The Fourth Of Five Lists: The Friends I’ve Had And Why I Don’t Have Them Anymore

A list poem is one of the easiest kinds of poems to write because it doesn’t require either rhythm or rhyme. But that doesn’t mean you should write down anything helter skelter. Here’s a list of elements that makes a list poem a poem instead of just a list:
1) The writer is telling you something–pointing something out–saying, “Look at this” or, “Think about this.”
2) There’s a beginning and an end to it, like in a story.
3) Each item in the list is written the same way.”
“How to Write a “What Bugs Me” List Poem”, by Bruce Lansky (1996)

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My advice is to find a notebook that fits into your pants pocket. Use a pen with a cap so it doesn’t explode in your pocket, and start writing down whatever you can remember.
Me.

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The Fourth Of Five Lists: The Friends I’ve Had (1976-2003)
Close to eighteen months into my recovery I started making lists to sort out my memories, including including embarrassing memories, favourite movies and places I’ve lived. Getting them out on paper has allowed me to place important events which were otherwise confused and scrambled into some order. In my opinion these lists can be very helpful to someone with manic depression or clinical depressions as a means of putting perspective into our lives. As proof I’m offering my lists.

This is a list of friends I’ve had during the different periods of my life… this list does not include girlfriends, which is actually another list I’ve made. Just the act of making these lists became an important part of the first stage of my recovery, no one told me to make them but somehow they made sense… looking at this list in hindsight I’ve decided to include some reasons for why these people are no longer a part of my life, and maybe a little bit about where they ended up… I’m not expecting anyone to read this, but hopefully someone can find some value in the idea of the list itself. To get the details I first started with the names, then the years…

G-Town (1976-1978): Larry and Leanne lived next door to the last clubhouse of the commune I grew up in… they were about my age and became my first consistent friends. At one point their mother found out I hadn’t ever had a proper birthday party so she forced my father to throw one… my aunt made cake for my brother, two cousins, Larry and Leanne and myself.

Larry was killed by a drunk driver (I think) about fifteen years ago, Leanne was pretty much disowned by her family for marrying a black dude.

The Little City (1978-1983): Kristen and Stephen C. were the first two friends I made after we escaped the commune. Scott came a few years later… he taught me how to play Poker during grade seven English class. Kristen’s father-substitute used to put together these room sized train and racing car sets for him. Stephen C. was my first birthday party as a guest… mom bought an eight toy-car set for me to give him, but I stole the Trans-Am as I was leaving.

Twenty-years ago Stephen’s father and mother abandoned their four sons and moved to China. The oldest, Tyler, was left in charge. Stephen’s a drug addict and alcoholic and I’m not sure where he’s living… last I heard he was homeless in Montreal. Scott drank himself to death after a motorcycle accident. About four years ago I told Kristen about my “condition” and a little about my Recovery and that was the last I’ve heard from him.

My Little Village (1981-1982): We played street hockey almost every night after school with Lisa and Sean, a couple of kids just a block away. Every other game finished with Sean and I fighting over a goal, and my brother and Lisa either pounding on each other or just yelling. I ran into Sean last year… still a big goofy friendly dude with a saliva problem. When we were older we played a lot of Risk… I liked Sean a lot.

I ran into Sean last year… still a big goofy friendly dude with a saliva problem. When we were older we played a lot of Risk… I liked Sean a lot, but Sean was always the 20-year old dude who wanted to hang out at 16-year old parties.

High School (1984-1989): Steve, Patrick and I became friends in the Scouts, and in high school they were my first Drinking Buddies. Russell came to our high school via Quebec. Our math teacher once said it was mathematically impossible to do nothing so Russell told him “Gabriel can do nothing eight times before breakfast…”, we were best friends for a few years after that. He gave me his copy of the coolest and harshest parody of Boomer Culture ever written… “The Boomer Bible” is also one of the hardest to find books on the planet. Russell’s raw artistic talent had few boundaries.

