Colour of the evening sun resting in a field.

Colour of the evening sun resting in a field., originally uploaded by natzke.

This is what I see right now outside my window.

Colors bursting, sharpened by the straight cool of the air. Pink heat pushes out. Autumn watches calmly. Summer dances in the heat of its sun, happily lost in play. With a slow stretch Autumn gathers herself. Summer's bedtime has come.

Oprah on BP - behind the 1/2 truths, exaggerations and drama

The month is almost over so I decided to return to my neglected and nearly nonexistent blog. I heard that Oprah was doing a show on BP this week and though it would be interesting to see her approach to the topic.

It sounded like good news - Oprah educating about a complicated genetic disorder including the advances that have been made in drug and non-drug therapies, etc. etc. ...BUT no....education was not on the list of goals. The show was explosive and shocking. It was not educational about the disease or the treatment. Then again, how could it be educational with a headline like this:

“Exclusive: Did Bipolar Disorder Drive a Mother to Kill Her Child?”

"On the outside, Andrea seemed like a devoted, involved stay-at-home mom. But inside, she was battling a mental disorder that disrupted her thoughts—and, she says, led her to do the unthinkable."

Based on Oprah's message boards I came up with three completely non scientific groups of similar respondents:

• Group X found the show informative regarding the dangers of bipolar disorder.
• Group H felt sorry for the poor woman who was forced to do violence by this terrible disease.
• Group M wanted to know the type and actual numbers of violent crimes that are caused by bipolar disorder so they could protect themselves.

People engaged and asking questions. Mothers glad to know about this terrible disease. Others thanking god for his mercy for keeping them safe. This level of involvement from viewers is normally a great thing. Sadly the true engagement and thankfulness of the viewers was a waste since it was derived from a cynically packaged 'story' created by the writers and editors. Truth or education about Bipolar Disorder wasn't even relevant. Bipolar was a useful character. The illness was painted as the evil puppet master forcing the afflicted against their will to commit acts of aggression and violence. Bipolar the controller. Patients mere victim/puppets. Non-patients beware. Bipolar create value (i.e. a dramatic show) and through value created ratings, ad sales and lovely lovely money.

So here's to you O:

Hey, Oprah! Oprah! Hi! Hey!
What? It's us. The BPers - you know -- the people you just used to get ratings. The people who now face more stigma, fear, discrimination and who knows what else now that we have been redrawn as ticking bombs who at any moment may simply kill our child, our spouse, our dog, you. Your show was a disgrace. If you still feel, you should feel deep shame that you put this into the world.

For other commentary on the web check here and here.

The Depressive End of the Spectrum

When depression hits me it is an endless buzz of pain that paralyzes. Stuck in bed but unable to sleep. I feel constant self hatred. My skull seems to collapses in on my brain. The pain is extreme -- it seems there must be some physical manifestation, for example, a blood trickle out of my nose, eyes or ears seems reasonable. A siren (think car alarm) relentlessly screams its spittle on my face. Assaulted and frozen in a white hell I cannot escape. No end. No help. No way to make it stop. Ahhh and then the thought comes. It will stop if I stop. Death becomes the solution. Relief is death. Death the logical choice.

My family and friends find it odd that I would ever choose suicide because I love life. I have always tried to live as deeply, as large as possible ("suck the marrow out of bones"). I did not turn to death because I hated life, rather depression took away my life and my options. Death was the only way to escape the searing white hell of depression and cheat depression from extracting one more ounce from my sad frame.

And now? Here I am alive. Depression has been pushed deep inside by medication. What does it mean now that I know my brain structure is malformed and the cause of much of my pain? Why my brain? I wonder - is my intellect malformed as well? These seem reasonable concerns, yet what do I know since I am the one with the structurally unsound mind?

So let's stop and take an inventory: malformed brain, sanctioned addict to meds, the blinding aspect of depression - hidden deep but lurking. So why am I here? Now it seems spite and wonder. Spite against the disease. Spite against all that I have lost. Yet also love of the grass. Love of the people who inexplicably love me. Love of the wind. So here I am. I "rage against the dying of the light" and choose to live: lurkers, handfuls of meds and all.

Day Two

I am wondering if it makes sense to really post this site so the outside world can see it. My concern about making this public is that blogging seems like a very 'navel-staring' act, an act which is quite foolish. I began this exercise (of a blog) yesterday as a means to express my ideas for me and I thought it would be fun to create the blog. Now I am uncertain if this was the right choice, yet here I am typing away on day two. I listed this blog with a few blog lists so I guess I will see if anyone visits and go from there. For right now this is a personal exercise which is just fine with me.

WHY AM I HERE (and why are you)?

Do you know? I don't know. All I can tell you is that I was diagnosed with Bipolar II and ADHD this year. First I was frozen and then the mania joined my depression and three sleepless nights later I found myself designing the scene of my death. I am lucky because some section of my diseased brain decided that I wanted to see my brother again and decided to call him prior to going into the light.

Yup you guessed it.... a trip to the hospital and a handful of meds a day for the past seven months have given me 'stability.' Meaning the hypomania and mania are gone but the depression lingers keeping me up, making we cry, pushing my self-destructive tendencies. I hate having to actively grab and hang on for life (hands clenched to desk, table, door whatever to hold on). Will this go away? Is this as good as it gets? Am I on the wrong meds? Is my depression immune to medication?

In case you are wondering I am azureone . azureone - great name, isn't it? azureone has been my alter ego for years.... before I understood why my life was so different from my friends. Why I was always up running around doing crazy things or was doing absolutely nothing - all or nothing. My life has been a wild ride for years. Years of hypomania and mania made college a breeze and life a run of parties, people, laughs and also anxiety, insecurity and obsessive spending. I ignored any warning signs or odd behavior. And then bam in what seemed like a blink to me (but had really been building for years) things fell apart. Really erratic highs appeared along with zombie depression. Ahh zombie life - I couldn't leave my apt (even for the hallway), get dressed or speak to anyone (even email). I couldn't even call or face the delivery guy. I survived on television and questionable frozen leftovers. This probably would have continued until I was dug out at 87 except that the mania came back but this time the depression wouldn't leave...which brings us back to....missing days and ideas of walking towards the light.

Some drug is making my hands shake so I must stop soon or risk pissing off my laptop. If anyone finds this blog please comment at will.

Cheers!