Eee kek kek kek! My long black feathers look soo darkly dark. I love them! I look oh so exotic as I look you over. They will carry me tonight where you can only dream of going. Rusted hinge, silent hill, the mechanics of my flight. Even Leonardo knew he was beneath me. Hah! Maybe when I am road kill, you can steal one of them, only one. Stick it in some sooyapi wall hanging. Leave the rest for a truly insane mother fucker. He'll come glide with me in the sunless lands. But until then feed me, thank me, put me in your dreams. Yeah, just remember when you see me in the sky of nightmare, that morsel in my beak I stretch to loosen, oh it's going to be sweet, that may be your one blind eye.
Never thought of suffering as being 'attractive'. But then, there is the starving artist, and so many more starving without creation of any sort of art. So sorry to hear that the mid winter has been a rough patch for you. More light daily now, but, is that a good thing? I love the dark deep insides of wintertime. But I never know what part of me will jump up and say, 'Hello, fool'. Very glad to know that you have found the OPPOSITE ACTION tool helpful (at least for that particular day). Re: the clever little twist at the end of this piece, elicits from me only a quiet perhaps shallow and not full, 'ha ha'.
I saw a very effecting/affecting Ryan Reynold's movie last night called, The Voices. The main character talks to his dog and cat and yes, they talk back (all voices by Ryan Reynolds) with the cat being very negative, as cats can be. Also turns out that the main character killed his mother because she begged him to; and the character most likely suffers from schizophrenia and is not a bipolar . I really liked this movie and after looking more into it, learned that it cost 11 million and only grossed 4 million; yes to offbeat movies and people. I really felt for this character even though he actually kills a number of folks and dies at the end...Quite a movie. And what's my point(?), just 'voices'. We all hear them; perhaps in our own very different ways. I hope that you have a very very good day today until and beyond sunset, or a good night beyond sunrise. Sleeping perchance to dream. I was/am a lucid dreamer only realized when I wrote my poem, 'Tornados', in which I see over and over a tornado coming and try to warn my parents but I am the only one who sees it, and one night having this dream as a kid, realized I had been there before many times, and as the tornado neared, I touched it causing a whoosh of sparks and light to pour over me. I rarely dreamed about tornados ever again. A silent voice was in those dreams.
I was recently given a very small book titled "A common prayer" by the Australian cartoonist Michael Leunig. One of the prayers begins, "There are only two feelings. Love and fear."
The last two sentences of your wrenching essay...."I would sacrifice all my future poems and stories to rid my brain of bipolar disorder. No, that's not true. I would sacrifice only half of them."
Cheeky. May you always hold that quality of not succumbing to fear!!!
I love this. I had a two year episode and that was enough for me. I would go from bedridden lows to grandiose highs. I advocated a prescription of Wellbutrin for myself, started some counseling to practice breaking the habit of self-loathing, and prioritized sleep, exercise, and nutrition. I am lucky though. And I still want to better talk to myself as a friend, but I have hope of improving at this. Since moving from Montana to Seattle 6 mos ago I have had mostly good days. Suicidal thoughts come and I tell myself that I only have to get to sleep tonight then my dreams will wash these bad thoughts away. I wear myself down with exercise, watch a funny show, love my wife, snuggle my dog. Then I think, the world needs more allies so I won't make things better if I'm not in it.
The diagnosis process can be so, so tricky for some. I can’t imagine growing up with social media complicating the natural progression of becoming who we are all meant to be...as identity precedes us with the technological representation of ourselves. As for adults with mental illness, we still have a way to go until a common ground against the stigma is found. Talking about it is crucial, but yes, with authenticity. I have had to stay pretty silent about my diagnosis in order to be taken seriously in the world (established after an intervention 25 years ago by coworkers and a total shock to my system and all self-esteem) and so I greatly appreciate you writing openly about such an algorithm-influencing social media hot topic.
An artist who achieves 50 and was productive every week they could do until that scratch in the dort landmark is a success. You can hear the victory in your own self talk random moments you remember how gently you laid the ghost of that other manic depressive Jesus. For the safekeeping of the kids. We keep the lesson of 70 ×7 remaining as a frame around strangers faces made from brown dirt saying this one might have impetuously given us a moonpie at 11. And therefor we give him or her our best blank expression of here we go off to the races, and gratefully nearly nothing happens. May you live in boring times.
It is courageous to speak of the ugliness. I have begun to share more openly when I slip into deep depression (I too am high functioning, so ppl don't really believe it)...they say how are you...and I say, well....I've been doomscrolling and sleeping in my clothes.
Have you considered.....being undiagnosed could be a statement of someone who lacks the support or the means to see a professional? It may be a reflection of our really messed up health system.