Around 1988 Steve, Patrick and I slowly drifted apart after we were all in a car accident. It was Patrick’s car and to avoid the wrath of his father he pinned it on me. Russell just kept getting further and further down the trail of Weirdness. He always wanted to be mentally ill… after my diagnosis he asked me about a hundred questions, then went to a doctor and said what he had to say to get the same diagnosis and pills. He’s a weed junkie now, sucking in about five baggies a day and believes the US has concentration camps set up around the country waiting for a State of Emergency which will be called before the next (rigged) election.

Steve does research at a university and Patrick is pretty much a bank manager.

Frontier Lodge (summer 1987): After working as a 17-year old counsellor for one two-week Camp, Eric either became my 30-year old trainee or assistant. Either way we hung out together for the rest of the summer… his parents had moved to the US and left him an Audi and a three bedroom home in a rich suburb of Montreal. It was a pretty good summer, and at the end of it we went our separate ways.

The Little City (summer 1989): This was my first real Move From Home. I spent the summer running a Day Camp for kids. Barry had moved down from Montreal with his parents, they had the largest of two Chinese Food restaurants in the area. Clay and Vince were the sons from the Other Chinese Place. We, and Billy, spent the summer playing basketball, pool and hanging out… they also fed me a lot of Chinese Food.

Barry moved back to Montreal the next Spring, Billy and Vince both died in separate accidents (I think Billy was actually an overdose), and Clay just went nuts… I believe I heard schizophrenia had been mentioned.

My Little Village (1988-1990): I’m not sure how I hooked up with Tim, Dave and Dean, they’re at least two-years older than I am and in High School that’s two generations. I think it was through Karl, who was a brilliant student who had to repeat a grade due to a Provincial transfer. They were part of a larger gang of Punks who adopted me. We had a lot of adventures, mostly while baked on weed. As far as I know, towards the end I was the only one in the group not doing coke.

Dean and I started hanging out again a few years ago when I moved back here. Since then I’ve helped him get off crack and get his finances in order. I just took photos of his family over Christmas. Karl joined the Navy, left as an engineer and is out West somewhere with a family. Dave survived, Tim didn’t. Tim and I were closest… he moved to BC with a friend of mine, got hooked on heroin and sold all of her stuff. Ends up he was physically abusing her as well.

When Tim moved back here his reputation preceded him so he was on his own, he still had a heroin habit but crack is like candy around here so he picked that up as well. After his mother died he stole a bunch of shit from his father and sold it all for drugs. His father forced Tim to take him to the dealer, grabbed his stuff back and left Tim standing there.

Half the people who know him swear he’s dead, the other half say maybe. It’s a crying shame. I was there the night his 6’6″ 240lb father slammed a shovel into Tim’s head for leaving tire tracks on the lawn. Before it All fell apart Tim had been an excellent writer.

Ottawa (1990-1993) The first time I really met Ken and Karl B. they were ransacking the apartment I had just moved out of looking for food. My place was a three bedroom, no living room, apartment in the attic of a decent rooming house. Ken lived on the second floor and Karl B. had just moved into a room the size of a closet next to him. After the initial Weird factor I invited them over to the place I was housesitting for pizza and Heavy Metal: The Movie. After that we became really close friends…. we had rotating weekly potluck dinners for over a year.

Ken introduced me to his sister at one of the dinners… we dated for three years after that, which was awkward at first because Karl B. had apparently been secretly in Love with her for a long, long time. When I met Ken he was in the process of kicking a drug habit and, later on, he asked me to become a “co-sponsor”. Karl B. liked weed and beer… Karl B. was, mostly, a likable idiot who could cook and was always getting his ass kicked.

I managed to steal $400 from Ken… unintentionally, but still. I really didn’t realize I had done it, so when he asked I said “WTF?” and that was that. Ken moved to BC and Karl B. had a kid and moved back to Nova Scotia.

