It’s 44 minutes past midnight, and I can’t sleep. I suspect sleep isn’t in the cards tonight; it’s just one of those nights. I’d rather be here in the lounge of this treatment program I’m in, typing away at this keyboard that I’ve become smitten with for its feel, while listening to the Grateful Dead. I was lying in bed and couldn’t leave the screen of my phone alone. I had started writing something earlier, and there was no way I was going to be typing it with my thumbs into the on-screen keyboard like I was texting. I’ve written some pretty long pieces lately, only to leave them in my drafts folder.
Uh oh, I feel good. I feel good about myself and my chances for survival, perhaps even a life beyond just survival if I’m lucky. There was a lot of time spent in survival mode, which is no way to live. I like it when I feel this way; maybe that’s why I’m not too keen on sleeping. In fact, I just fixed myself a coffee and fired up a Grateful Dead 2nd set (GD1977–03–18, for the curious), which I intend to listen to in its entirety while I do my own kind of improvisational self-expression into this sexy beast of a mechanical keyboard.
If I read that last paragraph, it makes me a little nervous. Feeling too good and energetic is a sign that I may be swinging manic, which can have disastrous results. I’ve developed a pretty keen self-awareness when it comes to the different phases of bipolar disorder, but it can roll itself into something beyond my control. At least I’m not doing karaoke into TikTok all night; I’m just rambling into a keyboard, which is pretty benign compared to some of the places this thing has brought me.
I ponder what life is like for people that have normal brain chemistry, just like I’m sure they’re baffled by people in their life that don’t. Lucky for you, I’m here with a fairly decent command of the ability to describe what it’s like riding around in this thing (my mind).
I wonder how many people stop and look at the way they conducted themselves just hours ago and cringe while thinking, ‘Fuck man, who is that and why am I like this?’ Just being different versions of myself in the course of a day and not being able to stomach some of them. Is this universal?
If I had a mission statement for my writing, it would read something like “hey man, I just think we should stop trying to hide how crazy we are, and I came here to get the conversation started.” I’ve never had the ability to tolerate the whole social farce of constant sanity to save face. I think if we got real with each other, we could relate on a much deeper level and appreciate each other more.
My mother’s family had this unwritten policy of not acknowledging mental illness, despite the fact that it was rampant. Two of her three sisters committed suicide. So, you may not want to face your demons, but trust me, they’ll sort you out.
Speaking of suicide. I’ve been doing these supportive housing interviews and have been interviewed by more psychiatric professionals than I even know. There are always questions about whether or not I’ve ever thought about giving up and throwing in the towel. The answer, is obviously: yes of course I have. Hasn’t everyone? There’s another thing that everyone might not experience, I don’t know. I might have friends who it has actually never occurred to off themselves, which is absolutely wild to consider.
I don’t care anymore, I don’t care if people look at me and label me that dismissive “crazy” term. That’s literally their ass-backwards way of looking at it. Not to get too big for my shoes, but this whole writing thing could help destigmatize mental illness if it were ever to gain a decent amount of exposure.
You have to be crazy to be creative, and take the kind of risk of exposing your intellectual and emotional innards. No sane person is going to do that, because there is no logical reason for it. That’s the thing about art; it isn’t logical. A few years ago, I wrote a detailed account of a methamphetamine habit that triggered the most epic manic episode that I’ve ever had, from the inside of it. Why would I do that? Why would I share detailed chronicles of my life as a homeless drug addict? What if I want to run for Senate? It’s all out there, and anyone can read it. I wonder who does, aside from those loyal readers, whom I’ve never actually met outside of the internet.
The other day, someone told me that they read them all. That’s always an amazing thing to hear from someone. I know people read it, but it’s always nice to know who they are.
Over the course of the past year, I’ve really come into it, the whole creativity thing. I really came into what it means when you have no choice but to express yourself. I don’t want to jinx it but I feel like I really grew into writing very recently, despite the fact that I’m entering my third year of a pretty regular practice of doing it. I can’t objectively say that the content has gotten any better, but the feeling I get from doing it got better than it has ever been. That’s amazing to me because it leads me to believe it can get even better still. I’m going to keep going for that. I have said this a number of ways, a number of times, but I discovered a whole side of myself when I was 35 that had laid dormant. What an incredible thing. There’s a fairly new comfort inside of my identity; it’s like “well, I may be crazy and emotionally unstable, but let’s put a saddle on this bitch and ride it.”
This is why I was so pissed to discover that my laptop was broken, because I just hit this stride with writing, and there’s a freaking roadblock. Goddamnit.
Not right now, though I do believe I’ve hit a wall, just in time for the Dead set to wrap up. I don’t know that my time at this desk went anywhere, and I don’t really care.
There’s something I read in an interview with Phish’s Trey Anastasio. I respect him, and I’m interested in the artistic process of my favorite artists. I’m not a musician, but I can apply some of what I learn. I’m not going to find the exact quote but I can paraphrase it. He was talking about what it was like during the fall tour of 1997, which is widely regarded as the band at the absolute peak of their powers, though personally I’m more inclined to listen to summer 1998 if I’m going to Phish out. Anyway, he said the band had a rule not to talk about any of the shows or analyze any of the music that they were making. That’s where I want to go with this, I don’t want to think about it, because that’s when I’m getting to the place I want to be. Thinking really gets in the way of my enjoyment.
BRO:
i dont have any money, and i need some. i would very much appreciate a coffee from anyone who think’s i deserve one: https://ko-fi.com/evr0ck17
AND FURTHERMORE:
i am very responsive to emails from anyone and everyone: ev.penk7@gmail.com
