I heard this on NPR today, and it just stuck with me.
I think I've got the whole "grit" thing down.
I've been fucking around with this idea of writing a book for a couple years or so now. Probably longer.
What stops me is that I don't feel like embarrassing and shaming myself and everyone I know.
But, I'm realizing, I can tell things in pieces and still get the point across.
Because I don't really think telling a linear story is quite what I was going for anyway.
Still, the thought of omission kind of leaves me uncomfortable. So I don't know if this will ever happen.
I've thought about it and had it make enough noise in my brain lately that I've started some notes, though.
Just about various things I might write.
Just to see:
Am I really interesting?
What would I write about?
Do I have enough to fill a book?
Does any of it have a point?
I also don't know if- and I'm not sure if this will make sense but I hope it comes out right- my story, of my life, accurately represents bipolar or not.
It sure as hell accurately represents my experience with bipolar.
However, is bipolar more about spending tens of thousands of dollars, or just a couple thousand?
Fucking everyone you know? or maybe just a few along the way that you really shouldn't have?
Putting yourself in situations where actual harm comes to you? or just narrowly escaping it?
I mean, sometimes I wonder, if I'm not extreme, are people going to want to read it?
Bipolar has been a destructive force in my life; when is it destructive enough that random people would actually pick up the book?
I don't know.
I mean I can relate to electroboy even though I haven't done half the shit he has.
I can write. If I try.
There are some fairly interesting stories that I don't mind, and even at times enjoy, telling.
But there are different reasons. Some of them are funny in the normal way, some of them are funny in a really morbid kind of way. Some are sad, some are crazy and remind me that things are better now. Some are sentimental in a... semi-mental way; to be honest sometimes I miss being that crazy. Telling stories lets me be that crazy again, without all the actual real-time life fuckuppage.
Even though it sucks, insanity is occasionally liberating. In a really terrible "fuck the world" kind of way.
...My new doctor has his doubts about me being bipolar.
Though I have been repeatedly diagnosed various types of bipolar by several doctors, he is skeptical.
I'm not sure why we constantly go through this process of having to prove our various flavours of insanity. We, as in pretty much every basket-case in the Western world.
It' actually worse for younger females specifically. They all tend to get funneled directly into the borderline category any time they show up at an ER.
...this would be the major reason I rarely go to the ER or initiate emergency intervention. I don't mind the label, I might the way everyone treats people who have that label. It's wrong.
But it's also not appropriate for me, if you want to look at the bigger picture.
I guess another thing that stops me along the lines of "Am I bipolar enough?"
My doctor said to me the other day, his tone really having the effect of casting aside any notion that my illness may actually impair me in different aspects of my life: "Oh but you've never been hospitalized, right?"
No... never have... stopped short at the ER.
...guess everything's okie dokie then.