College (1994-1997): I met both Mike and Gary on the first day of my Journalism program in the smoking area outside our building. Mike and I had both previously worked at newspapers, I also had some radio production experience. We had also Lived a Life before getting to School. Gary, on the other hand, was straight from high school… Mike and I were the overly bitter cynics who could only survive in little moments of Irony, and Gary followed us around like a puppy.

Mike had a fairly severe disability involving his legs. He walked with a cane, but should have had two. He also had a wife and new borne child… and he commuted ninety minutes each way, everyday. After I dropped out / was kicked out during my second semester Mike dropped out during the third semester. Gary and I ended up together at a small national newspaper in Ottawa… he helped get me the job. A few years later he got a job at a magazine based on my reference. Last time I heard he was getting close to 300lbs and still squeezing his head in his hands when he was nervous. Weird kid.

Ottawa (spring to fall 1997): I’ve written an entire post about Wild Bill, a solvent huffing, ex-neo Nazi, weight lifting, 240lb dude… he’s still my favourite neighbour.

College (1994-2000): Meanwhile, back at College… Gary and Mike were my friends in College while Wes, Justin, Martin were my friends through College and beyond. I had known Martin for a little while in elementary school… scrawny and meek would fit, so would art geek. He was a year ahead of me in College, where he had grown into a 6’6″ 230lb dude who was still a geek. Wes and Justin and I shared a particular sense of humour.

Wes embarrassed me in front of my girlfriend… we were late getting to his apartment to pick up some stuff and he just sat there giving one word answers and pouting. I have a thing, it’s not my only Thing but it’s one of the Biggest, and it’s about respect. Something, it turns out, I didn’t give to Justin recently and now he’s not talking to me… Martin just got weird and started stealing stuff. I saw him two years ago, he was working in Public Relations, but he had stopped taking the steroids so his chest muscles had become his stomach fat.

42) Toronto Punks (1999-2003): When I first moved to Toronto I thought I was pretty much on my own… but I found an entire enclave of refugees from My Little Village. Darell, Jamie, Steve and Sam had a fairly successful Punk Band, and Sean and I knew each other from way back. Most of the Refugees were three to four years younger than myself, but most of them knew me by reputation or my younger brother from his, much more degenerate reputation. I met Jason R. through the band and Sue through some artists we had in common.

I lost contact with all of them as I sunk deeper into what would become my Depression Coma. I moved three cities away and collapsed. On my last night before moving back to My Little Village they came to town and got me completely fucking faced. I still have sporadic contact with Sean, Darell, Jamie and Steve…

42) Toronto non-Punks (1999-2003): Everywhere I’ve worked I’ve been a part of the “Baddass Smokers Pack”. At the Publishing House it included Robert, Tom and Laura… I was the newbie, but my first Friday was spent at Tom’s party where I was the only person from my magazine to show up. I met reporters from all of Toronto’s main newspapers (everything except The Sun) and was still young enough so everyone thought I was precocious. Robert, Tom and Laura were all editors at the Publishing House I worked at… Laura was actually borne in the same hospital as me, and close to the same day. Shane was the Prissiest guy I’ve ever met, but also one of the strongest mentally… he was a great dude who helped me a lot. Jason and I worked at a public relations firm… we spent a lot of nights drinking a lot of alcohol.

When I went over to Public Relations (it was a mistake) most of my Reporter friends and I stopped hanging out. Jason and I stopped hanging out over a stupid email exchange.

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G-Town (2003): Buck was one of four other people who saved my life. I’ll write more about him and Angelo and the Others later.

My Toronto punk friends came over the night before I moved home and took me on a massive all day binge… then they went to a neighbour’s party while I went to bed. They then collapsed on the living room floor of the house I shared with Buck and Wayne… thing was, it was a “Dry House” for recovering addicts. Drunk people on the floor was a definite No-No. It was a respect thing and Buck lost a lot for me that night.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, crazy people with no pants, Depression, Health, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Punk, Salted Lists | 6 Comments

No Post Day: Your First Time


My File — photo by Me

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“Trouble Man”; Waylon Jennings
“…then he took out his pocket knife and cut off my horns.”
…let me know if the YouTube isn’t available.


