Reading over several months worth of these daily blog posts last week, I was struck by several themes which I am coming to recognize I return to again and again. I also particularly noticed that I have talked rather more than I realized about my bipolar disorder. (I consider this a good thing, by the way; I wanted these posts to be somewhere between personal diary and essay and to be openly bipolar. The funny thing about coming out as a gay person is that it can open your eyes to all sorts of other ways in which we compartmentalize and devalue other people. Coming out as a “homosexual” proved to be only the first of a seemingly never ending series of closets I find myself liberated from.)
It does seem to me, however, that most of the time when I have talked about bipolar issues it has been when I was in a depressed cycle and struggling with that aspect of this illness. On reflection, I’m genuinely happy that I have shared those depressive episodes. I am also more genuinely grateful than you can ever know to each and every one of you who read those posts and left a comment. I most certainly did feel the love and support conveyed in all of your kind words. I was genuinely appalled to see that when I am depressed, even if I post I often quite fail to reply to any of the comments. And I was deeply touched to realize that some of my friends were actually worried about me when I posted about troubles and being down and then just disappeared for awhile.
The purpose of this post is to record that on the last day of September I seem to be at the very height of my mania. I have composed and scheduled multiple blog posts. I’ve also written a new page for this blog, responded to a couple of dozen comments on older posts, had a wonderful one on one chat with a dear friend– whom I may never meet face to face in person. Yet someone whose love and caring comes across to me through the words we exchange on this little computer screen. (For me, typing back and forth in real time is my optimal means of communicating with another person. When I worked in a relatively loud office, I often hovered just over someone’s screen. They typed to me, I whispered to them. My hearing impairment did not stop me from being a fantastic help queue lead in a call center that handled mostly telephone inquiries. I dare you to say that my relationships with those people were in any way diminished just because I often could not hear what they said when speaking.)
This what my blog looks like when I’m manic.