Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I've Lost My Damn Mind: A Manic's Mood Chart (19 page)

That plan was simple: take my lumps for three or so years learning the ropes, then go dominate in Silicon Valley. I’m referring, of course, to the lucrative partnership of
the porn and telecommunications industries:

(per Family Safe Media:
http://www.familysafemedia.com/pornography_statistics.html)

• Every second, $3,075.64 is spent on pornography.
  

• Every second, 28,258 Internet users are viewing pornography.
  

• Every second, 372
  Internet users are typing adult search terms into search engines.
  

• Every thirty-nine minutes, a new pornographic video is created in the United States.
  

I guess I should say thanks for taking a break from your porn addiction to read this. I really appreciate it.

I was working hard and found pride in knowing that I was the farm boy from nowhere, succeeding and making my way up the corporate AT&Tizzle ladder; it was gratifying and made me happy. You’d think those life lessons would pay dividends when fighting my BMD, but it’s done the opposite.

At AT&Tizzle, I always had my yearly business plan completed. I had my sales funnel up to date per quarter and sales estimates per month down to the day if possible. My days were scheduled out in my calendar with meetings and notes throughout the hours, and my trusty daily lists of projects to complete could always be found by my side. I remained conscious of my big-picture goal of continued success and upward movement while at AT&Tizzle. I could live with failure but not failure due to my lack of effort. If it was within my control, I saw no reason why I shouldn’t be prepared for it. I could accept losing a deal, customer or whatever due to outside circumstances, but it drove me crazy to think of losing due to lack of planning on my end. There was simply no excuse in my mind.

But now with my BMD, the planning and hard work ethic have backfired in a big way (see the past two years of my life). My ambition and drive come back to haunt me by getting me too deep into situations that I’m not ready for (Chicago) and I end up hurting myself more. I’m not good at sitting on my hands and waiting (well, unless I’m giving myself a stranger; yeah, I like porn too) because I feel like I’m failing to prepare and preparing to ultimately fail. But I’ve got to see the big picture and realize I have to do essentially nothing for a while to make sure I’m alright. I’m just trying not to go crazy doing nothing in order to make something out of my life. It just feels awkward and alien to me, kind of like the first time I watched porn.

Session

JP: According to a study in 2000 by Robert Carson,
bipolar disorder is typically a recurrent disorder. A significant association between high levels of stress and manic-depressive episodes was revealed, and stress was also an important continuing factor in those who had more episodes. The study found that patients with more prior episodes were more likely to have an episode after a stressful event. I’d say you are doing the correct thing in this entry of waiting it out and avoiding those familiar stressful situations.

DT: Still doesn’t change the fact I feel like a bum at times.

KEY TERMS:
BRITS, EFFIN’ TEA, JOKES, BEING DOWN

Submitted on 4/29/11

Green

Leave it to the Brits to eff up easy things like tea and jokes.

Did you know that there are two tea times, with different types of food and different-sized tables at different locations for each time? There are actually times in the day when they’re restricted to drinking tea. I mean, give me a break; it’s effin’ tea. I love tea when it’s simple and easy, ice-cold, sugary and refreshing. Sure, I’ll church it up with the sophistication of going halves with some lemonade and calling it a distinguished and respected golfer (Arnold Palmer, that’s for my editor who didn’t get that reference) but that’s where I draw the line.

Same philosophy goes for jokes: simple and easy. Coincidentally, it’s the way I like my women too; I kid, I kid. I was watching the special “Talking Funny” a couple of nights back with Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock, Louis C. K. and Ricky Gervais on HBO. I stumbled upon it by accident and got really excited because I thought it was an interesting group of comedians, and I was really interested in what they had to say. I regret it now after listening to that effin’ tea sippin’ Brit, Ricky Gervais.

I admit there were some interesting and hilarious conversations. One in particular revolved around the word nigg—

What’s that, conscience? I shouldn’t say that word? Not even if I have a picture representin’
I’m Down
(writer Mishna Wolff’s memoir; read it, peeps) like this:

(Myself and Jamin, a college friend of mine known for being “down”,

being “down” for Ohio’s Bicentennial)

Still no? Well, OK. The N-word between mainly Rock and C.K. was definitely entertaining, but it was ruined when the subject changed and Ricky started going off on this tangent about the authenticity of a laugh and the elements of different styles of comedy. Told you only the Brits could eff it up. That redcoat was sucking all the fun out of the show. I should note that Seinfeld and Rock seemed like they would agree with me on this; of course, Louis C. K. was just being a pompous ass. Note to reader: Gervais’s annoying preschool girl laugh nearly sent me back to University Hospital (Southside!) as well. I felt Ricky was bound and determined to make a joke more complex than it needed to be. He had to overanalyze everything in order to legitimize his jokes and the laughs he was getting. I know, what a dick.

