Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I've Lost My Damn Mind: A Manic's Mood Chart (14 page)

“
Well, one way or the other, we’ll have a clearer picture of the outcome right after a word from our sponsors, and then we’ll send you out to your game for the conclusion. Thanks for watching AT&T ‘At The Half,’ and enjoy the rest of the game.”

This has become my defense mechanism of late to help cope with my mania. I have always rooted for the underdog since I can remember (please be aware, my fanhood really doesn’t kick in until roughly the early ‘90s, so I’ve only known my favorite team as the Bungles). I’m not entirely quite sure why, but I’ve always related to them no matter the occasion. It could be that since I was five, I’ve participated in the only thing more foreign to country folk than public transportation--soccer--or that I always saw myself as a five-one, 100-pound immature freshmen throughout high school (not really the ladies’ man) or that I felt like I never belonged to the Carhartt crew growing up (Adidas and Umbros here). Whatever the reason is, I’m starting to realize I’m glad it’s there.

To me, a real underdog is a person or team that is fighting against the odds but refuses to acknowledge this. A real underdog doesn’t fight for their life-- they fight because that’s all they know how to do. A real underdog doesn’t care about the spread, or fear their opponent, or listen to the experts but rather lives for the opportunity to prove themselves. A real underdog will be knocked down, beat up, kicked out, and stomped in time after time and still gets up and asks for more. This is because a real underdog isn’t an underdog at all. They are exactly what they want to be.

My mania has left me beaten, alone, and crying on my bathroom floor, but I’ve gotten up. I know I’ll be brought back down again, and it could be today or it could be in a few years. But I know one thing for sure: I’ll never stop getting back up. My professor in my PR class (Professor X) asked us to write a blog about sports. She asked that we include hyperlinks and tags to ensure that our message is heard as much as possible. She wanted to see our voice come out in our writing and to make a footprint for ourselves through technological gadgets and online tricks. The problem is, I don’t do this for the world to hear my message. I do this for me. So while I didn’t give you exactly what you wanted, Professor X, I did give you what you needed: my voice. I am an underdog.

Session

JP: So how exactly does the mania leave you beaten, alone, and crying on your bathroom floor? Is it physically bringing you down to your knees with pain, or is this more of an emotional state of mind that drives you down from the mania?

DT: It’s mainly an emotional thing with my mania. It will grab me and not let go. I’ll dwell on how much I’ve lost in the fight, and the mania seems to thrive on this. I’m usually able to pull myself out of it after a few minutes, and since I’ve been taking lithium regularly, it hasn’t been as bad.

JP: Oh, so staying on your medicine does seem to help. I guess we professionals
do
know what we’re talking about.

DT: Easy with the liberal use of the term “we” in regard to medical professionals there, JP. I’m pretty sure you got your degree online.

JP: I know you’re lashing out at your past failed healthcare relationships and not me, so I’m going to ignore that last comment, but I want you to know it did hurt a little bit.

KEY TERMS:
ARCHNEMESIS, JAY CUTLER, WHO I AM, GUERILLA WARFARE

Submitted on 4/6/10

Green

Name: Jay Cutler

Position: QB

Number: 6

College: Vanderbilt University

Birthdate: 04/29/1983

Height/Weight: 6-3/233

Hobbies: Being My Archnemesis

Team: Chicago Bears

Throughout my life, there have been a number of guys along the way who inevitably became my archnemesis. I know that there will be arguments and grumblings that you can only have one archnemesis and that’s it (mainly Star Wars and comic book nerds probably, low blow, I know). My dad never sat me down and had the archnemesis talk with me, so I had multiple archnemeses growing up. For instance, in my redshirt year of kindergarten, my address was my archnemesis, followed by my neighbor’s black Star Wars Big Wheel and the McDonald’s Big Mac Song records. Eventually, these evolved into actual guys in the third grade or so (you know who you are). Each of these archnemeses always seemed to fade into the background as the new one emerged. That is, until I received my internship in Chicago.

Jay Cutler has reappeared in my life after the time we spent together in Denver, and I’m not too pleased about it. Our first run-in was in the mountains, and the battle was as rugged as the Rockies. It was the summer of 2007, and I had been romantically involved with a girl who brought a little bit of home to Denver. She was a country girl who raced dirt bikes (BTW, they ride bikes, not drive them, I always screwed that up). We were out, basically owning the dance floor (I was the best dancer in the club Murph; just saying) when Jay walked in and proceeded to post up at the bar, and I knew it was on.

Jay attempted the guerrilla warfare tactic common among inferior challengers. His first strategy was to pretend that he didn’t even know I existed; clever. Next, he attempted to court one of my good friends right underneath my nose; the audacity. Finally, he tried to pick up the girl (tiny ballerina now) I was dating while I sat home and watched the Reds. And this was in just one offseason when we both shared the same city, before my episode shipped me home.

I hadn’t thought about having any archnemesis since my diagnosis because I felt like BMD was now the only enemy in my life. But I think that’s a bad way to approach it. BMD is a part of me, and the good and the bad of it are who I am. I can’t have myself as an archnemesis; I’d always win, and that’s no fun. It looks like Jay will just have to do. I’m moving to Chicago, and the offseason is alive and humming in the NFL. I wonder what Jay has up his sleeves this time, because I heard he had a single sister.