Please forgive me for chiming in one more time, but as I have pondered both Sherman's original essay and some of the replies I believe there are a few facets that could be examined a little more closely.
Firstly, because it's probably closest to my heart, the question of aging and the prospects of improvement in mental health. At the age of 70, I honestly don't know. Crazy old men are something of a cliche. For sure, things in general don't work as well and I'm not going go into all the details. Words, the right word at least, do not come as easily. Not even quite on the tip of the tongue. Tangled up somewhere beyond the back of my throat if they have even managed to escape my brain. I excuse this by saying that as a writer it is always difficult to find just the right word. This is really something of a survival strategy and you had better have a few of those at hand by the time you're 70.
Whatever others may think, particularly my family, I am not seriously mentally disturbed — and I've known enough people in my lifetime who were to be confident of that opinion. I've made choices all my life that were not in accordance with the assumed correct way of doing things and for the most part I'm happy enough with those choices whatever others may think. So I am cautious about saying much about how those with real difficulties may or may not fare as the years mount. My experience is limited. However, I will say that at sometime you'd better develop a sense of humor, an appreciation of the absurd, and the ability to have a good laugh at yourself as survival strategies. Basically, you're not going to change much about the world out there but you can manage your expectations — hopefully. I know this isn't going to be for everyone, but it's how I get through. And I forgive myself for my failures a lot more readily. Be kind to yourself. And others.
Secondly, the question of mental states and creativity is a huge subject. I note that much of what passes for mental disorder in our oh-so-rational west is considered the mark of a holy man, or shaman, in much of the world. Hasn't divine madness even been elevated as a part of creativity even in our industrialized cultural machine of music, poetry, and painting? Even within living memory.
If you are not familiar with the genius and life of Lee Scratch Perry in this context, you should be. In brief, he was among the most ground-breaking and influential musical creatives of the second half of the twentieth century and into this one. He was also pretty crazy and may be considered a shaman or obeah man. At least by me. Suffice it to say, perceptive critics have noted that he often appeared to be in anguish even while "masking" as a happy lunatic. And he was extremely perceptive of his mental state and what he was attempting to achieve both artistically and with his life. He repays close study both as an artist and a person with mental issues.
Lastly, the question of suicide ideation is complex. Speaking entirely for myself, I have had several prolonged periods when suicide ideation has reared its head. I've thought through various methods and their advantages and disadvantages. Wondered what those who love me would feel. How not to make a mess. I've gotten pretty detailed.
One way or another I've always gotten through those periods, but it's never fun. The anguish twists and turns, burrowing in. However, somewhere along the way, I realized that I was almost certainly not going to do it, at least not until I'm totally decrepit and beyond physical repair. Ironically, that means that now when a bit of suicide ideation appears it's almost like an old friend. I recognize it and understand that it's only temporary. There's almost a comfort to it. Peculiar, but it shows that it is possible to break through to another side even while undergoing a crisis.
I want to emphasize here again that I am speaking only for myself and do not presume to grok the full complexity of Sherman's life or that of any other person. I read his account and recognize some features, but they're his. I only offer my own experiences and, if we're lucky, insights in the hope that somewhere along the way they'll be useful to someone.
My god, this is good. I'm so so so glad you wrote it! Some of this is/goes on/continues in my family. Nature -- DNA (all my ethnicities are prone), or nurture -- alcoholism and co-dependence, rejection/acceptance, love and hate, equally intense. I don't know. Would knowing matter? I'm not even sure of this. Knowledge is better than being left not knowing. Maybe, just maybe, then we can begin to deal with our dark bird
Wow! Such powerful words and so elegantly explanatory. I want to cry. I usually feel alone because I seem to be alone. I have never seen mental illness explained so well. I plan to share this with my husband. I hope it helps. Thank you.
First, so sorry you're suffering this way, as are so many others.
It's possible the one who self-diagnosed with autism is already suffering and looking for a reason, rather than wanting to be autistic. No one really wants any kind of illness, though as you pointed out here, some do believe (wrongly) that it contributes to their creativity.
Providing a link for your consideration. Maybe read the one-page description first before committing to listen to the audio program -- and see if it strikes a chord.
My fiancée (soon to be wife) is bipolar 2, so things hits very close to home. I am in awe of her and frustrated when I cannot help her. All I can do is be there and understanding and love her as best and much as I can. And I can also pay it forward; much love and positive energy from our little house to yours, and thank you for all that you do (and your honesty). Take care!
