Year: 2014
Death, Luck, and Going On
Posted on September 14, 2014 in Bipolar Disorder Disappointment Reflections Sorrow & Regret
I count my deaths. The times when I fell down and hit my head or hit it on the top of a door frame (a hazard of being six foot six and a half inches). The time when I ran a red light and nobody hit me. The time I put on the brakes in a heavy rain and spun around and around in a circle. The time when I was rear-ended. The time — I was four — when I stuck some wire in an electrical plug and felt the juice starting to flow into my hand. The time when a dog should have mauled me. The times I was knocked about by family or other kids so hard that I heard the scream of my brain. The time when I ate raw elderberries and needed to have my stomach pumped. The times I was bitten by wild animals and should have gotten rabies. The times I ate dodgy foods from the refrigerator. The two times when I was hit by a car — one as a boy and one as an adult. I should be, by these counts, in the grave and forgotten — a presence beneath a tombstone becoming diffuse in the dirt. But I don’t even have a scratch.
What to call this existence that I am in? Heaven? Certainly not. Hell? It seems so at times. Purgatory? More likely because there are lengths when life is not excruciating. What it all shares is an unyielding guilt for having survived to do so little, to be of such little impact. I mark that I have been an embarrassment and a mistake in other people’s lives. I’m sorry, so very sorry. But I can’t help being around. This thing will end when it ends. It is not for me to decide.
Selfies and Narcissism
Posted on August 12, 2014 in Appearance Morals & Ethics Photography Reflections
Notice how people with no clue of the personalities of the people who post selfies jump to the conclusion that they must be narcissists? Appreciation of the complexity of motives driving self portraiture lies beyond the capacity of their minds it seems. I, however, believe the problem is ignorance which fuels too hasty judgements.
I have taken selfies for several years now. Many artists and photographers do. For most of us it is an exercise in our art, an experiment in composition. For many years, I did not like having myself photographed. It was a shock to see how people saw me or how I presented myself to the world. My wife, for example, seemed to include my then-ample-belly in every one of her photos of me. When I was young, I did not like my lanky frame. When middle-aged, my stomach. Now in my late fifties, I don’t care about these things so much because I have spent a lot of time desensitizing myself to my own face and body. This isn’t narcissism: it is self-experiment and rehabilitation.
What about the young woman who shows her cleavage or her legs? I have to ask why the obsession with how young women choose to present themselves? I will grant you that there are narcissists among them, but the focus on young women in particular rankles of sexism. There are men who like to present their six-packs. And men and women who are not so pretty and fit who still show their faces and bodies. Are these narcissistic or are they merely trying to show the world that they, too, are attractive?
It is no sin to like your face and body. Calling others ugly or narcissistic because they don’t measure up to your standards of beauty or privacy strikes me as more contemptible. I have come to like my face and I like the faces that others post, too. It’s not all about me, but about the comeliness of the human race. Instagram, Snapchat, and Dailyboother when taken as a whole celebrates us for what we are. Human beings are meant to be seen.
Check out my new blog
Posted on May 16, 2014 in Blogging Site News
No, I am not closing down Pax Nortona. I am merely making some separation. Chaparral Hiker is devoted to my adventures in the brush and beyond. Hope to see you there soon!
Mood stabilizer
Posted on May 2, 2014 in Poems
I foreswore
anguish
for a silver dawn
but I also
gave up
rabid joy.
Colors
Posted on April 4, 2014 in Encounters Mania Therapy
“There are certain difficult things that I need to do,” I told my therapist, “but I can’t do them now because I would enjoy them just too much.”
Broken Water Main
Posted on March 20, 2014 in Disasters Neighborhood
The street was slick as if we’d had a good rain. The closer we drew to our light at the crest where Saddleback Ranch and Glenn Ranch met, the wetter the road. It was flooding near the top. A pair of police cruisers hedged off the road. In the darkness, I could see a blue-white geyser shooting into the air in a steady torrent. A firetruck stood at the ready. At the other end, more police cars blocked off the road. We splashed past our usual turn and made a left at El Toro. Lynn and I schemed about what we would do if our water was cut off by the burst. “The only water we’ll use is for drinking and flushing the toilet,” she said. “I have Gatorade on hand,” I added helpfully. When we got home, we turned on the kitchen tap expecting it to scream as empty plumbing does. But a stream bubbled into a glass and I drank it.
On Self Revelation and Its Risks
Posted on March 18, 2014 in Disappointment Reflections Stigma
Self revelation is the most dicey thing that a blogger can do. You put yourself out there hoping for help and support, risking being attacked or ignored. Mental health bloggers have perceived this, I think — as well as sensed opportunities for fame — and made a transition to writing advice columns for people with their illness. (I’ve remained stubborn and keep writing about how my mind works.) There are those vagabonds who come by a page for the purpose of harassing you because you have a mental illness. These are easily dealt with. The silence is worse. Your words disappear onto a hard disk and are never removed. Worst of all are the people who read what you write and then make a comment like “Well, you told us how you feel.” Behind remarks like that I hear a resounding “shut up”.
PTSD and Bipolar: Vampires in the Warehouse
Posted on March 17, 2014 in Encounters Mania PTSD Stigma
“You’re controlling me,” he shot back. “I’m the facilitator of this group,” I replied. “I’m supposed to do that.”
The Same Places
Posted on January 29, 2014 in Bipolar Disorder Reflections
I’ve been thinking less about what it means to live with bipolar disorder and more about what it means to be human. But I have not yet stopped looking at what is wrong with me — damn those memories that strobe in my brain at the slightest trigger — and moved on to being the kind of person that I could be given the burnishing of my life history. I do things to fill the time. My steps on the trail resound with classical musical, my eye finds fresh subjects for the camera, but I end up in the same places, seeing the same things. And I haven’t dreamed in weeks.
Boadicea
Posted on January 12, 2014 in Cats
There in the half darkness sits a cat, the white fur of her neck mounded like a cravat, a tabby shield over her heart. A loud, uneven purr pours out of her nose. She waits for my service, first as waiter, then as warmer on the bed. This is my companion when the disturbances of the night interpose themselves between me and the equanimity that I covet. I am a bore, but she is a cat and requires no conversation.
A Cage for my Chaos
Posted on January 2, 2014 in Bipolar Disorder
People talk about being shocked by the diagnosis: The diagnosis did not throw me for a whirl — all the confusion stemmed from the sense of being different but not knowing how. When the hospital psychiatrist looked at me across the table and asked me if anyone had ever suggested to me that I was bipolar, I began constructing a cage for my chaos.
