One of the things that plagues a bipolar sufferer is that no one wants to discuss that we get depressed just like other humans. But all you want to talk about is the fun part.

When I get a touch of mania, you certainly notice. That’s because Bizarro Clark Kent has stepped into his crazy telephone booth. He returns, telling anyone who will license the delusions that you are suffering through.

I have made up quite a few fantasies while tripping the maniac fantastic. I have hallucinated aurally as well as visually. Sometimes I wonder what I am actually suffering from when I do that. Because these hazy memories surely must have been dreams. Or maybe the universe is weirder than we thought. Sometimes certain coincidences are real.

I know I wasn’t hallucinating when my fucking girlfriend from when I was 19 showed up in the same mental hospital a few months ago. I guessed her name because she looked like a Kathy-that’s because she was Kathy. Poor thing had schizo-affective disorder. I hope I did not make it worse by being in her life. Is reality programmed, or is there a mass shortage of mental hospitals such that I should find my ex galpal locked in a place far far away from whence we lived?

The odds in Vegas are very very high for such a coincidence. But my Kathy was there, in the flesh, struggling our bastard diseases at the same time and in the same place. I would love for someone to explain this craziness.

Anyway, I am far from manic. I’ve been out of the hospital 45 days, and fully intend to keep myself on the other side of the locked door. Today, I am depressed.

Hasn’t got a thing to do with my disorder. I am human, and I get depressed just like you do.

Structure in life, in many forms, is still structure in most cases. Generally it is beneficial in nature, even just going to church once a week is a least routine. I do not have that luxury. On deck is my return in August to my perch in the local Democratic Party of my county. Further on we have Master’s work in December as long as my admission stays on track. But being busy is a ways away, and I am a sad sack until then.

Why not try another emotion, then? I can rally from this and go from sad to cheerful if I want. But I will choose a stronger, easier, less polite emotion like anger. I am aghast about the Florida school system and that overtanned roly poly Desantis is changing talk of slavery to Nice Thing About Using Humans Like Animals:

Last week, the Florida Board of Education unanimously approved a controversial new curriculum for African American history for students in the state.

Opponents called it whitewashing history. A group of 11 organizations, including the NAACP and the Florida Education Association, criticized the state for omitting or rewriting “key historical facts about the Black experience.”

Some of the key complaints are that the curriculum leaves out Florida’s role in slavery and the oppression of African Americans, identifies racism and prejudice without going into depth who was promoting it, victim-blames Black communities, uses outdated language, and requires teaching that some enslaved people learned valuable skills that were useful after they were freed.

At a press conference Friday, Republican Gov. Ron DeSantis defended the curriculum as “factual,” telling a CNN reporter, “They’re probably going to show some of the folks that eventually parlayed, you know, being a blacksmith into, into doing things later in life.”

Well, there goes any black vote he was going to grab. I bet Tim Scott is snickering somewhere in South Carolina or wherever the hell he’s at looking to become flavor of the month.

And I guess there’s the matter of Ben Shapiro, who evokes more laughter than he does anger, is on YouTube or whatever burning bodies of the doll. His “rant” goes on for about 45 minutes. I’’m not going to watch, and neither should you. I’d hit this guy and take his credit cards so he has to freeze all his accounts, and I am a pussy when it comes to fighting.

I will never understand the Right’s tendency to purchase things that they will be destroying. I hear “people” are shooting Bud Lights. I don’t recommend that you drink that codswallop, but I hope these cans were empty of contents before they shot them. That would make a little sense.

I’m out of the woods regarding my blues. Maybe writing has helped distract me a little. That’s all I get to lean on, distractions. This one has not been used lately.

Leave a Reply