Being Bipolar isn't EASY

and the Art of Slowing it Down

This is supposed to be cathARTic

Cancer patients are encouraged to write; they are told that writing is cathartic! Bi-Polar patients are told to keep a diary to track their sleep and moods… it’s not quite the same thing; “writing” vs. keeping a chart and/or calendar. Further, it is common knowledge that, creative acts are liberation for the soul – hence I’d like bring attention to the word ART in the title; in case you missed it. I just noticed it myself.

ME, I write for the cathartic experience and if it’s an ART, it’s all the better… perhaps knowing that association will make me do it more?!?!

I have thought about being a little more deliberate with my writing, i.e. I have considered focusing on writing poetry &/or songs but herein I am finding that I really just want to rub out my thoughts and not obscure them with rhymes or superfluous associations. (No offense to those arts, but like painting, I probably wouldn’t be good at it.) It does feel good, writing, but it’s also a little stressful… I have to constantly edit and my ego wants it to be interesting and I feel like I just keep writing the same thing: “I was being watched.”

Which brings me to a thought: It hasn’t always been just about ME; there was a time when I thought that everyone I knew and loved was involved at some level. My parents; the guy I was dating, his friends; my best friend, a news reporter, who lived in NYC; my little sister and her boyfriend*, who was working for a government agency at the time; I thought my neighbor in DC was a secret agent, like Jennifer Gardner on Alias; and I thought that my yoga instructor was a drug dealer… but without my diaries (did I mention we are in the process of moving to Macau?) I cannot properly shed light on these events but I can admit that I was never completely honest with these people. i.e. I never told them that they were part of my conspiracies… nor did they ask. They all knew that I had a “Condition”. But as a result, I never told anybody when I was hypo-manic. I never thought I was. I thought everyone knew what was going on, that they saw the things that I did and I thought that ‘We’ had a “Don’t ask! Don’t tell!” policy and that that was the best way to keep our mission(s) lawful. (Then, as now, we all had our own missions.)

This isn’t the greatest example because what I imagined my Mom’s ‘mission’ supported mine BUT…

My Mom, a diligent and dutiful real estate agent in Las Vegas, told me that she had a client: a client that knew DC well and worked for the United States Government. I can’t remember exactly what he did but when I was first diagnosed, she asked him if it was possible if I was being followed. She said, he said, that it was highly unlikely… but, naturally, I never believed him and I don’t think she did either. (I wondered if he wasn’t planted in her life for just that opportunity.)

I imagined that because my Mom (of all people, my MOM!) involved him, that she then became a target (who we call/email and when we call/email them can be easily tracked) and thus she was caught up in her own triangle with people who had names like “Angel”.

I imagined that they were not “clients” but that they were feeding her information about the circles that we were caught up in, of or stemming from my experiences in DC. And I thought that she, a very smart woman, was working behind the scenes mediating a law suit. I thought that she and this “client” knew that we were being followed and the injustices that ensued and I thought that she was threatening to go to the reporters if ‘it’ weren’t handled properly. I thought she was betting on a large sum of money to keep our family quiet… I suspected that she knew that I was aware – we did after all rearrange the pantry together.

Similar to how I got my information… my Mom had to operate with a good deal of interpretation and imagination. I stayed with my parents one summer and I witnessed during this time, that my Mom, she too used her own code: she used a YELLLOW purse – she wanted to comunicate “proceed with caution” or she would use RED to say “Stop”! (Not unusual associations, no… I didn’t make up the code, I just tired to interpret it.)

Which brings me to my point… this is cathartic; now you know (Mom), now you know that some of the sh*t that I have been carrying around for years has been purged. I’ll try to get to the rest of you later.

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