteroically to (inter)national prominence have not been uncommon for me.
2. decreased need for sleep (e.g., feels rested after only 3 hours of sleep) Sleep? What sleep? While depressive phases are marked by periods of excessive sleep bordering on diurnal hiberation, when manic I need little, if any sleep... for days a time. Fatigue becomes foreign, and I am utterly motivated to accomplish whatever fleeting goal has crossed my mind.
3. more talkative than usual or pressure to keep talking. My mind is moving at a million miles a minute, and is so expressed in my pressured speech.
4. flight of ideas, or subjective experience that thoughts are racing. Information is percolating in and seemingly evacuating my brain, and it must be verbalized to release pressure from within. While in extreme episodes of mania, there is seemingly much non-sensical, desultory rambling, but it all makes perfect sense to me at the time. In less extreme cases, facility with the spoken word becomes notably increased. Original jokes (usually crass or inappropriate) are borne without effort, and a certain verbalized lexical fluidity expressed in alliteration or even rhyme becomes possible.
5. distractibility (i.e., attention too easily drawn to unimportant or irrelevant external stimuli). This criterion is related to the preceding one. While thoughts race at neuron-popping speed, there is a fleet of thought that occurs.
6. increase in goal-directed activity (either socially, at work or school, or sexually) or psychomotor agitation While this may seem oppositional to the aforementioned fleet of thought, while manic it is not uncommon for me to be consumed with grand(iose) goals of some sort that are pursued of unbound and seemingly infinite energy (e.g., I once attempted to clean the house from top to bottom, meticulously of course. Anyone who has seen my house, knows this is quite the impossible undertaking and is an exercise in futility at best.) I do not, however, have experience with the second symptom (psychmotor agitation).
7. excessive involvement in pleasurable activities that have a high potential for painful consequences (e.g., engaging in unrestrained buying sprees, sexual indiscretions, or foolish business investments) Of the given examples, the spending spree is the one with which I am familiar. After "coming to" so to speak from my second manic episode I found myself in massive credit card debt, after being relatively financially sound to that point (that's if you do not include the Porsche I thought was a sound investment during the beginning stages of my first episode).

(source: www.counselingresource.com)

N.B. : Please excuse the reliance on and reference to clinical criteria above, but I felt it may be helpful to have an objective starting point of sorts. Future posts concerning my experiences with mania will have more of a personal, narrative leaning.

Acknowledgments

    Before I begin with the business of formally blogging, I would be remiss were I not to acknowledge and thank those that have carried me through many a harrowing and hazardous situations that if left untreated could have turned an another blog into an obituary. Instead of running from, they ran to and with me. Instead of being shocked into inaction they sprung into action. Though we often look back at potentially catastrophic situations and say, "well we can laugh about that now," not all ends so well.
     Just last year, I lost a dear friend to the tragic consequences of mental illness. Though in recovery from its acute and unexpected onset, she seemed to be doing well, yet the proverbial rainbow was not enuf for her. This marked the first time (and hopefully the last) that the unforgiving, and undiscrminating consequences of mental instability proved fatal in my circle. While she was with us, she inspired me with her intellect and amazed me with her warmth. She is missed.

     Her situation could have easily been mine. That being said, endless credit and thanks are due, and while I could, and at one point surely will list the names of everybody that has been involved in my journey thus far (family, doctors, therapists, social workers etc.), this particular space is reserved for those friends who functioned as surrogate families while distance and dire straits kept me from mine. They have looked after me at my worst in the midst of one of my "episodes." (I will fully clarify what that means in general and for me specifically in an one of my next blogs) and for that I am eternally grateful.
     I haven't had the chance to ask my friends' permission to post their first names, so in order to say thank you anonymously, yet with them knowing they are being acknowledged I will use middle names or slight derivations of them in this and future postings until I receive consent to do otherwise. Just names for now, no annotations. I plan to fully flesh out in detail each of their roles in future entries about these episodes.



Eliza
Demetrius-Williams
Alan
Aubrey
Chanel
Artis (and his parents/pastor)
CH (initials listed, middle name unknown).
HG

"Friends are the family we choose." - Unknown

     
     

Beginnings...

      I am black and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder six years ago at the age of 23. After searching the web for, "black and bipolar" and finding hardly any results relevant to these predominant aspects of my identity, I figured there must be at least some people like myself out there who are dealing with these dual blessings that all too often masquerade themselves as burdens. That being said, this undertaking is open to and inviting of everyone; whether or not you find these descriptives personally applicable or completely foreign is immaterial; my focus lies in overraching and underlying commonalities to which all can relate.
     As I probe universal themes that may be intimately tied to or merely tangentially aligned with dimensions blackness and/or bipolarity, I hope that this blog 1) provides those interested and/or affected either directly or indirectly with a measure of empathy, a sense of empowerment, a source of "info-tainment", 2) operates as a resource for minority and/or mental health in general and bipolar disorder in particular 3) opens for debate taboos regarding the intersections between race and mental illness, and finally 4) clarifies the myriad misconceptions swirling around these issues.

      N.B: Please bear with me as I begin, and attempt to find a writerly voice that is consisent in tone; not overly colloquial and conversational, not cluttered and clinical to the point of sterility, but one that bespeaks a happy me(dium).