Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I've Lost My Damn Mind: A Manic's Mood Chart (6 page)

Name: Derek Thompson

Wearing: Burberry Trunks ($225)

Also Known As: “That Guy”

Can Be Found: Disregarding His Life

This was my spread for “The Seven Wonders of the World 2004 Calendar” from my study-abroad experience. I was Mr. February and I left my number on Valentine’s Day in the calendar, but no one ever called. I pulled this beauty out of storage the other day after watching a little bit of the Travel Channel’s “10 Sexiest Beaches.” Surprisingly, Enon Beach didn’t make the cut.

See, what my depression enjoys doing to me is to basically trap my mind on what I don’t have in my life right now. Dwelling over the “what ifs” in my life and then taking me to those places in my mind where they still exist as real. It’s a little difficult to explain, but the bottom line is that it sucks and I would like to move on. I can usually pull myself out of these downward shame spirals within a few minutes, but the Big D has been laying it on pretty thick lately.

So the other night, I was flipping channels, trying to forget I was losing $50 on the damn Missouri/Kansas game, when I spotted the “10 Sexiest Beaches” show. I immediately stopped because I’ve been having a pretty rough year so far and thought some bikinis couldn’t hurt the situation; and I was right. Well, come to find out that number six on the list was Bondi Beach in Sydney, Australia. What a coincidence, that’s the beach I lived on! No wonder it’s number six and not seven on the list. You’re welcome, Australia.

I was able to live in one of the “sexiest” places in the world for six months and go to the beach every day. Literally, that’s all I did. I ask you, if you had the option of riding two buses (with a connection) for forty-five minutes to sit in a lecture hall for an hour, then have to hop those same bus routes back,
or
sit on a beach in Sydney with topless Aussie women surrounding you, which would you do?

I’ve been able to experience things in my life I never imagined while growing up in South Chuck. I’m pretty damned lucky and need to start appreciating that and get out of this funk. It’s starting to get annoying.

Oh, and one last quick thing: to put all the rumors to rest, yes, there have been discussions about the Seven Wonders of the World considering a comeback calendar (I really, really need to hit the gym).

Session

DT: What, no questions or insights into this one, JP?

DT: JP? . . .

DT: JP!

JP: Yeah, depression can be a bitch.

DT: Give me that calendar, you horn dog. Where the hell did you even find that?

JP: So tell me more about Mr. September?

DT: Well, you guys would be perfect for each other, except for the fact that he’s not into creepy old men.

JP: Hater in the session; hate, hate, hate, hate.

KEY TERMS:
MORSE CODE, BIPOLAR “EXPERT,” EXERCISE, GERIATRIC DONG

Submitted on 2/18/11

Indigo

I was at the gym yesterday, and other than creepily staring at the slamming hot body trainer’s legs from afar, I was actually working out. I hadn’t been to the gym for a while, so I forgot about locker room etiquette. I was bending down, untying my shoes after my workout. I came up slowly and suddenly froze. I was staring down the shaft of an old man’s penis; it was as bad as it sounds. I wanted to look away, but the steaming pile of geriatric dong was memorizing. I wondered just how many stories it had and the places it had been. Then it winked at me, I shit you not. The hole opened and shut plain as day. Then it did it again, open and shut. Then a long open count and shut. Winking a few more times and then finally shutting. I heard a grumpy old voice bellow:

“
It’s Morse code for ‘stop staring at my dick’!”

Those old guys know all the tricks.

OK, OK, that didn’t really happen, but I will say enough of the story is true that you should still feel sorry for me. I have been working out more, and it’s not only because of the slamming hot body trainer. The docs suggest working out and staying as active as possible to help with the mania, depression and everything else in between. It’s always toughest for me to do during the winter, though, probably one reason I’ve been feeling down lately. Not only does it help with the BMD, but I definitely need to get in shape for the upcoming soccer season.

I’m playing on a team this spring with some peeps from high school, so it should be a blast. I really need to get into shape because the last time I played organized soccer, I fell on my face about three times and came home with the best shiner I’ve ever had (literally ate the ball, what can I say, I’m an athlete). I think it’s the little things, like working out and playing some soccer with old friends that I need to break me out of this funk.

I’ll admit it, I’m not good at handling bouts of depression. The mania with the craziness of psychosis is a piece of cake compared to the way depression crushes my world around me and suffocates me. Maybe it’s because I’ve had mania my entire life and never really understood what it was inside. I mean, how do you compare those feelings, thoughts and emotions to other kids when no one in the world really understands them? (Which reminds me, how can anyone be an “expert” in bipolar disorder when no one in the world really knows what the hell it is?) I’m not sure of the exact reason, but I do know depression is a bitch.

In case anyone was wondering, after only a few minutes of consideration, I’ve decided that I am going to ask out the slamming hot body trainer, but I know I have to be creative and unique. I’m sure she’s approached constantly by guys wearing baseball caps when they work out and shooting up in the locker room, so I have to make a lasting impression. This is going to be difficult because I don’t even know her name, but I do love a challenge. First things first, though. I gotta learn Morse code.

Session

JP: Exercise is a great form of release that can have huge benefits for dealing with bipolar disorder. Some other things that seem to work are getting a consistent eight hours of sleep a night, avoiding triggers and stress, and asking for help or not being scared to tell your support system when to back off. Do you have any other tips that work for you?

