Who Is That Guy, Anyway?

Where did Jeff go? The happy guy who always had a joke for everything has seemed to have taken a leave of absence.

Well, at least that's what I'm being told.

First off, 'happy' is a misnomer when it comes to the bipolar mind. Happy is an adjective. Now, I've experienced joy and even have a source of joy, but happiness is elusive and fleeting. So, when Jeff isn't laughing and happy, there must be a problem.

I could read off a laundry list of reasons that my mind isn't playing fair these days. But, I won't. Not that I'm afraid to expose my list, you, the reader, know me better than that if you've been a reader of my blog for any amount of time. No, I choose to not expose myself to the inevitable comments by some who will say, "get over it", "we all have problems", "take your meds", "go to church", yada yada yada......

In short, I choose to not listen to those who don't know me, my mind, my thoughts, my problems, how my bipolar disorder comes into play, how the meds affect the body and mind, how my own spirituality in conjunction with all of the above affects my mind, not to mention the recent events in my life that I'm not sure if I'm dealing with or not, ie, my dad's passing.

So, Jeff isn't the happy camper he was back in early December. Add to all this other crap the fact that I'm rather intuitive and, *kablam* another aspect to the happiness equation is added. I sense change coming. Major change. I don't know what, where, when or how. But I know that a personal change is underway.

I'm not afraid. I'm anxious. A bit nervous. But unafraid. Maybe the change is the key to the happiness. Who knows?

I'm still Jeff. I still bring the funny. I'm just in a cerebral place. Hey, I like it but I don't. But, in the end, I think we'll all love it because whatever this change is is going to make things a lot better not just for me, but for many. I can feel it. There's a reason for the madness. Crazy is sanity for the masses and change is life for the sedentary.

Get ready. Happy Jeff is coming back better than ever. Changed for the better.

I'm Confused, Amazed and Queasy

I just glanced at my stats. Really? Nearly 10,800 people have stumbled upon my ramblings and managed to read what I have written? Amazing. Yes, I do read the comments and I even occasionally comment in return.

What I can't quite comprehend is the following. It's not that I'm not that I'm not appreciative of everyone that takes a moment to read my rants and blatherings. You endure my late-night misspellings, heartbreaks, anger, mind-numbing pain, euphoria, depression, mania, disdain for humanity, religious intolerance... you name it. I even appreciate the negative comments and the self-help comments. Ahhhh.... the self-help comment, those are the best. The advice frome those who know not what the demons who haunt me lay before me minute by minute day by day.

Yet, the thought is sincere, so I let it slide and say a little "Yo' to the universe that hopefully that commenter never has to endure what I was enduring when I wrote that blog.

But really, 10,800? It's not a huge number but to me it's astounding because when I started Yelps From The Closet I started it solely for me. I started it as a place to express myself. Think of it as a therapist's office. I was the therapist and the patient. Yelps was my sanctuary. No, Yelps IS my sanctuary.

I've used this place to rail against religion. Heartily. I always will. Early on, this forum was my sanctuary for venting during my divorce. I used it for whole-heartily unloading my venom against my ex-wife and her seemingly vitriolic, uncaring, materialistic personality.

I've used Yelps to personally attack my own children, rightfully so, at times, for disowing not only me for divorcing their mother but for disowning their grandparents at the times that they were needed most.

In short, This is my personal place. This is a very personal place that I recognize as a publicly recognized forum. And that's ok. That's ok because Through my joys and pains, my laughter and tears I hope to bring hope and smiles to at least one person who reads through the misspellings.

This has been one of the hardest weeks that I can remember. Not including the week that my dad passed away. You may or may not understand. Unless you can understand the idea of having experienced everything and having nothing else left to experience, feeling trapped within a steel box with no way out, thinking that today brought as much excitement as yesterday, and the day before, etc, and tomorrow promises the same, and the worst, the very worst.... you don't laugh at a midget in a half-tank top....

I called in an emergency session with the Doc. Somethin' ain't right. I always laugh at midgets. And I don't like feeling trapped. I'm a free-spirit. Always have been. You should know this. You read my Yelps.

Why you read my Yelps, I don't know. I'm glad that you do. I hope that I do some good. I go through a lot of shit. My life is a bit of a cosmic maelstrom. It's a helluva ride but you puke when it's over. The difference with my Maelstrom is, I'll hold your hair.

Thanks for reading.

Westboro or Amish?

It all starts with webbed fingers and hairy underarms. Oy. Soon follows a barn and perfectly tatted doilies and, if you're of the proper ilk, a headgear worthy of a queen.

This isn't you'r normal America. This is the land of handcrafted sleighbeds and barns that can withstand Armageddon. This is Amish country. This is is also a place that makes the religion of Westboro Baptist Church look like kindergarten compared to today's Notre Dame football program.

