I’ll Give You My Telescope, Anything, Please Glod Don’t Tell Anyone

This blog entry runs the risk of becoming somewhat of a self-indulgent Pity Party, so you don’t have to read it. I feel I need to vent, and this blog is a convenient place to do so and so I shall put it to use. There’s every chance I’ll wake up in the morning, remember I’ve written this blog post, go…

…and then delete it, or make it private. That said, it’s here while it’s here. So enjoy it, or whatever.

Every now and then my brain gets caught in a logic loop. The problem goes something like this: I worry that there is something seriously wrong with me on a psychological level – some wonderful, terrible mental illness which accounts for my erratic behaviour, my emotional nature, my desire to be the central focus of attention, and all manner of other personality problems. I worry about this for a while, and then I decide I’m probably just being paranoid and I dismiss it. At that point I begin to worry: maybe my dismissing of the thought is preventing me from getting actual, proper help for what may well be a proper, actual condition. My usual response there is to dismiss that as me overthinking the matter and being overly paranoid. Then I worry that dismissing the notion is me denying a problem I have with paranoia coupled with the potential mental problem I might have, and I start to get anxious. Then I dismiss all of it as rubbish, and I wonder if maybe dismissing any of it was in fact the smart thing to do.

Usually I can stop my thought process from wandering too far down this path and I can catch myself before I get too caught up in it and find myself sitting on the bed, staring out into nothing, terrified that whichever decision I make about this whole “my brain is broken” nonsense is the wrong one. Occasionally I don’t, and I wind up doing just that. Even when I’m able to break free of it and go about living my life as if I were a normal, sensible, contributing member of society (ha!) it still floats around the surface of my brain for a few days afterwards, and generally that can leave me feeling rather low.

I had someone suggest to me a few years ago that I might be Bipolar. I’m fairly confident that I’m not. I’ve something of an interest in neurological disorders and I don’t personally believe I fit the description of a classic Bipolarity. That said, I’e always felt a kinship with Stephen Fry. If you don’t know who Fry is then that probably means you’re American, but to summarize he’s a writer, actor, playwright and poet. You’ve probably seen him in Bones as Dr. Gordon Wyatt M.D., or in Jeeves and Wooster as the titular butler. Possibly you remember him as the Qur’an-owning television chat show host from the 2006 movie adaptation of V for Vendetta.  I’ve just spent far too much time explaining who he is. Long story short, he is the gem of the British Isles, and a rarity; a glowing, charismatic, intelligent man who is at the same time accessible to and admired by the general public. He is an inspiration of mine and something of an idol. He is the man I hope to be when I reach my 50s.

He’s also Bipolar, and in 2006 filmed the documentary “The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive” talking about his own experiences with Bipolarity and interviewing other Bipolar celebrity figures such as Carrie Fisher (oh, you know who she is) and Robbie Williams (the British musician, not the hairy comedian – you’re thinking of Robin Williams). I’ve watched this documentary a couple of times on YouTube and just tonight downloaded the whole thing to sit and watch on a proper television tomorrow.

Every time I watch this documentary it shreds my insides. It leaves me devastated, frightened. It scares me, it makes me worry, and it usually leaves me stuck in that paranoia/anxiety feedback loop I mentioned earlier. In fact I haven’t watched it in well over a year and a half for that very reason. But spurred on by a recent… looping, I feel I have to watch it again. I don’t know why.

I’d love to know exactly why my head is wired up the way it is. I’d love to know what makes me tick. I doubt I’m Bipolar – I know I’m not, in fact – but for some reason I feel that if I learn more about Bipolarity, if I can understand it better, then perhaps I can understand what’s wrong with me. I’m sure there’s a logical hole in there somewhere.

Sometimes I am so scared of the way my brain functions. But, and I feel this is important, I do my best to ensure it doesn’t get in the way of experiencing new things and achieving my ambitions. It’s rare for me  to feel as weak and pathetic as I do tonight.