Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I've Lost My Damn Mind: A Manic's Mood Chart (20 page)

(This will all hopefully make sense by the end)

I have no idea how to properly tell this story, so I’m just going to do it by fulfilling a childhood fantasy.

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July 2006 Issue

Dear Penthouse,

I never thought I’d be one of those guys writing to you, but I had to share this story. I’ve been dating this smoking hot Southern belle who is the forward type if you know what I mean (she grabs my junk a lot in public if you didn’t). Anyway, one night we get home and she pulls me through my apartment door and into my bedroom. Before I have any time to react, she has my pants unzipped and with the utmost Southern hospitality is saying hello to my junk. Well, of course I take the gentleman’s high road and allow her to finish their conversation down there. About halfway through, she starts to laugh; mind you, my junk is in her mouth at this time (awkward to say the least). I asked what the matter was, and she insisted nothing and continued with her conversation. A few moments later, she starts to crack up hysterically once again, so I look down and say:

“
What the hell? What’s so funny, and don’t say nothing. I mean, my dick is in your mouth and you’re cracking up; it’s starting to give me a damn complex!”

She pauses her conversation and responds:

“
You’re just standing so gay with your hand on your hip, leg straight out, and head tilted up to the side. Every time I look up, I start laughing.”

Needless to say, we finished things up
lying
on the bed, and I’ll no longer be trying that standing position any time soon.

Ashamed in Atlanta,

Derek

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You can imagine I wasn’t really proud of this moment in my life at the time and really didn’t want the story to get out. However, I felt it was my moral responsibility to at least tell my best friend, trusting that he wouldn’t tell anyone. What is a best friend good for other than to keep vulnerable/embarrassing secrets, right? Apparently, they are also good for spreading the word. The next time I visited Browntown and walked into the bar, the bartenders, bouncers, DJ and even some patrons were all standing “so gay” with their hands on their hips, legs straight out and their heads tilted up (see photo evidence above). It was hilarious, and I definitely have trust issues with my friends, but who doesn’t? I mean, they’re just looking out for you. You trust them to prevent you from doing that dumb shit again by making fun of you.

I wish I had that type of trust issue with my docs now. Unfortunately, my trust issue with them is simply that I don’t believe they have
my
interests at the top of their priority list when we meet. Often, I don’t feel like my needs are the ones that the docs are most concerned with. I surely don’t expect them to take their work home and dwell on their patients, but a little effort once every six to eight weeks for forty-five minutes shouldn’t be too much to ask. I’m probably venting a bit here because I had a real bad meeting last week with the docs. I feel like the new-toy feel has rubbed off of me for the docs, and I’m just another client for them to routinely treat. It can really make me miss my Dear Penthouse days.

Session

JP: So how exactly were you standing
so
gay? I think I should be offended, but just show me real quick.

DT: OK, I was standing just like this . . .

JP: Oh, never mind, yeah, that’s definitely so gay.

ELEVATED

(YELLOW-ORANGE-RED)

ABSTRACT:

THE ELEVATED SECTION OF THE MOOD CHART ENCOMPASSES THREE LEVELS OF INTENSITY. YELLOW IS THE MILD LEVEL WITHIN ELEVATED MOODS AND IS CHARACTERIZED BY A LACK OF SIGNIFICANT IMPAIRMENT AND THE ABILITY TO WORK. NEXT IS ORANGE, THE MODERATE LEVEL WITHIN ELEVATED MOODS, HIGHLIGHTED BY SIGNIFICANT IMPAIRMENT BUT WITH THE ABILITY TO WORK. THE FINAL LEVEL IS RED, THE MOST SEVERE. IN THIS ELEVATED MOOD, THERE IS SIGNIFICANT IMPAIRMENT AND AN INABILITY TO WORK. THIS SECTION CONSISTS OF THIRTY-SIX ENTRIES, WITH RED CONTAINING THE MOST ENTRIES AT FOURTEEN.

YELLOW

(ELEVATED MILD MOODS WITHOUT IMPAIRMENT, ABLE TO WORK)

KEY TERMS:
MD 20/20, COUNTRY ROADS, HAIKU, MANIC STATES

Submitted on 7/9/09

Yellow

Dearest Liquor,

This is quite possibly the toughest letter I’ve ever had to write, although I’m pretty sure this is only the second letter I’ve ever written, minus pen pals. (The previous one was one to Jamie Spears. What was with me and the Spears sisters during my episode? Jeez.) So please hang with me as I make my way through this. First off, I want to say it’s me and not you. Now, I know this is such a common excuse to end a relationship, but in this case it’s absolutely true . . . You know what? Now that I’ve thought about that last statement for a minute, I know you deserve the truth and I should be nothing but honest with you. It
is
you and this is all your fault. But don’t be too hard on yourself; we did have some good times together.

I can still recall our first date like it was yesterday. I was a young boy looking for adventure and fun, and you came into my life in the form of MD 20/20 (Red Grape, of course) ready to open my eyes to endless pleasures. We spent that first night cruising around the back country roads just holding hands (well, I was holding the bottle, but same difference) and looking at the stars. I should have known that night that this would never work, but it felt so right, even during the final four hours of being passed out in the back of my best friend’s car as you wreaked havoc on my system (ahhh, memories). After that night, it seemed like we just took off with no desire to look back. We spent weekends together, and you could always pick me up when I was feeling down. No matter what was going on in my life, it seemed like you were always there to pick me up (and eventually lay me down beside the toilet, but beggars can’t be choosers).

