When faced with my demons I clothe them and feed them…

Here’s To Hypomania!

Goddarn it, if mania is a mental illness why did they make it such fuckin’ fun?

Seriously, you’ normies’, or neurotypicals if you prefer can have no idea what it’s like to be an interdimensional traveller. To trip out on the power of your own mind. Pity the drug-addicted. I don’t even need shit to get high! I just freakin’ am.

But right now I’m actually not. I’m pretty stable, have been for months. It was a very welcome relief. But I like to think and reflect on these altered states after the fact and with my feet somewhat planted on Planet Earth.

And I wonder, if I could have my life again (perish the thought), would I have chosen this, or would I have chosen a ‘normal’ life with all the requisite accomplishments such as a career, a mortgage, two point five kids and a husband?

Let’s be honest. That stuff was never on the cards for me from an early age. I was a feminist at 14 for God’s sake! I developed a deep aversion from and fear of marriage from watching my parents. I also was not especially maternal. I played schools with my dolls and issued some severe beatings when they got their sums wrong!  Psychopath in the making? Well you’d think so wouldn’t you! The point is I never wanted to change my doll’s diaper or dress her in cute clothes and wheel her around in a freakin’ pram. Fuck all that shit.

And at age 16 or so my PE teacher told me with my attitude I’d never be a meaningful member of society. My response was ‘I don’t WANT to be a meaningful; member of this society’! She sighed and looked skyward. But deep down she knew exactly what I meant. She just wasn’t allowed to say so. So yeah, there was some precocity there you might say. But in other ways I was terribly vulnerable and naive. I deeply pity that young girl. She didn’t really know what the fuck she was in for.

She was at home with ideas and a natural academic. Artistic and creative too. But she had terrible trouble trying to align her dreams with reality. Was any kind of compromise possible between the two?

The best I can come up with are the words I write here and my interactions with others. Only by means of words can I really bring about any kind of melding between the world of dreams and the unconscious, and this external world of phenomena and sense impression. So yes, I actually need this blog and I need to write. As much as I need to drink water. More so. Drinking water is purely a bodily imperative. Sharing my innermost being involves everything I am or ever will be.

But yeah. Would I be prepared to give up all of these amazing experiences I’ve had in mania, the crazy adventures, the heightened senses, the magic and the mystery of it all? For what, exactly? To be another mediocre wage slave? A playground mum? A disappointed wife?

Can anyone, anywhere, explain to me why I should aspire to that? To conformity? To a regime imposed on me by the more ‘powerful’ people? What’s power anyway?

I’m sounding like my son, or is he sounding like me? He analyses everything out of existence. He fastens on one word or phrase and dissects it until it disappears. He’s merciless with that poor word. He makes it disappear. He’s like a cat playing with a mouse until it dies. He has the killer instinct.

I don’t go that far but yep, I am hugely analytical nonetheless. I’m also quite precise. I’m scrupulously honest and truthful or at least try to be. (We’re all duplicitous apes folks). To the point that, I can’t change a story or make up extra bits to make it more entertaining. Never have. Never will. I’m not the pub raconteur. Actually you rarely find me in a pub, but if you do I’ll be quietly drinking a fruit juice and tonic and watching the people.

My pal Baz wrote here that his (voluminous) writings will come the nearest to explaining to anyone who reads them who he was, his character and what he stood for. And yes, whether the blog becomes a lengthy suicide note or not, the same is true for me. Nowhere else do I get to share ALL of this stuff. It’s always piecemeal, ALWAYS. Even when I have an hour alone with my therapist I will only touch on a FRACTION of my depths. Because I will always tailor it to the person I’m talking to. I’m never the same with two people. Never.

Which begs the question, is ANYONE? The ability to connect with another requires that you go out to them to some degree. If you keep everything tightly locked up inside you’ll be unable to connect. And don’t we all take our cue from the other person to some degree?

What you see here is my little share of the great art of alchemy. I weave the endless crap and bullshit of this existence into some kind of cohesive and pleasing whole. Straw into gold, as in the Rumpelstiltskin story.That’s what all artists do. There are worse ways to spend your life. A lot worse things to aspire to. Baz and I don’t give a fuck if we have readers or not and we would run for the hills from ‘likes’. Yes, I read my stats and it gives me a buzz if I know that two people in Poland read or viewed my blog today. But I don’t seek that kind of affirmation, approval or approbation. I am not made that way. I KNOW if something I’ve written is good. I reread it to seek my own approval, and frankly I’m more often pleased and satisfied than not.

A friend of mine, pretty much a career psychiatric patient like me once told me he liked obscurity. He meant it, and I totally concur, but him saying that makes it sound like a conscious choice on his part. He could have chosen fame and fortune, but didn’t. I too would loathe fame. I don’t NEED fortune, but would really hate to be public property, my private life on display, an object of gossip, envy and so on. I was not made for that or it for me. Let me die as obscurely as I have lived. It’s FAR FAR better that way.

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Comments on: "Here’s To Hypomania!" (3)

  1. Writing in piecemeal fashion reminds me of the “pillow book” thing, some habit where one jots in a book anything that’s in their brain late at night. Sometimes it can be something personal, observations, quotes… very tangential but again it ends up like a jigsaw with all the pieces adding up to some kind of self portrait.

