To the Brethren

Hi there. I'm Jeff. You don't really know me personally but if you have read many of my writings you probably know a helluva lot about me. And, if you've read more than a few of those writings I'll bet you two shits to a baby's fart that you know that I'm a bit twisted in the head due to a little thing called manic-depressive or bipolar disorder.

I'll roll the dice and take it a step farther and exclaim that if you've read enough of my writings, experienced my life through my words and lived through my mind's eyes, yes, eyes, then you know that my 'disorder' is not a curse. It is both a blessing and a curse. By god with a lower case 'G', it's more of a blessing than a curse if anything and tonight that came into focus once again through a conversation with a fellow bipolar 'sufferer' (emphasis added).

It all started with a quote by Deepak Chopra stating that in order to know yourself and get in touch with yourself and your soul you must have peace of mind, quiet and solitude. Or some shit like that. You see, I took issue, because, my mind never stops racing. And, contrary to popular belief, especially amongst my 'suffering' contemporaries, that's not such a bad thing. Solitude, to me, is a bad thing. Bad, bad, bad. Before you go all batshit crazy on me too, let me elaborate.....

I relish my alone time. I just like my alone time with my many voices to talk amongst themselves.

So, as you might imagine, I commented on Mr. Chopra's quote and swiftly incurred the ire of the poster of his quote. Not only was I chastised for my views on solitude, but I was promptly directed to a site that supposedly treats brain disorders for people like 'us'. Oh boy. Game on. Now, I'm in my element.

Next up.... I was asked, "are you on meds?" " what meds are you on?" "have you tried natural meds?" "the brain the the most important organ in the body".... yada yada yada....

Soon, another follower of the Chopra poster sees my profile picture which, by the way, shows me holding a glass of fine cabernet and toking on a nicely rolled cigar, chimes in and remarks, "I sure hope you're not drinking that wine if you're on any meds"....

Self-righteous, pretentious prickless pricks.

Hello. Let me introduce you to the wishicould idiot club.

What I abhor is having others who don't have a clue about who I am, where I've been or where I'm going giving me advice about who I should be, where I should go or what I should have done.

At this point, I know myself better than anyone on this entire fucking blue and brown ball and as such, I know how my mind works better on any given day whether it's medicated, sober, electrified, somber, filled with voices, echoing with nothingness, numb or normal.

Normal, a word that frightens me worse than anything else. Normal isn't what we are meant to be. Yet, my Facebook 'friend' and many other of my bipolar brethren think that 'normal is the goal that we all should strive to achieve. A normal mind, a normal life.

Not me. Normal is mundane. Normal is a suit. Normal is nine to five and a minivan. Normal is everyone else. Normal is mandated solitude.

I prefer the voices. They keep things interesting.

Fuck you, Deepak.