First of all, apologies to my loyal readers for my unexplained absence. This can, in fact, be attributed to my recent trip to Israel as a deputy diplomat in the department of peace-keeping efforts and hasbara-associated conflagrations. Actually, I've just been busy dealing with life and contemplating "next steps" regarding said life, specifically the choice between work or play. Just kidding, work or grad school. I wish that "play" were an option. In any case, I digress and will return to this subject at another date, but first a note from the editor....
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Ed. Note: This blog was not intended to be a diary of the ups and downs of my life (and illness). For that purpose, I keep a personal journal (a written one, if you can believe it.) In the future, this blog may once again address interesting observations of trains, planes & automobiles (ie subways, world affairs & navigating city life), not to exclude* specific elements of 20-something NYC life, such as dating, social life, religion, politics, demographics, advertising, shopping, driving, touristing, etc., to be supplemented by my very own commentary & analysis on Judaism, Israel and the matzav. Despite the ready availability of my journal (yes, it calls out to me), I find opening up to an audience of strangers to be strangely satisfying. Even if you don't comment (which I wish you would!), it's nice to know that people out there are learning about the tumultuous experiences of someone with bipolar disorder. (1 in every 100 people suffer from it.)
*Isn't "not to exclude" so much more apropos than "not to mention," which itself is a contradiction?
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Yes, that's BIPOLAR DISORDER. That's what I have and I'm proud (proud?) to share it with you. I was previously battling depression, with doctors' suspicions that I was bipolar based on a questionable manic episode a few years ago. The suspicion was confirmed after this most recent bout. My immediate family, a few friends and all my roommates are "in-the-know." (This makes for a grand total of about 12.) Yet, I don't want others to know because it seems like a drastic omen, plus there is a negative perception of mental illnesses among the general public. (I am not an institutionalized psycho; that was my ex-roommate!) Moreover, pity is the last thing I want from people.
Unfortunately, just when I thought I was on the mend, the upswing, toward normalcy, from my recent manic episode, I took a turn for the worse. Apparently it's not so uncommon to veer into a depression immediately following a manic period. However, it caught me by surprise and I am shocked at how low I can go.
When I encountered my (first?) most severe incident of depression, I was calling my mother every day, crying. I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. Hell, I didn't even see a tunnel. I thought my life was so terrible... and this all happened at a point in my life when I had just moved to Manhattan, had a great new apartment, a new job, a new boyfriend and everything on the outside seemed spectacular whereas I was falling apart on the inside.
Well now, it's fortunate that I'm well-medicated because if I was in such a state then, when everything seemed so rosy, I don't know where I'd be otherwise right now. I am currently in a state of flux in regards to every aspect of my life: apartment, job, boyfriend. I really could care less that I am boyfriend-less now (that guy about whom I was *so* excited is out of the picture), but I would certainly appreciate some direction from someone (G-d??) about what the heck I am meant to do with my life -- professionally, academically and how I can make the world a better place...
I know that sounds hokey; it was meant to... it was a hyperbole of sorts. I've been reading the book Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynn Truss. If you haven't heard of it, let me tell you that is something I should have written myself. It rails against the plummeting standards of punctuation (and grammar, to a degree), and while originally geared toward "the select few," it has achieved great success both in the UK and here. The author's hilarious style makes for an entertaining read with which any literate person can identify.
Back to me me me and me. It's nice to have a captive (okay, cursorily passing through) audience. If anything whatsoever resonates or you wish to comment, commend, criticize or query me, feel free to do so. Actually, you can hold off on the criticism, unless it's very gentle or very urgent (or simply urgentle).
I am in such a pathetic state right now. I have no idea where I'm going, what I'm doing, etc. I am feeling so low that I am avoiding phone calls and interactions with friends and family because I have nothing to say of note about my life. This is particularly an issue with those people who don't know about my condition. I told my mom that I don't know what to say when people inevitably ask, "How are you?" Her suggested responses were "I've been better" and "Hangin' in there." Not too bad for getting past the initial minute of a phone call, but past that is pretty tricky.
Today, I was asked how my book was coming along. This book is something that I came up with in the midst of my manic episode. I emailed about 25 of my closest friends to share with them this endeavor (minus details about my illness) and request their input about their experiences as post-college 20-somethings. I was going to share my groundbreaking and unique experience with others, focusing on what it's like to be bipolar (whoa, scary to write it like that.. ie to BE bipolar), and specific to the other components of my life: NYC, religion, single life and one other that I do not recall. I do think I have a lot to say (as I always do!), but whether it's fodder for a whole book is another story. Anyway, I still think it's a bit unique in that quarter-life-crisis meets memoirs-of-the-mentally-ill kind of way.
That's all for tonight, folks! Laila tov.
P.S. Shana tova to all! May you have a sweet, healthy, happy & properous year ahead!
Monday, September 20, 2004
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2 comments:
You're very brave to be writing about this stuff. Do write a book. Or five. Here's hoping this year brings more men and less mania.
:-)
Dear Single Gal - I found you through Esther, so give it up for a second for one of the Kevin Bacons of the Single-Female-NYC-Jewish community. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that there are people out here rooting for you, even if you don't know us. I've had depression for years and it was untreated for years and it is a really terrible, inexplicable disease. If people haven't been around it, they can't understand it. Well, why can't you get dressed and come out? And it is almost impossible to explain. It is as if you have an invisible field of gravity (which, now that I think about it, is always invisible) around you that is 1.7 of normal gravity. Everything looks the same to the people on the outside, but everything to you is exponentially more difficult. It's also as if you (and understand that by "you", I mean "I") are unable to see variance of color. Everything is suffused with grey. But you can't tell that, because it looks normal to you. Hopefully, with medication, you look around one day and realize, "Hey, I never knew that that was what red REALLY looks like." It took me years to come up with those two analogies and they are totally imperfect.
When people ask how you are, you can go with the, "things could be worse." If you happen to be Jewish, you can add Baruch HaShem to that or if you aren't, you can say God Forbid. That way, people will just think that you are superstitious. Then, start asking them questions about themselves. They'll usually forget that you never answered their question. If they do get back to you, tell them something really fascinating that happened to someone in your family or a friend of yours. Then it sounds like something is happening in your life when it really isn't. If all else fails, say, "Hey, did you catch the latest Presidential debate? How could anyone possibly vote for (fill in the blank, I don't want to offend you)?" and they are likely to go on a rampage about that guy. Then run.
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