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Yes, that is my File. I took the picture back in December, my doctor seemed a little surprised when I asked if I could take the shot… but after a second not so much. He does read this blog, which makes our Friday sessions a little weird because we end up talking about It and even about some of the people who read Salted.

I can’t remember when I told him… I think it was pretty soon after I started it, which would make sense. I was pretty much at my lowest point since starting my Recovery when I started Salted, and starting it was a pretty significant and positive step for me…

So we joke occasionally about how I really don’t need to show up, he can just use Salted to see where I am in my Recovery… also about how at some point he’ll need to start printing out my posts to put in my File.

I started seeing my doctor in 1988. It was… well, not too long after I had a disagreement with another doctor. When I was 15 or 16 a doctor had prescribed me medications without notifying my mother… so when I got in the car and said “here’s the prescription” she did what she usually did and tore his heart from his chest and, while it was still beating, she ate it. After that it was pretty much downhill… what with him being dead and all.

I had seen that doctor for a few months at least. I was usually pissed off at him for bringing shit up or asking questions I didn’t like… we had one session where I just sat and glared at him for 45 minutes. And even then I had a pretty fucking frightening glare. I wasn’t an easy Patient.

Before that there were a few counsellors and school therapists going back to when I was ten or twelve… there was one guy who promised me toy cars based on a point system for telling The Truth. Fucker still owes me two toy cars. Then there was one who asked if she could take Every Thing I Had Ever Written home overnight so she could photocopy them for her files… she brought back four photocopied pages and told me she had lost the rest.

…sigh. She was also the one who fucked up administering an IQ test… for a week I thought mine was 80.

Between 1988 and 2004(?) I saw a few different doctors before coming back to the one I have now… actually I do have a copy of a fairly decent assessment from one of those doctors I’ll post soon.

So… my questions for anyone willing to answer (your mother told me to say it’s good for you):

1. For whatever reason, when was the first time you found, needed or were given “help” from a counsellor, therapist or mental health worker?

2. If you’re still ‘in the system’ does your current counsellor, therapist or mental health worker know about your blog?

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Depression, Health, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, No Post Day, Psychiatry, Punk | 10 Comments

Sure I Lost Another Tooth And I’m Stuck Eating Mush For Another Week But Armed Only With A Camera Somehow I Won The Day


After the Ottawa Senators game in ScotiaBank Place; Dec. 29, 2007 – Photo by Me.


“A Drug Against War”; KMFDM
Let me know if the YouTube’s missing…

Caring for yourself, looking after your physical health, just isn’t a priority for someone who constantly wants to die. It wasn’t like I was in pain, my teeth were usually in pretty good shape, but I wasn’t flossing or rinsing or brushing three times a day either.
“…The Little Things Get Neglected”; Something I wrote last Spring

We need to be able to find small victories, little moments we can lose ourselves in so we can fight against the voice in our head telling us what a huge fucking failure we’ve become because we couldn’t stop failing over the years and decades which make up our lives.
“…There’s A Very Real Risk…”, Something I wrote January 08.

I actually feel like I scored a couple of small victories today… which is great because there was one fuck of a failure as well.

I’m back on mushy food again so I’m eating a banana… last night marked the median in what will be three weeks between recovering from the last tooth being taken out and this one, it was the one night between Recovery and recovery Again where I was able to eat solid food. So I ordered out for Chinese and carefully ate eight chicken wings and a container of beef and broccoli. Now, again, I can barely chew a ripe banana.

It’s not that the process has become easier, I just know what to expect now. Later on I’ll have some pasta with a little butter and cheese…

So the failure, of course, was losing another tooth to one of the various Periodontal diseases and the nearly two decades of smoking and the crappy hygiene and the genetics… my grandmother, who grew up in Alberta during the Great Depression, had lost all of her teeth before she was twenty. Mom’s having bone density problems as well…

But I’m actually kind of okay right now. I think I was expecting to feel like I was kicked in the face as I left the Dentist office… but I didn’t. I actually felt Better… not great, but a little better from when I went in, and filming the event was the difference. The Dentist and the Assistant were cool with me doing what I did, in fact the Dentist actually suggested the best angle for shooting.

