“Passion can never purchase what true love desires: true intimacy, self-giving, and commitment” - anon

“True friendship is self-love at secondhand.” - William Hazlitt

“Anyone desperate enough for suicide...should be desperate enough to go to creative extremes to solve problems: elope at midnight, stow away on the boat to New Zealand and start over, do what they always wanted to do but were afraid to try.” - Richard Bach

.....as Monty Python would say....."and now for something completely different!"

The following started out to simply be a comment that I left on one of the regular sites (Jane Loves Tarzan ... link is in sidebar) which I visit regularly, and she has left comments here on my site regularly as well. She is active in the Bipolar WebRing (something that will be available on my new page design....stay tuned for a few more weeks folks, it's in the works!)

Anyway, two things happened when I wrote it. First, as have most things for me lately, it managed to grow much longer than I intended it to be for just a comment. But secondly, it told a story about a slice of me that I feel comfortable sharing with all of you now, that's how attached I'm starting to grow into this new kind of friendship I'm discovering here. So, thank you for that, sincerely.

While I want to tell you that I intend this piece to be celebratory, I understand that a kneejerk reaction may be one of sympathy, distress, worry, etc.

Not to worry!

"I'm looking for my bottom line,
And as soon as I find it
I'm gonna turn my life around." - Jane Sibberey
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Rick Says:
August 13th, 2006 at 7:35 am
This entry made me cry. You see, my “day of reckoning” was to have been June 19th last year. I had made all the arrangements, planned how I was to be found and by whom, made sure my will was up to date, had given away a few of my special possessions to the people I wanted to have them, had been setting aside medications periodically for some time, so I’d be sure and have enough. I lay on the couch, interestingly enough, quite calm and collected, listening to “Inna Gadda da Vida” by Iron Butterfly — one of my all-time favorites — and about 10 or 15 minutes before I had decided I’d start swallowing until I wasn’t able to anymore, I called it off, and I knew with certainty that it was the right thing for me to do. I was at total peace at that moment, and I experienced the “you can’t recover until you’ve hit rock bottom” syndrome. You want to know why? It wasn’t out of fear of dying or cold feet or change of mind.

I didn’t have the heart to leave my cat all alone, since I likely wouldn’t be found for several days, and I didn’t have what it took to put her down. She NEVER jumps on me when I’m sitting or lying — she prefers just to be in the same room, curls up on the rug at my feet, and follows me around like a puppy. If I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’ here, but that day, about 10 minutes left in the “countdown”, she jumped up onto my chest, and started purring really loud (something else she seldom does) and doing the “alternate massaging with front paws” thing on my chest that cats do and I’ve never understood why!. A sign? I suspect it was probably just a coincidence. But, it was enough to put my awareness somewhere else. That’s all it took.

I love my cat, but more importantly, that day I think I really started the gentle road of loving myself for the first time in my life. It’s tough, and there certainly are and will continually be setbacks and land mines along the way. I’m not a particularly strong person to begin with; physically or emotionally. And I am acutley aware of the significantly higher risk of death by suicide amongst bipolars compared to non-bipolars.

I’m gathering my self-worth a quarter and a dollar at a time, though. Not too long ago, again with much trepidation, I “announced” on my own blog that I was gay, but had lived my 58-year-old life in denial of that because I had been influenced by the times that I grew up in, believing that it was not only disgusting and an abomination, but it was not even to be acknowledged or discussed.

I’ve never told this story to anyone before. I’m of a mind that blogging friends are more cherished in some ways than blood & flesh ones….I don’t have to withhold anything here, if I choose not to.

My climb out of the pit is continuous, and long, but I’m succeeding every day. I also know that it doesn’t take much to start to slip again. Tha’t why I have daily confirmations for myself each morning. In my mind, it’s exactly like alcoholism. I have an internal chemical imbalance that affects mood swings (bipolar), and I take stock just one day at a time.

Sorry for the length; you hit a nerve obviously, and it’s certainly been painful, yes, but cathartic more so, for me to be able to get this out.

Bless you Jane, in more ways than you can imagine.

Thank you for having the courage to share your story here.

(P.S. The run-on length here is because I’m now slightly hypomanic, and I tend to not know when to stop dumping the mind! Sorry again for the length!)

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(P.P.S.) I just read over the quotes I had used to start the previous blog entry, and perhaps the second one there is more appropiate here:

“If this was my life every week, I would never retire. Knowing as low as I was last year, that I can come back and be playing this well, is a great feeling. Now doing it in front of the friends that got me back to where I am now, keeping me upbeat during some down times ... it just makes me feel good and is yet another reason why I have started to believe that everything happens for a reason.” - James Blake


PEACE.

Posted by Evydense on Sunday, August 13, 2006 at 8:46 a.m. | Permalink