DT: Find a passion and use it however you can to vent, whatever and however; just something that’s truly yours.

JP: Very good suggestion, but I have to jump off subject, to know if you ever saw the old man again after the Morse code incident?

DT: Couldn’t tell ya, I keep my eyes down in the locker room now.

BLUE

(DEPRESSED MILD MOODS, WITHOUT SIGNIFICANT IMPAIRMENT,

ABLE TO WORK)

KEY TERMS:
BUCKEYES, SHAME, LISTS, FEELINGS OF FAILURE

Submitted on 10/28/09

Blue

Exhibit A

Phone . . . check.

Wallet . . . check.

Keys . . . check.

Toothbrush . . . cheque.

iPod . . . check.

Shoes . . . chequear.

Belt . . . check.

Shame . . . check. (Don’t remember bringing that one with me.)

I’ve debated with myself (and yes, sometimes aloud to spook my neighbors) on whether or not I should write about my latest mania experience. It doesn’t have the thrill of my past experiences and is actually a little boring. OK, OK, if you want me to be completely honest, I wasn’t so proud of it and wasn’t sure if I wanted to share it. Then I recalled I repeated kindergarten for my inability to share, so I reconsidered. In honor of the cardboard Stop/Go sign hanging from my kindergarten bathroom door, let’s flip this thing over and go.

As part of my hobbies, I like to list whenever I am asked to fill out a survey that I enjoy making lists. The reason I enjoy making lists so much is that it is almost impossible to screw up. I mean, it’s
your
list. There’s not a rule book or right or wrong way. Try it right now and list your Top 5 favorite holiday candies:

1.) Stale Peeps (Easter)

2.) White Chocolate Easter Bunny (Easter)

3.) Multi-color Candy Canes (X-Mas)

4.) Nerds (Halloween)

5.) Buckeyes (Whenever I can get them)

See my point? It’s almost impossible to mess this up. However, from the evidence provided in Exhibit A, I seem to have managed to achieve the impossible.

This past weekend, I departed from The Nasty to make my way to C-Bus for a celebration of all celebrations, a wedding. As before any trip, I made a list and packed my things for the haul up north. I brought everything I needed and completed my travel list without any hang-ups or mistakes. But on my departure list, things got a little dicey. I ended up bringing back some shame that I know I didn’t come up with, and I figured out where it came from.

BMD will throw me a curveball every once in a while, just to make sure I’m still on my toes. As much as I enjoy the random emotional twists it graciously lets me encounter, they can be a bit annoying. I’ve struggled with a range of emotions while learning to handle BMD that have had me in denial, confusion, acceptance, and hatred with everything else in between; so I thought I had seen them all (“Not so fast, my friend,” Corso, College Gameday 2009).

For reasons that I am for some reason embarrassed about, I became very ashamed of myself over this past weekend. I was seeing old friends and seeing how they were taking the next step in their lives. Getting married, buying a house, moving to a new city, starting a family, and having their careers take off. I began to envy all of these things. I stepped back and looked at where I was. A twenty-eight-year-old single guy, starting over from scratch because I had failed.

Not once prior to this had I ever felt like a failure. Not when I was committed, not when I called Porter Hospital’s psych ward home for a week, not when I had to move home, not when I had to resign from my job, never until then. It was a lot to take at first, and I struggled with it, but a crazy thing happened (pun intended): I understood it. I don’t think I would like being the kind of person who doesn’t self-criticize and doesn’t feel the consequences of failure. While I know what happened was not my fault, that doesn’t mean I should write it off and not learn from it. Maybe I ignored the shameful feelings for a while because I wasn’t strong enough at the time to handle them. But now I know what they are and where they come from, and it motivates me to not go back. So although my list wasn’t the same as when I left The Nasty, it’s more complete now.

Session

JP:
Shame--

DT: Shameless plug time: go to www.dbsalliance.org and make a donation. It will make you feel better about that sin you recently committed.

JP: Wait, wait, www.dbsalliance.org, correct?

DT: Yeah, but you’re going to have to make a lot more than one donation for the sins you’ve been up to, mister.

JP: Erroneous!

KEY TERMS:
SPRING BREAK, PATIENCE, RECOVERY TIME, CITY OF WIND

Submitted on 3/9/10

Blue

March 1, 2010 at 10:10 AM

I’m 30,000 feet in the air right now and I’m not manic, which is different to say the least. I’m somewhere over Ohio on the way to the Pennsylvania state line, and the sun is shining. I’m listening to my music and “Hey There Delilah” is playing and Denver is on my mind. I’m supposed to be heading to Chi-Town to internship-hunt, but I needed a break. I’m reading
Electroboy: A Memoir of Mania
and feeling some relief that someone else may understand the craziness in my life. I’m feeling a bit guilty for actually taking a vacation, considering that for the past two years, I’ve only worked four months. I’m dwelling on sleeping on the floor at the foot of my mom and stepdad’s bed when I was manic. I’m trying to catch the ideas running wild in my mind. I’m confused and looking for answers that will never be found. I’m intimidated by the truth and terrified of the unknown. I’m on vacation . . .