Update: March 2019…
When I started this endeavor back in ‘013, it was a “writing blog devoted to this bipolar guy’s journey…” It’s still a writing blog because words and sentences and an over-reliance on ill-timed alliteration. A lot of keywords will still reference mental illness, and I’m not taking anything down. However, I am no longer operating under the assumption that I’m bipolar. Or bipolar II. Or borderline. Or unipolarly, majorly depressed, or psychotic. Some diagnoses had more staying power. Borderline didn’t last long because I refused to do the workbook. The bipolars have been suggested on and off since 1985 when I mentioned “sometimes I’m up, though.” Whatever it was, my brain was diseased.
And a diseased brain needs drugs. My world soon began to resemble an early Damian Hirst installation done with way too many physicians’ samples.
And on a small dais in the center of the room was me doing a long form performance art piece. Fancy crowds carrying plates of tiny appetizers gawk in amazement as I enact side effects in real time. Diarrhea painting! The impotence/priapism lotto! Profuse sweating! More diarrhea! And a stunning display of weight gain! But like all performance art everywhere, this installation just peters out. The crowd slowly disperses as the the piece just sorta levels out. The highs and lows are gone. Even the diarrhea gets to be old hat. Soon it’s just a fat guy laying there, no visible emotion. Simple maintenance is never interesting. Maybe someone will buy a fridge magnet on their way out. Maybe not. Who cares?
In 2015, I had to move back to my hometown of Columbus because I was just winding down to nothing. Friends were peeling off because I was somehow both boring and suicidal. Thank god for the cat. In Columbus I began working with a therapist who wanted me to view my brain in a different way. Instead of a diseased, structurally normal brain, maybe my brain is perfectly healthy, just odd?
As I understand it, I don’t have a bouncer. Every little bit of information is allowed in, each one of the utmost importance. Basically, I notice everything. Every sound. Every song. Every emotion. Every instance of discordant feng shui. Every word choice in every text from every acquaintance.
(He says I’m profoundly ADHD and could even be on a spectrum if that made me happy. ‘The Spectrum’ I asked. No, but it’s adjacent and somewhat overlapping. If two spectra overlap, aren’t they the same spectrum? This debate took up the rest of the hour.)
It all just pings around, and sometimes it overwhelms me. The therapist has me reconsidering many of the instances of worrying behavior that got me on the pills. Perhaps they were not DSM symptoms; instead, could they be overreactions to overstimulation?
So, what did I have to lose? Laying there, being chemically warehoused? In June of 2017, I quit the seven different psych meds I was on cold-turkey. Yes, I know that was stupid and the rollercoaster coming down was not fun, but I was very worried they would talk me out of pursuing a new path. Also, I was getting the feeling that I was just being seen as a revenue stream. (After all, why couldn’t I ever renew my scrips without seeing the psychiatrist every single month?)
And I’m sick of thinking of myself as diseased. Odd is not a disease.
It took around 18 months for me to feel my old brain coming back. I’m talking WAY too much again, sometimes even to people. I’ve lost 35 pounds. I tell myself colors are brighter. At the gym, I practice smiling (It hurts.) There are patterns again. All the birdsong. I’m itchy for stuff.
I don’t know where this will all lead, and I honestly have no idea what the hell I’m doing. It’s like moving thru an unfamiliar corridor with those automatic lights that only turn on when you’re underneath them.
And I’m running up against confusion, stigma, ageism. It’s always amusing/saddening when a supposedly inclusive space or person “others” you if you have some grey or drop a Kajagoogoo reference. Either I’m held up as everything that’s wrong with western civilization, or, if I do something surprisingly not-awful, I’m like a bear in a tutu riding a unicycle to them. Isn’t it amazing that he’s not awful?!?
I’m getting “that look” again. Good. I missed it.
I can’t control others’ reactions. You’d think with my brain being all odd and everything, I’d be able to control other people. But, it’s their thing. All I can do is plug ahead, choosing engagement over avoidance.
Now that I can, I just have to keep moving. I’m writing about that.
8 thoughts on “Welcome to ORNAMENTAL ILLNESSES…”
Ornamental? How, why and what?
I knew as I was writing this and mapping out a purpose for the blog that the name might be too cute by half. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense for a few reasons…
–I’m a sucker for word play.
–I’m a big design geek, and my favorite architect and designer is Adolf Loos. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adolf_Loos) He was most famous for his essay “Ornament and Crime,” where he argued for the removal of excess ornament from objects. The essay has been very influential for me. The only way I was able deal with my illness was to strip away all the extraneous crap. Yeah, it’s a reach; I’m still trying to wrap my head around it for an essay.
–Lastly, I know I have been guilty at times of wearing my illness like a shiny brooch. Want to ask me a serious question? Look at the shiny brooch. This is also part of the longer essay I’m working on.
That’s where the explanation of the name stands at the present time… 🙂
ornament and disorder
I LOVE your style. I saw your first line and wanted to see more. I saw more, and I actually laughed out loud a few times. The mix of the very serious and the hilarious (ie “electric boogaloo) is my very favorite literary cocktail. Look forward to reading more.
Thanks so much 🙂
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Ornamental, thanks so much for visiting my site and choosing to follow along. So, you’ve been at this blog thing for about a year and a half (as of this comment). Is it what you expected?
Trust me, it was not a tough decision to follow along 🙂 I’ve been loving blogging. It’s a great outlet for when I feel like I’m slipping down a hole. Also, I now feel that people in my life understand what I’m going thru a little bit better because I’m much clearer with the written word than the spoken. Also also, I get to play with words, and no one can stop me; it’s my toy.