I started this blog a year ago, on December 30, 2011. My… what has
changed? My… what hell we have gone through, and what we have learned and lost.
This year, was supposed to be grand. Being 2012, it would just have to be good.
I am not sure why I thought that. I guess I just felt 2012 seemed like a strong
number. Maybe because it was an even number, or perhaps it was just all the negative
hype that made me think it would be a year of great change and growth. Alas it
was not meant to be. So, learning from our mistakes, tragedies, loneliness,
heartache, and hopelessness let's move forward. Alright I'm pulling your leg a
little, because I am not sure I did "learn" anything from those dips,
blips, falls, tumbles, crashes, or challenges.
I started writing this post, as I laid in bed at 4:30 yesterday
morning begging for sleep. I find in the past month, or so, sleep has decreased
and I am constantly still waging the war against suicidal thoughts. Pretending
to be normal, fighting to appear normal, to appear I have control of this
ridiculous illness. Hoping that the more
I pretend, maybe the more I will believe, and the more I believe will hopefully
equate to some form of reality. I really was doing better in September, October
and November, maybe even August (hell maybe even before that, I should probably
read my blog and see…). The rTMS was working its magic, and the Vyvanse and Dexedrine
seemed to really stretch out the success of each rTMS treatment. Thus allowing
me to go from weekly to monthly sessions… Then… Then what? I am not sure. It
just seemed like the start of December, things seemed to tank. Nothing huge at
first, just a little half second suicidal thought. Nothing earth shattering, or
even anything worth worrying about. Then like a virus, this illness, this
Bipolar Disorder gets its insidious tentacles deeper and deeper into your psyche,
and before you know what hit you, it takes over.
I realize I have options. I realize… But knowing there are
options, and wanting to do something about it are two very different and distinct
things. When this disease takes control, I don't know any more if I want to
grab the steering wheel, and stop from going over the cliff. I am kind of tired
of fighting this winless battle. Bipolar may not be ME, but it is an ever diligent
agent of despair that is constantly testing my strength. Between not sleeping,
and the realization that my life is really not going to get any better that any
dreams, desires, or hopes I have, are just that, wishes that not even a million
candles could ever bring true, I am wondering what the point of fighting would
be.
I, originally, was just going to write this post about this
anniversary of my blogs commencement, but sometimes when I start writing,
things just come to the forefront of my mind and they petition to be put to
paper (or in this case to post).
Is my life a complete tragedy? I would not be answering that truthfully
if I said yes. Is my life complete shit, again no. I had one of the best
Christmases ever. It flowed smoothly. Family that usually defect, as quickly as
a 1980 Soviet gymnast, stayed for an extended period. There was laughing, and
great food. There was tradition, and joyful chaos. I was able to provide gifts that
I could take pride in, without the worry of bills and increasing my debt. I had
my kids for the entire day! My son was here. After almost losing him earlier
this year, I got the amazing opportunity to enjoy this Christmas with him. (I
hate to even glance at the thought of what this Christmas would have looked
like, had he succeeded in his attempt.) Except for not being able to share
Christmas dinner with my mom, my brother and his family got her, but they were
long overdo in having that privilege, this Christmas was great… So again I say one
of the best Christmases ever… 
Still the illness haunts, and the goodness, happiness, and joy try
to hide from it, getting lost in the dark and empty blackness. I am not a religious
man. In fact I don't practice, nor recognize any of the official organized religions.
I have nothing against those that do, so long as they respect my decision not
to. The reason I mention this, is not to stir up controversy, but to share a
story. It has become a tradition that I attend church with my mom on Christmas
Eve. She goes to a very inclusive United Church, so inclusive the Ministers are
lesbians in a committed relationship with each other, and so inclusive they
host evenings/sessions throughout the year where they invite leaders of other
religions to come and share their beliefs with interested parishioners. If I
ever was considering attending a church, or embracing an organized religion I
would have to say their church is probably the one I would attend - but I am
not, so please do not push. Anyway, this Christmas Eve the service theme was
Celtic Christmas traditions - I only mention that, as a tidbit of information.
The real reason for this lengthy paragraph was to share part of one of the
Minister's speeches, during the "Reflection" part of the service. She
used a story about a writer, whose name escapes me, and his tale of when he was
gaining life experience in Greece. He was told a personal story about a little
boy finding a piece of a broken mirror, in a war torn Greek village, and how that
boy growing up marveled at the ability to reflect light into darkness - even
into the deepest darkness, where light had never been before. She went on to
talk about how we could be that mirror. How we could shine light on the
darkness that plagues us, fellow man, the families of fallen men, women, and
children… It resonated with me, and the darkness that seems to be with me no
matter how hard I try to fight it. I keep pondering; who or what is my mirror?
When will that mirror shine light into the depths of my darkness? How will I
know that mirror when I see it? How will I ensure I do not miss this opportunity
to have the darkness within me vanquished? 
Deep thoughts on the anniversary of this blog based on the bipolar
ravings of a crazy man…me; perhaps too deep... I know rTMS works, so why do I
shy away from accessing it to kick start the healthy place I was in. I have a
couple of theories; all have to do with worrying about putting people out,
hating to ask for help, and hating to feel/be a charity case. Even though
things are offered, my pride is ever vigilant in making me second guess the
motive and sincerity of the offer. I always feel like I don’t matter enough for
people to actually care. Therefore, they must be doing it out of some feeling
of societal obligation, not because they just want to help. Thanks BP, I really
appreciate the way you darken my thoughts…
Stay tuned for the continuing saga that is my life, or at least a glimpse
into the diseased mind of a bipolar sufferer. Anyway, next blog post not so
serious or long. I think I will share my contempt for people that drive, but
shouldn't!
Until next time Blogonians [blawg-awn-ee -uh n]s… - my word, soon to be made official by
the Urban Dictionary, watch for it. J
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Dan
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