A Confession Most Honest

I don't believe that I can trust you. However, my compulsion to reveal myself has become all to consuming. In examining why we feel the need to talk, or to share and by we I do ofcource only mean myself. As an examiner of my self, and a rather sorid one which I feel is only fair to mention, I have come to the conclusion that the reason I feel so compelled to talk is solely based on the fact that I am an old man. As an old man it is in my very nature to share my story. Perhaps the scenes of urgency was brought on by the fact that I am ill. oh no no, its not something new I've suffered it ever since my twenties. Over the next coming days and I hope there are many, I will share with you stories of one of the most insidious mental illness ever known. It is a thief and you'll how, it stole so much from me in a life once vibrant with promise, and over flowing with people, and loved ones. It stole everything I ever loved, and left me here alone empty with my age to remind me of a wasted life. What you will read is my truth, I pray it will never be yours. Forgive my tears, lets begin.

One would think that they would help, at least to bring me happiness. I'm sure they do help, in the way I can notice, but then again I can never trust my perception, be that as it may I will tell you that the speed of which the demon swings come at me has seemed at least for now to be slow, almost still. But I know they are hiding just below the surface read. There always ready. All through out the day today, and every day I will be nibbling in secrecy like a school boy my candy. There names are the names of thefts, but also they are the kindest menders of the mind and soul.

Lithium 1800mg

Lamictal 250mg

Celexa 40mg

Abilify 20mg

Seroquel 175mg

And maybe, and I'll stress the maybe, I will take a multi vitamin.

This cocktail is the end result of a long, long line of trial and error. The out come, (I say this slowly and with tears welling up), is the loss of a very dear, dear old friend. They took my sweet mania from me. My god I miss her, my memories live on all but forgotten. She will break though she always does. She must, I miss her.

Yesterday, or was it earlier today, time is such a deceptive force, especially when one combines times deception with that of ones own memory, this ofcourse I can say with great confidence and almost authority, that they are the instigator of delusion. Be this as it may, sometime in the not so distant past; or at least as far as I can tell, I magical all at once, forgot I was ill. Yes, my dear ladies and gentlemen I forgot my illness all together. And suddenly in the absence of suffering I felt it.

I felt alive. The sun on my face. It warmed it. I had even noticed that the scar on my left cheek had vanished. Oh, the compassionate nature of the sun. So kind, I've noticed, of you'll alow me to say so that the sun even seems kind in the winter. Of course that I'm sure is up for debate. What was I even doing out doors.  I haven't left my room in sometime.

Now I will share something with you that I do not want to sadden you. But you will not get sad for a creature like me, because we can't forget that I have done wicked things. I will now, with a little grin on my face, share one of my wicked ventures with you now.

I believe it was summer, although one can never trust there memory as it is a fickle creature by design. so we will say it was summer. I was in my room doing something that I found to be not only enjoyable to look at, but was something that I was quite sure would render even the most stoned face grimace into a smile. I felt so creative, this might even be the next big trend (Americans love their trends) a turning point global cultural fashion.

So as it was I was in my room braiding beads into my beard. What a delight. The beads were of medium size, and florescent in color. I tell you I smiled and laughed the whole time I worked on getting my beard just rite.

This may have gone on for several hours, all though I dare not say any longer then that. So naturally apone my beards completion I left my room to go out to my support group, which is held down town.

The Scoundrels all of them staring at we with out so much as the slightest grin, not one in the slightest. However they had no shame in tossing we looks of worry and concern. Even worst one of thoughs sick bastards even snickered at me. I got right up in the middle of group and screamed "All of you my beard is an enjoyable sight" and with that I left the group, seeing as no support had been given. Apon reflection it seemed rude of me to raise my voice and walk out. And it might as well be a known fact that I never like others to think ill of me. The only thing that made me feel well again after this reflection was a good long look in the mirror. What a difference a well beaded beard can make.

When I was a teenager my episodes began. They came on sweet and each one was welcomed more then the last. In fact one of the most beautiful memories of mania I had (this is of course before I knew the word mania, however, I must say even to this day I find the word to be exciting) was when I was sixteen. It was brilliant. I thought that I was having an eitherical experience. And, I don't mind telling you that to this day I'm still not convinced of the contrary.

I happened like this, I was walking down the halls of my high school feeling quite well, and all of a sudden all the light became more luminous, it had movement, and a subtle texture to it. Suddenly as if by the hand of some great power I was allowed to see, to feel, and to touch this beauty all around me. I felt my awareness of this environment had changed me some how. Then I did what I love to do, I put my headphones on and pressed the play button.  I remember the tape, it was Abba Gold (this was the nineties and it was somewhat rare for a teenager to be listening to Abba, but non the less). COLORS EVERYWHERE, and sensations that words can't describe. The music had turned into visual sensation. Frequencies of light and color I had never seen before, and I fear my never see again.

