7 years ago, I set out on a tumultuous journey, undertaking a spirit-seeking project thatfinally comes to fruition today. The Bipolar Addict: Drinks, Drugs, Delirium & Why Sober Is the New Cool is out now. And, after all this time and work, I can’t believe it.
This is our day. This is our moment. Let’s make it count. It’s time to raise awareness and fight stigma. Bipolar is beautiful!
It’s no secret that I suffer from seasonal affective disorder. The darkness that dangles over wintertime, in combo with the cold, leads to a depression that hovers over me throughout the season, exacerbating my bipolar symptoms. I don’t know if it was the light of day growing stronger that did it, or the new medication regimen I’m on, but I recently lifted myself out of an abysmal depression.
We who are bipolar may think our disorder is a strike against us in the relationship department, that no one would ever want to date someone who can have erratic moods. I’m here to tell you that stability is possible and, if you are on the right meds and receiving proper therapy, romantic love is achievable.
Up until my sobriety, I neglected my body and soul. I was an antisocial, inoperative sub-humanoid with stale-beer-odored dragon breath. My life was a cesspool, a puke-riddled pigsty and a hellhole of flotsam and jetsam. But all that, my dear readers, is in the past.
As I’ve mentioned before, I have a beer gut, which is ironic since I quit drinking beer and all alcohol nearly seven years ago. But a bump in my belly is clearly pronounced. And my New Year’s resolution to get skinny again is off to a start.
Times were tough in 2018. The economy is on the brink of another recession. A scourge of mass shootings occurred. But there were some glimmers of hope.
Grating two-and-a-half cups of Gruyere cheese takes forever, but when you are either cooking or baking, there’s something about prepping a recipe that is soothing. You see colors come alive, you hear the sound of sizzling olive oil, you smell tantalizing scents like melted butter, you munch on ingredients as you go, seasoning your tastebuds.
I feel a lot of pressure. Pressure to take my meds and stay on them. Pressure to be a good son, brother, and uncle. Pressure to be a man. Pressure to conform and lead a healthy, happy life. It’s tough, but I’ve learned to maintain composure and grace among the people in my life, i.e. the normies, people who are not bipolar or mentally ill.
I used to be rail thin. Skinny jeans and all. Ironically, since getting sober seven years ago, I’ve developed what might be mistaken for a beer gut. It’s not drastic, but I have definitely changed from a small to a medium shirt thanks to my potbelly. At 5’7”, I weigh 174 pounds, which is considered overweight by body-mass-index standards. It was a rude awakening when I recently had to check the box for “a little extra” on the dating site OK Cupid.