Eee kek kek kek! My long black feathers look soo darkly dark. I love them! I look oh so exotic as I look you over. They will carry me tonight where you can only dream of going. Rusted hinge, silent hill, the mechanics of my flight. Even Leonardo knew he was beneath me. Hah! Maybe when I am road kill, you can steal one of them, only one. Stick it in some sooyapi wall hanging. Leave the rest for a truly insane mother fucker. He'll come glide with me in the sunless lands. But until then feed me, thank me, put me in your dreams. Yeah, just remember when you see me in the sky of nightmare, that morsel in my beak I stretch to loosen, oh it's going to be sweet, that may be your one blind eye.
Never thought of suffering as being 'attractive'. But then, there is the starving artist, and so many more starving without creation of any sort of art. So sorry to hear that the mid winter has been a rough patch for you. More light daily now, but, is that a good thing? I love the dark deep insides of wintertime. But I never know what part of me will jump up and say, 'Hello, fool'. Very glad to know that you have found the OPPOSITE ACTION tool helpful (at least for that particular day). Re: the clever little twist at the end of this piece, elicits from me only a quiet perhaps shallow and not full, 'ha ha'.
I saw a very effecting/affecting Ryan Reynold's movie last night called, The Voices. The main character talks to his dog and cat and yes, they talk back (all voices by Ryan Reynolds) with the cat being very negative, as cats can be. Also turns out that the main character killed his mother because she begged him to; and the character most likely suffers from schizophrenia and is not a bipolar . I really liked this movie and after looking more into it, learned that it cost 11 million and only grossed 4 million; yes to offbeat movies and people. I really felt for this character even though he actually kills a number of folks and dies at the end...Quite a movie. And what's my point(?), just 'voices'. We all hear them; perhaps in our own very different ways. I hope that you have a very very good day today until and beyond sunset, or a good night beyond sunrise. Sleeping perchance to dream. I was/am a lucid dreamer only realized when I wrote my poem, 'Tornados', in which I see over and over a tornado coming and try to warn my parents but I am the only one who sees it, and one night having this dream as a kid, realized I had been there before many times, and as the tornado neared, I touched it causing a whoosh of sparks and light to pour over me. I rarely dreamed about tornados ever again. A silent voice was in those dreams.
I was recently given a small book titled
I was recently given a very small book titled "A common prayer" by the Australian cartoonist Michael Leunig. One of the prayers begins, "There are only two feelings. Love and fear."
The last two sentences of your wrenching essay...."I would sacrifice all my future poems and stories to rid my brain of bipolar disorder. No, that's not true. I would sacrifice only half of them."
Cheeky. May you always hold that quality of not succumbing to fear!!!
I love this. I had a two year episode and that was enough for me. I would go from bedridden lows to grandiose highs. I advocated a prescription of Wellbutrin for myself, started some counseling to practice breaking the habit of self-loathing, and prioritized sleep, exercise, and nutrition. I am lucky though. And I still want to better talk to myself as a friend, but I have hope of improving at this. Since moving from Montana to Seattle 6 mos ago I have had mostly good days. Suicidal thoughts come and I tell myself that I only have to get to sleep tonight then my dreams will wash these bad thoughts away. I wear myself down with exercise, watch a funny show, love my wife, snuggle my dog. Then I think, the world needs more allies so I won't make things better if I'm not in it.
half of them...hahahaha! laughing tears!
The diagnosis process can be so, so tricky for some. I can’t imagine growing up with social media complicating the natural progression of becoming who we are all meant to be...as identity precedes us with the technological representation of ourselves. As for adults with mental illness, we still have a way to go until a common ground against the stigma is found. Talking about it is crucial, but yes, with authenticity. I have had to stay pretty silent about my diagnosis in order to be taken seriously in the world (established after an intervention 25 years ago by coworkers and a total shock to my system and all self-esteem) and so I greatly appreciate you writing openly about such an algorithm-influencing social media hot topic.
I wish I could come up with something brilliant to say about this piece and your writing in general, but I’ll start with thanks.
An artist who achieves 50 and was productive every week they could do until that scratch in the dort landmark is a success. You can hear the victory in your own self talk random moments you remember how gently you laid the ghost of that other manic depressive Jesus. For the safekeeping of the kids. We keep the lesson of 70 ×7 remaining as a frame around strangers faces made from brown dirt saying this one might have impetuously given us a moonpie at 11. And therefor we give him or her our best blank expression of here we go off to the races, and gratefully nearly nothing happens. May you live in boring times.
It is courageous to speak of the ugliness. I have begun to share more openly when I slip into deep depression (I too am high functioning, so ppl don't really believe it)...they say how are you...and I say, well....I've been doomscrolling and sleeping in my clothes.
Have you considered.....being undiagnosed could be a statement of someone who lacks the support or the means to see a professional? It may be a reflection of our really messed up health system.
