I accept that I have Bipolar Disorder. It is more common than we think I have been told. It is the common cold of psychiatric disorders they say. Not a big deal.
In the context of this blog I have the nasty habit of mimicking the nature of other blog posts considering it inspiration. This post is some such thing. I feel odd doing this post as if I am asking for a pity parade. I’ve alluded to my condition in many poems and even in some other prose posts. But I’ve never really took it head on.
Bipolar disorder as for as I am concerned is a series of episodes where I lose it completely and am totally insane. When out of these episodes I am as normal as the other guy. When I am with people who know me and I lapse in to an episode they take care and inform my brother immediately and he comes and has vigil over me while I get completely normal under psychiatric guidance.
There have been so many episodes beyond count now. Each time I promise that it would be my last episode but fate intends otherwise. When I lapse when I am alone then that is a real problem. I’ve been detained by cops, drank water from the toilet, defecated in the open, had been thrashed and pushed out of a bus, I hit a strange girl and almost blinded my brother to state a few things that have happened to me.
It isn’t these things but the fact that the two jobs I had managed for six months at a time have been lost due to an episode is the greatest loss. I get cured but the effects of my episodes reflect on me for years. My brother who is caring in episodes becomes impatient with me when I am normal. Yet there is a practicing psychiatrist with Bipolar Disorder. Caterina Zeta Jones has it. It in no way affects life mostly. They just have terrible mood swings. I don’t have that I think. But I think I’ve had my last episode. I have nothing, no cause to worry compared with others of similar woes. The physically differently enabled who are stories of courage. My dad has polio in an arm and never complains then why should I.
I have become a lazy couch potato because of this. I no longer worry about people knowing my problem. That train passed long back. The cat is out of the bag in a perennial sense. This is one of the reasons I am being single. There are several more like my hugely excessive chain smoking. Six to eight packs a day. There have been times when I feel suicidal both during an episode and out of it in normal times.
It has been sixteen years of almost nothingness since my first episode. There is nothing to show for all these years. Books and movies helped me spend my time for these years. Now the blog and my writing quests have occupied me more recently. It isn’t my disorder but the after effect of being a couch potato that I have to fight against. Compounding these ills is the fact that I have become a pushover as long as my comfort levels are not breached. I can’t change that now. This would have shown what a grand loser i’ve become.
I’ve always been a day dreamer. I always dreamt that all my woes would disappear as soon as I become big and famous. I realise now that it isn’t happening. The plethora of talent I see around me has stunned me. I will soon start on being a restauranteur and write for the blog and out of it not in hopes of becoming big but to occupy me and also share it to the world.
We are all fellow travellers in the journey of life. Love is the true currency of this journey and not fame and money. Thanks for making me rich in that folks inside and outside of this blog. I might die but a fragment of my soul will live on through this blog. Though this isn’t a chronicle of my life these posts yet reflect on who I am. I am actually a thoroughly funny person to boot in my real life. That alone is not reflected in this blog. Happy blogging.