A Stick in the Eye

A Stick in the Eye

We have all heard this many times … well most likely.  If not, it goes kinda like this, “Well, it’s better than a stick in the eye.”  Which is a reference to experiencing some kind of negative incident.  Oh, like say, getting stung by a bee or maybe a “Payment Overdue” letter.  Or, getting the big putdown when asking another person for a date.  Ya know, some kind of minor bad thing, but not a really serious bad thing.

“Well, it’s better than a stick in the eye.”

Having been diagnosed Bipolar, as in Bipolar II, the only “better than … the stick”, or worse than, as it were, is maybe dead.  Now that’s a tough statement, I realize, but that has been my experience.  Your life goes along with one emotional catastrophe after another, depressions where you can hardly get dressed in the morning, assuming you were already not in the same clothes from the day before – which is not all that infrequent.  And rages that flash up and you tell everyone from your deepest love interest to casual friends to “Fuck off!”  Some trigger and everything within a two-step radius gets destroyed and you find yourself on the floor in heaving sobs, wondering what the hell just happened! 

In-between those way way waay-out extremes, there are many simple ordinary flat days.  No big issues.  You can maintain ordinary conversations, polite small talk, a few chuckles, keep a smile on your face, even make new friendships (which in the back of your mind, you know you will most likely destroy at some point).  Your inner person just knowing that everything you prize, all that is good in your life, somehow at some time, you will fuck it up. 

Then there are the days when you see literally everything.  You hear everything.  Colors are acid clear and brilliantly bright.  Everything is in such perfect clarity, it seems to glow and hum.  Though you never tried heroin or whatever drugs, you think this is what it must be like.  Mozart is like the voice of God.  Creativity just springs geyser-like from your marrow.  Words are little jewels that fall perfectly into sequence … you are Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Hemmingway.

Trigger!!! Explosion!!!  An IED and your legs are gone!  Down the shitter – again!

There is a lot of talk these days about the stigma of Mental Illness; or, Mental Health, or more politically correct Neural Abnormality (abnormality?  Disability? Insert the synonym of your choice).  The stigma – oh, we have to fight back against the stigmas(s)?  “No more stigmas!!”  We need treatment, not stigmas or condemnations!  Etc., etc..

Oh yeah.  Oh yeah.  We need acceptance, inclusivity and understanding.  Compassion.  Oh yeah – wave a banner, march in a parade, get the t-shirt and wear it to Walmart.  Oh yeah, oh yeah.  No more stigmas!  Hmmm … reality check  -  umm, bullshit.  What we actually get is ostracism,  judgment, humiliation and outright condemnation.  Even,frequently, incarceration.  Not compassion or understanding.  Rarely help or compassion.  This is reality.  Never – never – true acceptance. 

It’s all jake, or just peachy fine, until there is an episode.  When the bipolar reality infringes on the normal reality, as normal people know it, that’s when it hits the fan.  Hold it down, bottle it up, medicate the holy crap out of it and it’s all cool.  Medicate until the only difference between you and a zombie is the lack of scabs on your face, maybe. 

That is the bipolar reality.  And yet, it is “better than a stick in the eye”, because as totally awful as it is, it is better than dead.  By only a little bit, but better none the less.  And, as a bipolar person you have to, you must, hold on to that fact.  Yes, every day has the potential to be a miracle.  Every day has the potential to be a wonderful day. 

When put to the test, reality as normal will never be a state you can expect, but if you can find any dignity at all in your life, you must hold onto that fact.  The only time you really loose, is when you quit trying.

dalepeterson.us