Fighting' off the Birthday Blues

State Hornet Online - Bipolar's life is both chic, glamorous in today's American society


I was doing ok - well, I think I was - until I read that article.

"Now I've got those steadily depressin', low down, mind-messin'
workin' at the carwash fightin' off the birthday blues."
apologies to Jim Croce, bless his soul

I know the guy who wrote the article is probably manic. I also infer that he is young, a relatively successful writer, and he lives somewhere in California (probably San Francisco.) You can be young, attractive and crazy; male, brilliantly creative and crazy; or rich and crazy, and your illness will be seen as passion or eccentricity. You'll be the life of the party, the belle of the ball, the person to be seen with. You'll go to cocktail parties where you'll share your most recent suicide attempt or compare notes on hospitalizations with similarly afflicted artists, poets, writers or musicians. (True story, that.)

If you're cute enough, or rich enough, people will tolerate your mania and its implications - the addictions, the self-destructive drive, the grandiose thinking, the promiscuity/infidelity and the insatiability in all areas - money, food, sex, love, attention. Your depression will be touted as "exhaustion" and you'll be seen as daring, a risk-taker, a genius. Being male is a definite advantage, and being gay will give you cache for day. You'd better make sure you live in a city with an art scene, too. Sure, you'd still go through the hell of being sick, but you'd have bright spots as well. Your highs would be higher, your hyper-sensitivity would add to the richness of your experiences, and you'd have a support system or a staff to help work around the jagged edges. If you must be ill, be good at it.

Myself, I can only be good at it up to a point. I've got weirdness down to an art form, but I've never found a way to make money from it, a la Gary Busey. I'm not cute enough or rich enough for people to tolerate me to the point that I could develop a support system and I can't afford a staff. People like me get to lie in bed and watch their potential slowly slip away. We watch TV and see a world with no place in it for us. We're always alone, no matter where we are or who we are with. My bright spots are all behind me. Unless something wonderful and unexpected happens - and it won't- my life won't get any better than it is right now. It isn't bad. It isn't glorious, either. It's hard to be greatful for just enough.

Give somebody a hug today, and have a drink for me.

Peace.