Doubt me? Then watch the debacle called 'Amish Mafia'.  Personally, I root for a killing at the end of each episode of 'Amish Mafia' just so there will be a picketing at the funeral by the fucktards of the WBC. I would pay money to be at that picketing, just to be on the front lines. Face it, dumbass versus dumbass. It would be just as exhilarating as being on Capitol Hill during a gun control debate, or as worthy of note as being in a debate of who is the better driver, Dale Jr. or Jimmie Johnson.

The Westboro Baptist Church has one thing going for it in it's universal stupidity. It's over-the-top in it's thinking and it doesn't hesitate in going the extra mile in showing, saying and doing, no matter how over the top the antics may be, to make a point, no matter how wrong the point the point is.

Don't get me wrong. If you've read any of my past blogs about these backwards-thinking hateful toejam-sucking degenerates, you know how I feel about them, but I give them props for working the system. They can even carry a Michael Jackson tune and I bet two quarters to a wooden nickel that one of the bastards can moonwalk.

But the Amish Mafia? Levi? The leader? This is a guy who is a guy who doesn't call out a guy to slash tires. He sends out a guy with a guy with a hacksaw to saw in half a buggy wheel because some guy sold a jar of apple butter on the side of road and took away two bucks from an Amish family who needed a new set of clothes pins. Levi looks like a guy who just came from JC Penney's bedding section after a day of White Sale madness.

Religion at it's craziness. Yet at the heart of Levi's Mafia madness is a man with tattoos. Heaven forbid. And a few guys who occasionally curse. God must be furious. I'm sure Fast Five Freddy Phelps and his WBC ilk have spraypainted signs at the ready and a caravan pointed towards Pennsylvania, aimed directly towards Levi and his Mafia.

Religion is hitting a new low. I didn't think it could think it could get any lower. Well, maybe I did. The first time I had had serious doubts was way back when Jim Bakker did the deed with Jessica Hahn. Then Jessica Hahn became, well, woof. And, I thought, ok, religion ain't all that. Then, Jimmy Swaggart, oh god, if he could get it, anyone can, Jimmy Swaggart, he faltered in the same way, but with no Jessica Hahn.

The seeds had been planted. Not that religion led to sex, although the Bible did teach that lesson... but that power, especially power through religion, leads to all sorts of inappropriate acts of self. Left on it's on, the mind will always drift to the dark side. Not that the dark side is always bad, but the dark side unattended is gonna always attract the dark side of other unattended dark sides.

That is how the entire Westboro Baptist Church was formed. Maybe not in in the beginning, but ultimately. Same with Congress.

And so it will be with the Amish Mafia. Ultimately, they will own a Clydesdale. Game over. Next, a 4-wheel-drive buggy. No one will be safe. Oh yeah, Levi will cut himself shaving and incur a scar. A scarfaced Amish man. No barn-raising man north of Maryland will be safe.

Why is this all happening? Religion. The greatest man-man hindrance to harmonious living that mankind has ever encountered.

However, as a result of some's adherence to godly quality, you can get some damn good furniture.

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.

Reject the Turkey Foot. Be Yourself.

What is a Hokie anyway?

In my mind, a Hokie is a stupid, outdated expression or way of doing something. It's a redneck term term meant to describe something trite and completely without merit.

"Hey, look at that guy's hokie hat... it's so 80's"...
"What a hokie outfit... where'd she get it? The Dollar Tree?"

Yet, today, for what must have been for the twenty-sixth thousandth and fifth time, a luxury SUV passed me on the interstate with one of those damned Virginia Tech turkey feet magnets affixed to the rear hatchback with 'Proud Parent of a Hokie" and " HOKIE ALUM" Window Decals prominently displayed. This was after seeing the 'VT' license plate approaching in my rear-view mirror.

Proud to be a turkey. Or a Hokie. I didn't even know a turkey was a hokie, or vice-versa. To be quite honest, I really don't give a shit either way.

My issue isn't with Hokies, although where I live affords me the unfortunate luxury of abhoring the gold and burgundy turkey foot that represents a university known for academics. Turkey feet are everywhere.

As you might guess, my issue go much deeper. Let's delve into the psyche of the post-graduate mindset, shall we?

I wonder, what posesses these people to continue to support an institution of higher education after graduation? Why the rabid rallies? The men and women that continue to rally for an institution that basically did nothing more than act as entity that was paid to do a job seems to be blind to the fact that the men and women that helped them aren't the ones on the starting defensive line.

Myself, when I left school, I came away with memories and a degree or two. That's all I need. I don't understand needing having to tie oneself to an institution after being released. If that were the case, I'd have kept my orange jumpsuit after my last jail stay. Go Orange.
But really. I understand everyone needing a sense of community at one point or another. But what I can see in those who can't let go of college and high school is a lack of sense of self.

Sure everyone needs community. Nobody needs turkey feet. Everybody needs self.