Session

JP: I think your taking ownership of bipolar disorder and accepting it as part of you is a great step, and one that many people struggle with.

DT: It’s definitely a difficult step to take, almost as tough as watching Jay Cutler score with Kristin Cavallari. Just when I thought my archnemesis couldn’t be any more deviant, he steals away one of my TV Top Five--

JP: You didn’t hear? They called off the wedding.

DT: Really . . . very, very interesting . . .

JP: I’ve seen that look before. Please try to limit your creepiness towards this poor girl. Oh no wait, wait just one second here. I’m double checking online and I think they just got back together . . . and now off again . . . and now back. .

KEY TERMS:
ABILIFY, NORMALCY, ALCOHOL PROHIBITION, LITHIUM

Submitted on 10/22/10

Green

Last week, a woman said to me those three little words that all single men fear:

“
You’re cut off.”

Yes, my new doc has cut me off from the one thing I thought might provide some sort of normalcy in my life: alcohol. This wasn’t due to my usage (I was pretty good at drinking it) but the fact that there have been instances of instant death when combining too much alcohol with lithium--could’ve known
that
eight months ago. Of course, when I asked how and why, I received the standard BMD medical response:

“
We don’t know.”

And before anyone has to ask, I’m man enough to admit it: yes, I cried when they took it away (sucker punched my ass). I wasn’t upset that I had to quit drinking--well, not cold turkey, but stick to a two-drink maximum--but that once again, something was being taken from me, and no one could tell me exactly why. I felt I had already given up so much in my life, and drinking was the last thing that was familiar to me. I liked being able to have some drinks with my friends and feel close to my old self.

Once I got that out, I felt better and made the wise decision to stop drinking and stay on my lithium (I like breathing a little more than drinking; just a little). I could have explored other medicines that would allow me to drink, but lithium seems to be working right now, and I’m not a big fan of fixing something that’s not broke (hell, I can’t fix something that
is
broke). Adding a new “medicine” to my system is an experience I’d like to limit as much as possible. The next time you see a commercial for the “medicine” Abilify, pay attention to the possible side effects. I was fortunate enough to have a majority of them. The involuntary spasms were wicked as hell.

After three years of what seemed like continuous failure, I feel things are starting to turn a bit. I’ve finally got insurance (I’m killing their bottom line but they have to play nice). My lithium levels are normal. I like my new doc and counselor (kind of a shocker) and my new job. My place is coming together, and I’ll have a new vehicle very soon; the Toyota’s 238K probably isn’t reliable enough for a traveling sales job. If I have to trade some hangovers for all of that, that’s fine by me.

On a lighter note, I used to pride myself on having clever or witty remarks about my Facebook page, purely for my own entertainment. When I moved out to the country, I didn’t have Internet service for the first month or so. This didn’t allow me to keep up with updates on my page, so in honor of the alcohol prohibition put on my life, I dedicated my page to the only girl I can still outdrink: Fisher.

This snake from the plains (a select few will get that) used to constantly barrage me in college with the challenge that every guy rolls his eyes at when he hears it coming from a girl:

“
I can outdrink you!”

Of course I told her
she
drinks like a girl and accepted the challenge, and it was a close contest, I must admit. Up until the early point in the night when I was informed that she was under the ping pong table . . . she drinks like a girl, and so do I now.

Session

JP: I think it’s a good idea to share some symptoms of lithium toxicity with the alcohol discussion going on here. The likelihood of toxicity increases with higher serum lithium levels. Serum lithium levels greater than 1.5 mEq/mL carry a greater risk than lower levels. However, patients sensitive to lithium may exhibit toxic signs at serum levels below 1.5 mEq/mL.

Diarrhea, vomiting, drowsiness, muscular weakness and lack of coordination may be early signs of lithium toxicity, and can occur at lithium levels below 2.0 mEq/mL. At higher levels, giddiness, ataxia, blurred vision, tinnitus and a large output of dilute urine may be seen. Serum lithium levels above 3.0 mEq/mL may produce a complex clinical picture involving multiple organs and organ systems.

Fine hand tremor, polyuria and mild thirst may occur during initial lithium therapy for the acute manic phase, and may persist throughout treatment. Transient mild nausea and general discomfort may also appear during the first few days of lithium administration. By the way, how’s the no-drinking going? I was just wondering with all this lithium toxicity talk going on, ya know?

DT: I’m still here, so I’d say pretty good.

JP: That doesn’t really answer my question, now, does it?

DT: Well, you definitely plagiarized your little speech there so let’s just drop it.

JP: Fair enough.

KEY TERMS:
WIMP, EUCHRE, SON-OF-A-BITCH, CHEATER

Submitted on 10/29/10

Green

I can count the number of times I’ve been in a fight on Stubby’s left hand: 0. That’s not to say I haven’t had my run-ins, tiffs, quarrels, disagreements, confrontations, arguments or push-offs, but that’s about where it ends. I suppose I’ve always figured that I would lose any fight I was in, so why even mess with the whole defeat aspect and avoid the fight altogether? Some say I’m a lover, not a fighter, or they call me a wimp. Maybe it was the scrawny build I had most of my life, maybe it was my fear of failure, maybe it was that I was faster than everyone else, or maybe I wasn’t supposed to fight until now.