    As for the pursuit of being “liked” and fame… yes, something where my inner nature came to the rescue. When I became popular as a performer, initially, I liked it. After all I’d had years of hatred and contempt so to experience the reverse felt good but it didn’t take long before confusion and resentment kicked in upon realising it was all conditional… I was continually pestered to do THIS song or THAT song. My “followers” wanted me to keep doing the same stuff over and over. No thanks. I rebelled against that by deliberately doing something new at EVERY performance. It pissed them off and it drained me but I needed to make my point that I’m living and breathing creativity and I don’t believe in constantly rehashing myself. I did find some perverse enjoyment in that dichotomy – THEY had in front of them a true artiste, a living and breathing example of Creativity that they supposedly liked and cherished so they try and kill the spirit and make me like some karaoke drone. So, I gave them the finger since it wasn’t my fault they failed to understand and appreciate what I was truly about. I don’t play the “pleasing” game. If what I do pleases me, that’s what it’s all about. If others are pleased alongside me, fine, but there always comes the point where they start feeling displeased and try and interfere to prolong THEIR enjoyment and to hell with mine… if there’s no fun or satisfaction in it for me, then how on earth can others derive those things from my endeavours?

    I do things MY way. That way, the mistakes I make, are MY mistakes.

    I COULD had gone much further in my career and part of me naturally wanted to move on to bigger and better things but again, my internal instincts kicked in and sabotaged those opportunities. I cursed it at the time but it was simply my inner self telling me I wasn’t cut out for that and that it would only make things worse hence I “chose” obscurity. Now it all makes perfect sense as I hate being recognised in the street… I like to float around like some invisible shadow. I have freedom and anonymity and though it does get lonesome at times, that’s just the way I am and what helps me to survive as I can just carry on being me and not an exaggerated version. That was the dilemma – onstage I was very extrovert and crazy. Offstage I was the reverse, so people would see me onstage then expect me to be the same off it and when I wasn’t, they hated me for it. They wanted me to be a performing monkey, to be amusing 24/7 failing to understand or comprehend that performing for me was simply akin to wearing a uniform and acting out a role like millions do when they do their 9 to 5 routine. Once their work hours end, THEY don’t want to remain in that role outside the work hours but trying to get such people to understand that, it’s surprising how ignorant and stupid they proved themselves to be.

    So no, fame was never gonna be something I could ever handle or be comfortable with. “Social Networking” has also changed all the rules so the thought of constantly having to use Twatter or Farcebook to promote and sell myself alongside people filming and posting my performances on YouTube… no… knickers to all that. Gain fame and fortune and you sacrifice control and privacy. I retain my privacy and remain in control which in this day and age is an acheivement in itself!

  2. Gosh Baz, are you me? as people like to say on social forums.

    Seriously though, I only just found this reply of yours and it resonates with me totally. Hehe, I’m exactly the same! I don’t want to be seen or recognised when I go out. The Harry Potter ‘invisibility cloak’ springs to mind.

    And yup. I’ve always felt for artists who have to travel the world like performing seals. Some of them get very good at being performing seals – their performances are flawless but there’s something so mechanical about them.

    Which makes my tangential mind want to look up the dictionary definition of performance!!!

    Look, true creativity can never be a performance, I can confidently say that WITHOUT looking up the freaking definition.

    Just like you, if it pleases me that’s what matters. I barely ‘market’ this blog in any way. The furthest I’ll go is posting links on the occasional forum or chat for people to click on if they want to read more of my work.

    It genuinely amuses me that I have so few readers. What I want in my readers is quality, not quantity, and over the years I can happily say that I’ve had that. You Baz being a prime example.

    I’m in with the ‘out crowd’. And the out crowd is not the ‘getalong gang’ to quote the grime rapper Wiley. But you can bet your life that there’s more of us than the world knows.

    Might I respectfully suggest Baz that both of us are taking a much longer view. Was Van Gogh feted and praised to the skies in his lifetime? Call me grandiose, I don’t give a shit, but we’re looking to true immortality, not fame, not popularity, not ‘likes’, not phony ‘love’, not ‘viral on the internet’, not VIP Twitter. Yes, it’s easier to say what we’re not than what we are.

    So I singlehandedly second, third and fourth EVERYTHING you have said here. It gives me a huge buzz when someone else so closely mirrors how I feel and think myself.

    And you know what? If something ever happened on the internet, some huge nuclear-bomb-like glitch and this blog was all to be lost? I would be DEVASTATED. It’s actually a lot more important to me than anyone might imagine. I often use it as a reference, and for inspiration, and have on occasion spent many happy hours reading back over it. It’s been what, nearly 10 years of my life?

    What do you think folks? Is a nuclear Internet attack of that kind even possible? Expect the unexpected they always say. But like you with your enormous archive Baz, what I write here is probably more to me than life itself.

  3. […] of comments. Here’s what I wrote today in response to Baz’s thoughts on my post ‘Here’s To Hypomania’. Read what he said if you can. Sometimes I myself am not that great at navigating my own blog, and […]

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