Friday, 14 March 2014

Being Bi-Polar

I don't often use the blog as a sounding board for my shit...oh, wait, yes I do. But here's a little blog about being bi-polar.

Ten years or so ago, I was diagnosed. It's not a secret. Don't see why it should be. It's just a thing, like having a cleft palate, or syndactyly. It's a thing. It's a word, a descriptor. It's not what you are, or who you are.

Some people struggle with it. Fuck, I do, sometimes. Sometimes it's just fine, sometimes it's better than fine - peachy. Other times that big black dog nips your heels and you wish it would all just...go...away...

But I've written about this before - being a human isn't all chemistry, or psycho-social tosspottery...it's about making choices.

Ten years ago, I decided I wasn't going to be a big wuss about being bi-polar. You have bad times, yes...ride them out. Suicide rates are pretty high - treated and untreated. I get it. I don't judge. I'm not a judge - I'm a writer. People get low, see no other way out. I figure your death is, by and large, the one thing you get to take control of. Not condoning...but not judging. I'm not Catholic, either...obviously.

But, here's the rub - you choose. You always choose. Being a man, being a woman? You choose, every single day. You choose to be cool, or be an arse. You choose to be polite, or be rude.

I have help, I won't deny it. My wife, my family, all of them, are awesome. They're a big help. But even if you haven't got a partner and no one's got your six? Take it further, you choose to live. The black dog isn't, ever, the boss of you.

But I'm not a judge. Not even a little bit.

So, ten years or so ago, I hit the lowest I've ever been. Then, I started out writing. Sometimes, I write stuff that has a kind of resonance with me. Sometimes, I just write stories and I'm happy enough with that. Either way, it's what I do, how I deal with my devil.

Tonight, I signed a top contract. I'm not dead yet. It's a good contract. Coming out of a bad time, the ebb to the flow, and finding I'm still alive is always sweet. Signing a nice contract, always sweet.

But the moral, if there is one? You choose. Always.