I am going to write this, just to get it out of the way… my Dentist is Smoking hot. Like HAWah-T Hot. There. It’s out in the open. She’s funny and professional and fantastic at her job but damn… anyway. Yes, I am holding a camera while she digs a tooth out of my skull… I almost missed getting the tooth, I thought she took it away then when I realized it was on my chest she grabbed it… I need some kind of Production Assistant for these things.


The Extraction… a Salted Lithium Production

The other little victory was about photos… a friend of mine asked me around Christmas to take pictures of him and his girlfriend’s family. The mother/grandmother was in town from Alberta and it was the first time in years the whole family had been under one roof. I did it, but I’ve been nervous ever since.

It was the first time I’ve used the SLR in over a year, the lighting was shit, there was a room full of people I didn’t know and here I was with all of this Responsibility. I actually got sick the next night because I thought I had fucked the whole thing. So Dean brought the photos (144) over this afternoon and they turned out fantastic. It was like I almost knew what I was doing… then we cranked up the Judas Priest and played Twisted Metal Black on the PS2 for a couple of hours.

I lost a tooth, something I’ve had for thirty-seven years, but I think I won the day.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Dentist, Depression, Health, Humor, Humour, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Poverty, Punk, YouTube | 10 Comments

When Relying On Small Victories To Move Through Depression There’s A Very Real Risk The Small Defeats Will Carry Us Under

Caring for yourself, looking after your physical health, just isn’t a priority for someone who constantly wants to die. It wasn’t like I was in pain, my teeth were usually in pretty good shape, but I wasn’t flossing or rinsing or brushing three times a day either. In fact, it’s a little difficult to afford Fluoride Rinse and Mouthwash when you’ve only got $120 in available cash at the beginning of the month, and Food Banks don’t give out mouth-care products.
“…The Little Things Get Neglected”; Something I wrote last Spring

“Lithium mouth”, or Lithium as a cause of rotting teeth, is an Urban Legend… probably started by the Followers of X3nu. Lithium can have an effect on the amount of saliva generated in your mouth. Which, in layman’s terms, means “having a dry mouth.” This is probably due to its being a salt… but I’m not a scientist. So if you’re taking Lithium drink some water.
…Something that was explained to me by very smart people.

I started feeling down… bad, depressed, blah, grey, whatever, just after Christmas. Actually it was a month before Christmas, but the days before and after Christmas were pretty good. Wait… no, it was earlier, maybe August.

Yeah, there were a few days in September where I was doing okay but August and October sucked… then most of December. So I guess I started feeling… ‘grey’ back in August. No… wait a minute… there was last Spring and early Summer which sucked pretty bad leading up to a couple of not so bad days in July just before those goodish couple of days in September. There was a month in the early Spring, I think it was March, which went pretty well… I think it was March. I know January of 2007 I was recovering from some pretty traumatic shit from the Summer and Fall of 2006. How far back, exactly, do I have to reach into my memory to find… something?

We need to be able to find small victories, little moments we can lose ourselves in so we can fight against the voice in our head telling us what a huge fucking failure we’ve become because we couldn’t stop failing over the years and decades which make up our lives. Sometimes we stop seeing those victories… or the space between the last one and now just gets too long to remember. If I was an addict and in a program like AA or NA, this would be the time when I should call my sponsor.

I was sitting in my mom’s car, driving back from the Dentist about a month ago. And I was trying to find the right word to describe how I felt. But I couldn’t. The Dentist had just told me there was no hope for one of my teeth, and very little hope for another. And if I wanted to save the second tooth I’d have to work at it… brush multiple times per day, floss deep, use baking soda and hydrogen peroxide, gargle with salt water. If I wanted to save the tooth.