This high, this manic delusion, as doctors would say lasted several days. During that time I felt more alive then I ever had before. My sleep was non existent, and I thought I don't need it I'm  experiencing the energy of the universe of a higher power. This lack of need for sleep is a sure fire sign of mania. Then the crash came, the colors were gone, the light less luminant, everything was falling from its hights. It was gone, it was all gone. I cryed a little.

Anyone who thinks  themselves of any education what so ever has told me that was a manic experience. I agree with my brain that it was, but with my heart I still remember it as real. To this day I sometimes close my eyes put on my head phones, press play and hope.

To be honest with you I was scared at first to reveal my name, simply because I wanted to speak freely and openly on my blog. And it is of a sensitive nature that may have some negative ramifications in my personal life if all is found out. I have decided that sharing my journey is more important, and I hope it has a larger impact on people if they know that a real person is behind it. A person just like many of you who are experiencing the highs and lows (that can at times lead to psychotic episodes) of bipolar.

My name is Paul Lennox, I am 26 and, have been living with bipolar much of my life. I remember not so long ago, talking with my doctor and asking her with tears in my eyes, "Just give me one good year that's all I want, one good year". I know many of you have been there, or are there now.

The purpose of this blog, is to share my experiences of Mania & Depression (they seem to be best friends) with people who are experiencing the same. I would also like this to be a portrait of one mans experience for friends, and loved ones of people with bipolar. I want very much for this to be an interactive blog. I want you to comment on the entry's, let your voice be heard share with me. I also want you to email me if you have a question about an entry, or just want to say hi.  This blog is not just for me remember I'm writing it for you.

I would like to leave you with a message my spirit guide has told me repeatedly:

Remember, You Are All So Dearly Loved

Forgive me my spelling & grammar. You see my thoughts come so quickly lately, that my mind is very very busy. My mind and thoughts have been racing, now I know that's no excuse for lack of adherence to the conventional laws of spelling and grammar. However it is a sign to me that something more sinister, and seductive is at play here. I've scene this all before, its all to well known. The beginning stages are like this: At first it feels quite delightful as if you've just helped your self to a bit of cocaine, pleasurable and somewhat exciting. The pace of life begins to quicken (count the Q words, it seems like I've written several, although I guess if one really stops to think about it Qs are a quintessential part of the alphabet, TaDa racing thought), you start to think quicker and it seems clearer. The thoughts are well organized and you marvel at there structure even to yourself. I also find that I may have a few more then several cigarettes a day when this occurs. My need for sleep and food decreases. Then I can only look forward to the acceleration, which one can only hope (pray if you must, as for me I never touch the stuff) that this race is not combined with feelings of grandiosity, because then they will be more then likely to shop way way to much, or will start many projects, with wonderful intentions of finishing them all.

My thoughts are racing, "take your meds Lennox" I say to my self. With a tear in my eye I think maybe I'll ride it out. Forgive my spelling

I wonder if it will be suicide. The idea sounds some what glamorous to me. The height of drama. A Note? Honestly, don't be absurd, nothing I do in life is orthodox, and nothing I do when the curtain closes will be either. Now, I belive its important to here to mention one thing, I break down, I cry, its all exstremly sad. However there can be a very real art to the way the act is committed.

I've lost to many friends to suicide already in my life. I felt cheated, mad, and angry, that they had left in such it the maner that they choose. If only they had just asked. The morning seems some what deeper, richer, and more silent reverence given to the person subcome to suicide.

So how would I go, well, alow me to gather my  thoughts, I'll tell you.  

So how would I leave you? "The finale was Phenomenal", they'll say, with warmth in their hearts, and tears in their eyes.

Every person, for at least the sake of supporting literature, Must read Colin Zwiebels novel; THE WAY BRILLIANT SOULS CRY. This underground classic highlights, the beauty of death, and the reverence & peace that can come with it. His wrting stly has an almost etherical quality to it. I will not tell you how I would, in part because it isn't any of your business. I will, however, give you a clue...

"On the Gates of Dantes Hell is written, I too was once Loved as you are"

In alot of ways bipolar illness is very mysterious to many people. They don't understand it. They either belive that belive that it's really nothing at all (which is not the case at all), or they think that it is an illness that is unmanageable, and that people with bipolar are some sort of crazy lunatics (which is also far from the truth.

I have what's called Bipolar I , as opposed to Bipolar II. I will explain the difference. Bipolar I is a more sever form of the illness with larger mood swings and mania that without proper life style and sticked adherence to medication, can lead to psychotic  episodes. It is however, highly manageable with proper medication. The mood swings with either bipolar types can cycle several ways, rapidly even over the course of a day or so, or over a period of weeks, months, or years.  Each time the cycle occurs it become more sever. Example: if you are high (Manic) and then you drop down into a low (Depression) you will go back up to a high that will be higher then the one before unfortunately your low will be much darker then before.

Chasing the highs is a common thing for people with bipolar to do, which is a major reason why many of us are non compliant with our medication. What people who do this don't realize is that their highs can turn psychotic and the lows can turn suicidal. I can not stress enough how important the roll of medication is in managing bipolar.

It is important to know that the meds used to treat bipolar example Lithium, will not turn you into a zombie like person. I still have all my sharp wit and sarcasm.

Bipolar II is very similar except the experience of mania is less intrusive and rarely turns psychotic. This is why some people with Bipolar II don't belive they have to take their meds. WRONG, mania is dangerous either way.

We ofcourse however will be celebrating mania in later entries

MEDS MEDS MEDS, TAKE YOUR MEDS

take care of you please, just take care of you my friend

Read all you can about your disorder, empower yourself with knowledge

ENDING NOTE: You can and will have, if you listen to your Dr., a meaningful, satisfying, fulfilling life, filled with more joy and happiness then mania could ever bring.

I have secretes, deep dark, light, joyful secretes. I can not tell if there manic impulses or if there true feelings, that's the curse are my feeling real, honest, and mine, are my thoughts real, honest, and mine. Really its very hard to say,and no one can help me. They are so extraordinary, that I dare not share them. I will share them with you my friends, but I have to say I am so scared that I don't want to ever say but I'm dying to say. Of course you'll respect the fact that I cant trust myself to make choice, because ultimately I never know if its coming from a sound mind or not. No, my friend I have secretes the kind that excite me, make me feel alive. I will tell you, I will tell you all just give me time to gain the courage to talk, its taken alot already you know; to be most honest.

A Hint, your hint

Before and wail checked into hospital for the second time, I knew it. Quit simply put I was directly in touch with god. I have adopted the belief some time prior to my hospitalization, that we are all parts of the divine. We are not separate, and that your highest highs, most loving thought and most beautiful feelings are direct communication with God or the creative force of the universe. However, be that as it may my belief did not stand up to the rigour of medical science. I must also add here now that by no means, do I not relive my original assumption to be to be untrue. I did and always will belive that I was once in communication emotionally with a grand spiritual force.

They stuffed me so full of chemicals that I could no longer feel anything, good I was normal again, all the love gone all the laughter and joy erased. Their are many who belive that bipolar mania is a for of spiritual emergency that brings the unconscious, conscious. That mania is a journey through the spiritual realm.

I do not know if that's true. what I do know and understand that during certain states of mania one is operating at a finer frequencies, elevated from the plain of ordinary existence. It clears all your blocks and allows you to feel freedom and pure love and happiness. I belive that we The maniac, the ill, the bipolar, the sick, as categorized by society, operate on a higher plane. I want very badly to have an aura photo taken wail non manic, and compare that to one taken during the hight of mania. I imagine the difference would be staggering.

I was not psychotic when I was brought into the hospital, I was experiencing something beautiful, I was experiencing the universe. If only I was allowed to travel higher.

Yesterday was a hard day to get through. Everything was painful, everything brought tears to my eyes. silly things, you know. One thought that made me well with tears was the thought that someone wanted to talk with me, someone was grateful for my openness about how the illness has affected my life. It made them feel not so alone, and I thought wouldn't that be nice Paul, to help someone not feel so alone. The tears welled up in me. The thought that I could touch a life. Then more thoughts fallowed.

Thoughts about a child that I could have had. Thoughts about being the dad I wanted to be. I had a chance you know, she was pregnant but a doctor took it away. It hurt you know, really bad. I wanted to watch her grow up. I wanted to be a good dad, I wanted to make her life happy, I just wanted a family. God I wanted that child so bad. I would have been a good dad. I've got alot of love to give. I guess sometimes are dream are taken from us. I don't think I'll try again, no not again.

all I could think was, wasn't yesterday a better day

The pain was so strong. It wouldn't go. I kept crying, it wouldn't go it wouldn't stop, the waves of pain kept coming

The people I've loved who left me. I love them all still, I love them so much.

I wanted the pain to end. I grabbed my pills, good I still had some xanax bars left. They thought they had flushed them all. I crushed up 2.5mg and snorted it quickly but still preserving the dignity of the action. Then I grabbed a glass of wine, and lit a cigarette.

No more pain, no more hurt, only numbness only void. But still I thought wasn't yesterday a better day.

I would like to share with you an allegory that I wrote some time ago about a chemical called Molly. This chemical has profound psychological implications. I hope you'll read it and I hope you'll enjoy.

http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=drf27gw_1fkf4cd

I am a visitor here, I was never perminat. Perhaps thats the best way to think of memories, the ones that haunt us, Or, maybe the best way is to reach out a touch the ones that created the memories in the first place.

I for one, will choose the later. I am brave and I will not let go without a fight. I want....what do I want? I want the memorie and the cast of characters are gone. I have the memorie and perhaps well, just perhaps, memories were ment to be left alone, left as memories.

So now, with pain in my heart, I'll tell you that I was just a visitor, I was never perminant. Still I am brave, what a fool I have been and for all thoughs years.