Now, while our time together was great, you know what you do to me now. For example, let’s take last Sunday and Monday when you sent me into a wild range of manic states. Sure, I heart doing Jäger bombs with the rest of them, and I know you have solid relationships with most of my friends, but I doubt that you send them on the same crazy ride as you do to me the day after. I know I may sound a little bit like a hypocrite because we’ve talked about how mania can be enjoyable at times, but that’s when I’m in control (or as close to control as I can be, please stop judging me). After a night with you, the next day is out of control for me, and I deserve better. I know you’re going to be fine and will undoubtedly find someone else real soon to replace me (I’m pretty sure I heard somewhere that at any given time, something ridiculous like around 5 percent of the world’s population is drunk) if you haven’t already moved on.

Even if this is the fact, I wanted to say thank you for the great times we had together and give you something as token of my appreciation. It is a haiku:

You’ve shown me beauty

And took it right back away

It was a fun ride

Session

DT: “Dearest Liquor, I take it all back. Love, Derek.”

JP: That’s what I thought, but in moderation, Derek Lee.

DT: Wow, talk about the rainbow calling the upside down pink triangle gay.

JP: Inappropriate.

KEY TERMS:
“
HARD KNOCKS,” KNIGHTS TEMPLAR, BLINK 182, DATING

Submitted on 8/12/09

Yellow

I’ve been sitting in debate for the past few minutes, trying to decide which life-changing topic I wanted to write about in this entry. The top three in discussion are: my dysfunctional attempts to date since my episode, my first show (concert) since my episode, or my childlike excitement for the
Hard Knocks
season premiere tonight. Seeing how everyone in their right mind is excited for “Hard Knocks: Training Camp with the Cincinnati Bengals” (insert felon joke here) I’ve decided to concentrate on the other two promising topics. The first we’ll meddle in is my feeble attempts at dating.

Not that I was any kind of expert in dating prior to my belief that I was a member of the Knights Templar evading capture from the KGB, but try and imagine explaining that to a girl you’re trying to date (that’s why I just write about it). When I was first released from the hospital, you could say I was having a little trouble adapting to reality (well, if you call running home from the bar to lie in your closet trouble). So I was wide open to any advice on how to handle this transition, and luckily my friends were there to provide some guidance.

One of my good friends led me to some helpful websites. She also mentioned she had read that when dating, I should wait around six months or so before telling the girl I was BMD (danke for that, BTW). All in all, it seemed like a really good idea. I mean, why bring any more hardships to the relationship until you have to? There’s more than enough to try and handle without BMD, considering she’s dating me.

The first eight months after my episode, I was in no condition to date or even try to, unless I could find a girl in Browntown who enjoyed my depression and inability to take care of myself. Not many takers; I checked online. Once I was able to pull myself off my parents’ couch, I moved down to The Nasty and started living a semi-normal life again; I decided to try and date as well. I met a girl a couple of weeks ago and had a real good time with her. She was the first girl I’d considered trying to date in a while, even though she wasn’t blonde; she had dyed it dark, though.

I remembered the six-month timeline advised for people with BMD when dating. This posed a problem because the only way I’ve figured out how to handle BMD is to be straightforward and honest. I mean, this is a part of me now and plays a significant role in my life. I’m not sure I could hold something like that back for six months. Knowing this, I made the decision that I’d be forthcoming about everything right from the start, but this meant I’d better be pretty confident this girl could handle it. I’m fairly sure casual dating is out the door for me; it feels like there’s too much crap to deal with for that.

Long story short, I don’t think it would be fair to put this girl through it if I wasn’t totally into it. That’s right: this eligible bachelor is still on the market. To ease my pain, I’m heading to Blink 182 with the elite from Browntown and tons of teenagers tomorrow (perfect).

Prior to moving to Denver, the state makes you sign a contract stating that you will call all concerts “shows” and that you must attend at least one a month in order to be considered a true Coloradan, Coloradian, Coloradoran, whatever. It’s a weird bylaw in their state constitution, kind of like it’s illegal in Atlanta to tie a giraffe to a telephone pole or lamppost. I agreed to the terms and was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed calling concerts “shows.”

I have a confession to make: the Blink show is actually my second show since being back home. The first was O.A.R., but it was right after my near-manic episode in The Nasty in which I resigned from my job, so I pretty much got sloshed during it. Don’t remember the show, therefore it doesn’t count. I really don’t have much to say about the show, but it seemed like the prior topic was getting a bit too serious, and we can’t have that now, can we?

Session

JP: Bipolar disorder can become an issue from the very start of a relationship. When you first meet someone you like, it’s natural to want to make a good impression. Introducing the fact that you have bipolar disorder may not make for the most auspicious beginning. There is always the fear that you might scare the person off and lose the opportunity to get to know one another. At some point, though, you will need to let your partner know that you are bipolar.

DT: Good luck and Godspeed, singles.”