So I bought the baking soda and the hydrogen peroxide… if I wanted to save the tooth all I had to do was try. And I didn’t try. On Friday of last week I got an infection on the first tooth. On Saturday the second tooth came out. On Wednesday of next week the infected tooth will be extracted. On the way back, with gauze in my mouth soaking up the blood from the new hole in my face, I figured out the word I was looking for… defeated. I was feeling… I have been feeling defeated.

I’m not sure… maybe, maybe I’ve felt like this before. But my memory sucks large right now so it’s basically impossible to find any historical context. I think I’ve felt like this before but lacked the word. But it’s not the feeling which is bothering me… there’s something more. It’s giving up. I feel like I’ve given up on some things. By next week I may or may not have lost two teeth, but I didn’t even try to save them. I looked at the tools for a couple of months and I knew the risks and what was at stake…

And it wasn’t like I was doing Behaviour B knowing I was supposed to be doing Behaviour A, it was me not doing anything. It’s not the pills or the treatment, I’m not suggesting I’m in immediate danger of stopping either… and I still see a future but I think it may be the type or quality of that future which is pushing me deeper into Grey.

I have to eat cold mushy food for the next few days, then again for a week after the next tooth comes out. My mouth is in a lot of pain right now… no it’s not, only when I chew. Or drink. Or yawn. Then there are two more teeth the dentist says might have to come out… those two would make six since last Spring. It just feels like I can get through the depressing depression shit, but then people I care about are fucking off, or I’m damaging my foot, or my printer won’t work, or I erase two-years of edits for my book, or the leg on my chair is missing its rubber stopper so now I have to write while on a slant, or a bunch of photos come out blurred, or my teeth are falling out…

I don’t Know what’s going on… I have assumptions of course, and little theories why I feel like this. I think a lot of it has to do with the teeth, of course. But also because I’m still not sure about the whole Living Thing. I still Have a future, I’m pretty sure of that… but just because I’m not suicidal anymore doesn’t mean I think my future is worth living through. Considering the effects long term depression, tooth loss and inflammation through infections have on heart disease said future is getting a lot shorter. So maybe I’m not taking care of myself as a kind of slow, semi-methodical quasi-suicide. Or, maybe I’m not taking care of myself because I haven’t learnt how. But if it’s the latter the time to learn this shit is rapidly running out.

How the Fuck does a thirty-seven year old dude Not know how to take care of his teeth? How can I, knowing the consequences, not do everything I can to save what I’ve got left?

Holy fuck… as much as I feel Grey, like I’m fading, as much as I feel some clarity from the Disease, I also feel like I’m breaking down.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Classic, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Dentist, Health, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Poverty | 17 Comments

No Post Day: Back On Schedule


“Painted By Numbers”; The Sounds
let me know if the YouTube isn’t available.

I may have ended up sleep deprived and with a slightly smaller tooth… and my desk chair now leans a little to the back and right, but I did survive.

This was the first Christmas in a few years where all of the action took place in my parents home. Recently we’ve been renting a Bed & Breakfast and having Them cook dinner and opening up presents on Their floor. Which has been odd. Originally the idea was for my brother and I to take over Christmas responsibilities, but he lives in a basement in Toronto and between the dishes and the dust there’s really no room for a tree in my apartment.

So that wasn’t happening. Plus the B&B was booked this year. So my step-father divvied up the cooking responsibilities, and he did most of the Christmas shopping and driving around so mom wouldn’t get stressed out… and it ended up being really great. I think people were really grateful to be together in a Home rather than a Business, even if it is owned by mom’s friend. Mom’s mom actually commented on how tasty the food was… and it was.


Christmas Morning Fingers… from my family to yours.

The coolest present I received this year was a book my mom put together of her mom’s recipes… it’s 200 pages with some family memories of their/our favourite dishes (her relishes are fucking insane-good), and some photos of my grandmother growing up. The pages are photocopies of my grandmother’s original written notes. And, because mom registered it with an ISSN number, there are copies in the National Library of Canada.

If my grandmother had human feelings, or could replicate them as she can her other human features, I’m sure she would have cried. Or said thanks.