I took offense to this because I try to use humor in the simplest way I can. That usually includes a lot of material about dicks and farts, but I have seen how well it can work. I love how a joke can allow us to discuss sensitive subjects in a nonthreatening manner. I love how laughter can break down preconceived notions about issues by making them real and relatable. I truly love how my comedy in its best and simplest form can help people relate to one another even if the subject is something crazy like BMD. Oh, and don’t even get me started on those effin’ scones either.

Session

DT: Let me hear one of your favorite jokes, JP.

JP: OK. A pirate walks into a bar and the bartender yells, “Hey! You know you got a steering wheel coming out of your crotch?” The pirate responds: “Arrrrrrrrrrrggh, it drives me nuts.”

DT: Hahahahahahahahahaha, I love that effin’ joke!

KEY TERMS:
SEX, “DIFFERENT,” COMMITTED, PATIENT CAMARADERIE

Submitted on 5/13/11

Green

A wise man once said:

“
Find a girl that loves to have sex, because then once you’re married, she’ll still actually want to have sex.”

I heard this quote just a few months after my first (and kind of pathetically) only girlfriend up to that point decided to trade me in for a newer model. I took the breakup not so well and was looking for solace of some sort. It was the summer of my sophomore year in college, and I had been under the assumption that I was different in some way from my g.f. (and possibly every other woman, though due to my limited exposure I had no proof) because I always wanted to have sex and she rarely did.

So when I heard this piece of golden knowledge above, I decided to test the theory out for myself and hopefully find the solace I was looking for in a physical form. Come to find out that there are a number of young ladies out there who love sex as much as I do: awesome. It felt great to find others who were “different” like me; almost like I wasn’t the different one.

Back in Denver, when I first awoke in the Porter Hospital psych ward, I was completely out of it and convinced I had been placed in some kind of governmental hiding/protection program (don’t you hate it when that happens?). But after a couple of days, I was able to come out of my delusions and step far enough back into reality to realize that I was committed. I’m not sure how someone is supposed to feel when they come to this realization. Would shame be the appropriate feeling? What about embarrassment? Or maybe even disappointment? Suggestions, anyone?

The weird thing was that I didn’t feel any of those feelings and still don’t to this day. I felt a kind of calm about the entire situation, like I knew I was meant to be there. I knew, and still know, that those two weeks in the wards will always make me different, even if it doesn’t make me feel different. I’ve contemplated this for a while and have been trying to put my finger on why I was so comfortable there.

I think I figured it out sometime last week when I was cruising around (Jeep wave): the very thing that made me different was what made me the same in there, just like sex did back in the day. My days in the wards (especially in Southside! due to holiday limited staffing) were mostly filled with free time, which to psych ward patients isn’t necessarily the best thing. I really didn’t need any more time to think. I was all good with my manic racing thoughts as it was. You end up spending the majority of your time with the other patients. I didn’t even see my ward’s doc in The Nasty until the day before I was released. This lack of attention inevitably leads to patients leaning on each other.

I mean, who else can better understand what hell you have just been through than the ones who are walking alongside you? We only had each other in there to get better, because we were the only ones there who understood how to get back. So maybe it’s what made me different outside that made me feel so at home in the wards. What was different was all around me.

Session

JP: It seems to me from this entry here, Derek, that you had a strong camaraderie with the other patients in the wards. How exactly did these relationships form?

DT: Well, when I was in the ward in Denver, I had a couple of patients come up to me and just talk some stuff out. It was therapeutic for me to listen, so I followed their lead and reached out to new patients and recognizable ones, too. The bonds started there and just grew for me.

JP: It sounds gratifying, knowing you helped someone else who was suffering like you.

DT: Yep, you nailed it; it’s even a little addictive as well.

KEY TERMS:
FACEBOOK, DEAR PENTHOUSE, SO GAY, TRUST ISSUES

Submitted on 5/20/11

Green

I was Facebook-stalking the other day (how else am I supposed to efficiently keep track of all my exes?) when I stumbled upon an old photo which instantly made me start cracking up. This wasn’t necessarily because of the picture itself, but more the story behind it. First things first, though, have a look at the picture I’m talking about: