Читать книгу Feeling Bipolar - Jack Larson - Страница 3

I am severely bipolar 1. This book is crafted for you, my peer. It is my way of paying homage to you, an unappreciated gem whose alternative feelings shower our world with color. I do not pretend to know what you go through. I just want to share with you a way I draw closer to my loved ones – and myself. The better they understand my emotions and me, the deeper my relationship with them. Sympathy follows. Maybe my process will resonate with you. If not,

I hope you feel me, your brother, in these pages.

Throughout my life, I’ve been miserable at sharing my feelings. In return, my loved ones did a miserable job “getting” me. I blamed them. They need to try harder! They have no clue what I’m going through. But then I stepped back and contemplated this cycle. I realized that I need to point the finger at myself. I’m responsible for putting them in their confused state! They’re not clairvoyant. How could they determine my moods from just conversation? I think I do a decent job “feeling them”. It’s time to flip the script and have them “feel me”!

So I put this collection of paintings and poems together, interspersed with prose, for a different kind of communication. Varied art forms, when experienced whole, elicit a keener insight into our nebulous universe. It’s an artistic tool which allows us to take better inventory of our disorder and convey it to our loved ones more meaningfully.

Talking only gets us so far. When we communicate our emotions, we say I’m “down” or “depressed”. We expect them to interpret those one-word descriptions. We need to dig deeper and sensitively express the moment. Poetry is a step in that direction.

Angst is all about me. I’m imprisoned; caged like a rat. Nailed down to the floor, the world takes care of that.

I doubt I’ll survive a bitter culmination… Rotting away in a cell… No emancipation.

They scorn. They mock. I cringe. They rock. Bleeding head to toe… No help from the flock.

So lonely in this place, I feel disgraced. Will I see my family again? Feel their embrace?

Just me and my lord, I’m dying by the sword… I scour my brain, obsessed… Is this on my accord?

When I simply say, “I’m depressed”, I’m leaving the receiver’s interpretation wide open. I cannot assume that my definition of that word is universal. What if our sister received this poem instead? Sure, it would upset her, but she would have a keener understanding of our troubled situation. She would be in a position to sympathize and alleviate some of that torture. That could be the difference between life and death. In order to clue sis in, our communications need to be colorful and elaborate.

Descriptive rhymes can help minimize our divide and stimulate clarity. But that’s only part of my communications concoction. Let’s hit them over the head with another type of expression to further drive home the point – a painting:

That’s graphic! After experiencing this, our sister will likely take us seriously. She’ll also be more emotionally available. These are two big necessities in our struggle. Of course we can’t create paintings and poetry in routine, everyday communication. However, making this an exercise reinforces one’s ability to elaborate, which ultimately earns sympathy.

And for the record, sympathy means two different things. One definition is negative – feeling pity or sorrow for one’s misfortune. We don’t want to experience that. The sympathy I’m referring to is sharing understanding for one another, striving to reach a common feeling. Why not facilitate their understanding so they can play a pivotal role in our catharsis? Aren’t you tired of their quizzical stares, misdirected consolations and empty affirmations?

This artistic process has worked for me.