So… my question for anyone willing to answer (all the cool kids do it) is:

What was the most touching gift you’ve ever given? OR, what was the most touching gift you’ve ever Thought you’ve given but was almost immediately discarded by the bastard you gave it to?

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...thanks.

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Posted in BiPolar Christmas, crazy people with no pants, Depression And Christmas, Health, Humor, Humour, Lithium, No Post Day, Punk, YouTube | 10 Comments

Have You Ever Felt A Pain So Powerful So Heavy You Collapse I’ve Never Had To Knock On Wood But I Know Someone Who Has

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Have you ever been close to tragedy, Or been close to folks who have? Have you ever felt a pain so powerful, So heavy you collapse? I’ve never had to knock on wood, But I know someone who has… Which makes me wonder if I could.

Have you ever had the odds stacked up so high, You need a strength most don’t possess? Or has it ever come down to do or die, You’ve got to rise above the rest? I’ve never had to knock on wood, But I know someone who has… Which makes me wonder if I could, It makes me wonder if…

I’m not a coward, I’ve just never been tested. I’d like to think that if I was I would pass… Look at the tested and think there but for the grace go. I’m afraid of what I might find out, I’ve never had to knock on wood But I know someone who has, Which makes me wonder if I could.
“The Impression That I Get”; The Mighty Mighty Bosstones

What the fuck is it with us? Even when we have a support network, even when we’ve spent time and energy actually developing a support network, why is it at the first sign of trouble we just dump the whole fucking thing and head for the nearest closet where we can wallow in our misery?

At least four people in my blogroll have either, over the past six weeks, dealt with Tragedy by shutting themselves away from the people directly around them or abandoning their blogs, or both. One of them, right now, has decided stopping his medication is the best way to deal with the death of someone close to them. Which is the dumbest fucking response anyone could ever make.

There’s a tendency to start thinking these blogs are primarily meant for Others to read rather than as places for Us to write about the stuff we need to work out… so when Shit happens we end up breaking off important connections as well as giving up an important outlet which we can use to work the Shit out. If writing is how you work stuff out then don’t forget to write about the stuff you need to work out. Somewhere.*

Look… people don’t work through the Stages of Grief by writing on a blog. But the actions surrounding the blog can be therapeutic. When we’re in the suck fest that is Grief we need structure, we need a basic framework so our physical self can get out of the way of our mental stuff. You need to get out of bed, you need to wash, you need to get dressed, you need to sit with a coffee, you need a cigarette, you need to look out the window and see some movement, you need to see some proof of Life.

And if you post on a regular basis and it has become part of your regular routine then, yeah, you need to post and check stuff out online. Cutting yourself off from the people around you is not an answer. Cutting yourself off from something which has made you happy over the past months and even years makes no sense either. I’m not saying Interact with people who leave little messages, or even those who leave insightful responses, I’m suggesting — strongly — it’s the interaction of the blog Itself which is important.

You need to do the things you normally do, otherwise you begin to tell yourself you really don’t do anything. And in times of Grief we need people interacting with us in any way possible. We need a hand on our shoulder, but if it’s available sometimes we need an email in All Caps telling us to WAKE THE FUCK UP and get back into treatment so you can deal with this Shit from a position of strength… sometimes we just need a funny video from YouTube. But we’re not going to get those if we abandon the support network.

Besides… this is the new FaceSpace Blogger Social Paradigm people, we’re reaching across the planet looking for people and companionship we can’t find down the street because people like Us are hard to find… well This is it, This is who We are. You’re the alcoholic, depressed and occasionally suicidal neighbour I’ve chosen to get to know, and I’m yours, and you’re someone else’s and together we’re a support network for each other.

So do not, ever, hesitate to send an All Caps email and a funny YouTube to someone you think is in trouble. And don’t be afraid to look for them.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, BiPolar Christmas, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Classic, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Depression And Christmas, Health, Intervention, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Punk, Salted Truths, YouTube | 18 Comments