Great discussion all. I read every word!
Please forgive me for chiming in one more time, but as I have pondered both Sherman's original essay and some of the replies I believe there are a few facets that could be examined a little more closely.
Firstly, because it's probably closest to my heart, the question of aging and the prospects of improvement in mental health. At the age of 70, I honestly don't know. Crazy old men are something of a cliche. For sure, things in general don't work as well and I'm not going go into all the details. Words, the right word at least, do not come as easily. Not even quite on the tip of the tongue. Tangled up somewhere beyond the back of my throat if they have even managed to escape my brain. I excuse this by saying that as a writer it is always difficult to find just the right word. This is really something of a survival strategy and you had better have a few of those at hand by the time you're 70.
Whatever others may think, particularly my family, I am not seriously mentally disturbed — and I've known enough people in my lifetime who were to be confident of that opinion. I've made choices all my life that were not in accordance with the assumed correct way of doing things and for the most part I'm happy enough with those choices whatever others may think. So I am cautious about saying much about how those with real difficulties may or may not fare as the years mount. My experience is limited. However, I will say that at sometime you'd better develop a sense of humor, an appreciation of the absurd, and the ability to have a good laugh at yourself as survival strategies. Basically, you're not going to change much about the world out there but you can manage your expectations — hopefully. I know this isn't going to be for everyone, but it's how I get through. And I forgive myself for my failures a lot more readily. Be kind to yourself. And others.
Secondly, the question of mental states and creativity is a huge subject. I note that much of what passes for mental disorder in our oh-so-rational west is considered the mark of a holy man, or shaman, in much of the world. Hasn't divine madness even been elevated as a part of creativity even in our industrialized cultural machine of music, poetry, and painting? Even within living memory.
If you are not familiar with the genius and life of Lee Scratch Perry in this context, you should be. In brief, he was among the most ground-breaking and influential musical creatives of the second half of the twentieth century and into this one. He was also pretty crazy and may be considered a shaman or obeah man. At least by me. Suffice it to say, perceptive critics have noted that he often appeared to be in anguish even while "masking" as a happy lunatic. And he was extremely perceptive of his mental state and what he was attempting to achieve both artistically and with his life. He repays close study both as an artist and a person with mental issues.
Lastly, the question of suicide ideation is complex. Speaking entirely for myself, I have had several prolonged periods when suicide ideation has reared its head. I've thought through various methods and their advantages and disadvantages. Wondered what those who love me would feel. How not to make a mess. I've gotten pretty detailed.
One way or another I've always gotten through those periods, but it's never fun. The anguish twists and turns, burrowing in. However, somewhere along the way, I realized that I was almost certainly not going to do it, at least not until I'm totally decrepit and beyond physical repair. Ironically, that means that now when a bit of suicide ideation appears it's almost like an old friend. I recognize it and understand that it's only temporary. There's almost a comfort to it. Peculiar, but it shows that it is possible to break through to another side even while undergoing a crisis.
I want to emphasize here again that I am speaking only for myself and do not presume to grok the full complexity of Sherman's life or that of any other person. I read his account and recognize some features, but they're his. I only offer my own experiences and, if we're lucky, insights in the hope that somewhere along the way they'll be useful to someone.
Beautiful words to read today, Sherman. Sometimes an unmade bed is soothing. So are cocoons. Thank you, again.
My god, this is good. I'm so so so glad you wrote it! Some of this is/goes on/continues in my family. Nature -- DNA (all my ethnicities are prone), or nurture -- alcoholism and co-dependence, rejection/acceptance, love and hate, equally intense. I don't know. Would knowing matter? I'm not even sure of this. Knowledge is better than being left not knowing. Maybe, just maybe, then we can begin to deal with our dark bird
Wow! Such powerful words and so elegantly explanatory. I want to cry. I usually feel alone because I seem to be alone. I have never seen mental illness explained so well. I plan to share this with my husband. I hope it helps. Thank you.
First, so sorry you're suffering this way, as are so many others.
It's possible the one who self-diagnosed with autism is already suffering and looking for a reason, rather than wanting to be autistic. No one really wants any kind of illness, though as you pointed out here, some do believe (wrongly) that it contributes to their creativity.
Providing a link for your consideration. Maybe read the one-page description first before committing to listen to the audio program -- and see if it strikes a chord.
https://www.medicalmedium.com/blog/bipolar-disorder
My fiancée (soon to be wife) is bipolar 2, so things hits very close to home. I am in awe of her and frustrated when I cannot help her. All I can do is be there and understanding and love her as best and much as I can. And I can also pay it forward; much love and positive energy from our little house to yours, and thank you for all that you do (and your honesty). Take care!