Bipolar, Phobias.... Bipobias?

And, yes, those are just the cutest kittens. (And yes, I just broke the rules by starting a sentence with 'And', Oh well, I'll be waiting here for the literary police.) In the meantime, lets talk a bit about the picture. Yes, they are cute enough individually, but as a picture, well, it speaks for itself. Makes you all sort of warm and cuddly inside. Huh?

But for some folks, it is neither warm, nor particularly fuzzy. For some it is the farthest thing from cutesy! For some, the thought of these fuzzy little guys is enough to send shivers up their spines and set beads of cold sweat on they're foreheads. (Why? Because they are members of the Dairy Commission and I stole they're slogan?) Nope! (At least I hope not.) The particular folks I am referring to are those who have a fear of felines. A Phobia. Known as Felinaphobia, or Eluraphobia, or Gatophobia, and a few other names I can't remember at the moment.

I am paraphrasing the definition of 'Phobia', mainly because in some dictionaries the definitions are quite lengthy, but all boil down to this;

• An irrational fear of something real or imagined.

That pretty much simplifies it. (For those of you who want a more flowery definition, please feel free to paruse on your own) Now the thing is, we aren't just talking aboout a "Eeek! A bug!" reaction when referring to a Phobia. Not at all. This is a much deeper, at times, life changing reaction to something that illicits the most primal reactions within us. Fear. A fear that stops you in your tracks, renders some speechless, causes others to hold they're breath, and drives heart rates through the ceiling.

Getting to it right now.

News Flash:

Bipolars do not have the corner market on Phobias.

Whew, isn't that a relief? Not really. Thing is, everyone has fears. Things they are not fond of, or situations they avoid which may put them in a position of having to do or face something they fear. Some people have phobias, and in many cases, I suppose you could say these fears are Phobias.

The fear of flight, the fear of hieghts, the fear of falling, the fear of fear, and the list goes on from just mundain everyday, logical type fears and phobias to some of the most rediculous and outragous phobias you could imagine. In fact, if you can imagine a fear, or phobia, it probably exists, somewhere, in someones mind. In a normally functioning mind, (Define a normally functioning mind in any way you care too.) fears exist, but seldom to the point of, say, a nervous breakdown.

A normal functioning mind deals with fear in a different way. Some tend to look at the fear as something of a challenge to overcome. Hence the phrase, "Face your fears." All fine and dandy. For those with a fear of falling, we have Bungee Jumping. (Or what I refer to as legal public self wetting in mid air) For those with a fear of hieghts, we have Hot Air Ballooning, (What fun to dangle from a big gas bag),

For a Bipolar, a phobia can completely change they're life style. Take for instance, one who fears going outside. A fear of the out doors is more common than one may think. But I think there is more to the story than some poor Bipolar person waking up one day and:

* POOF *

Agoraphobic.

I think that certain events occur which build up to fears or phobias in Bipolars. (I have said it before, and I will say it again. I am not a professional, and these are my opinions based on personal experience and observations I have made. Food for thought I guess you could say. Hope you don't leave hungry.)

Let me begin by saying, I thankfully, never actually got to the point that I was unable to leave my apartment, but I was heading that way. A chain of completely unrelated events, none particularly memorable to be the key, combined with a slight depression, and a sudden appearence of my old pal, paranoia, began to steer me toward seriously considering becoming a hermit. (No, not the cookie)

Well, it is true. What had been an unfortunate chain of events, which led to the loss of a friend, (a close friend), slowly began to fester inside me. I blamed myself, and eventually ol' paranoid pete had me convinced everyone else out there in the big wide world blamed me too.

Wow! That's alot of weight to carry on your shoulders, you know? Makes you almost not want to get up in the morning, let alone wanting to wake up at all. (Know what I'm saying? If you do, then I guess you have been there before.) Then, if you do get up, then there is all the trouble of dragging something out from under the bed and pulling it onto your already aching body so that you don't scare yourself to death if you walk in front of a mirror.

Speaking of mirrors, you manage to get up enough steam to actually slap one of your feet, (Left or right, your choice. I highly reccomend one or the other, as both at the same time tends to get you back in a horizontal position once again.) in front of the other in a repeated, yet shuffling, motion, allowing you to propel across your room to the bathroom. There, you find yourself staring at the stranger in the reflection of the mirror. (Dust bunnies decorating their hair, obviously off the clothes they too must have retrieved from under the bed)

An hour or so later finds you realizing it is you who is looking back, which brings to mind the reason you are in the bathroom. (Not to shower, thats for sure. The blast of the water would only knock you over anyway.)

Go outside? Get some sun. Maybe take in a lung or two of air? Are you nuts? Out, ............. there? On the other side of the door? Umm. Maybe later. (Right now I am busy formulating reasons that rationalize me never having to open that door again.)

Oh c'mon. You know what I mean. I am developing a Phobia I need to feed, and it perpetually eats. Chomp, chomp chomp. I need to keep throwing in parts of myself to keep it satisfied, untill there is no more to feed on, and it consumes me completly. And this worm is no longer the life leach it once was, but now has become the predator, with me in it's belly. Trapped by my own phobia. If that is what I allow. The fear of ever, venturing out into the world.

The opening of the door invites in the ghosts of why I am sitting with my back against it in the first place.Opening it allows the world to see how I have failed. How I am to blame for all the woes of the world. (Or, at least in some strange logic within my mind, for the woes of those who lay their eyes upon me.) To tell you the truth, to say I feel like dirt would be a significant understatement. The last thing I need is to go out and let everyone confirm it for me. (Besides, my Bipolar self already knows what everyone thinks about me anyway.) At least in here, where I can control the light, the temperature, I can relish in my own misery. In here, I know where I stand. Out there, I cannot control anything. I am at the mercy of all those who I see. The fact I don't know these people means little, for there is the ever slight chance they know what a failure as a friend, as a person I have become. That in some I may be blame for whatever thing makes their life miserable, in some strange round-a-bout way.

You bet. But, I got lucky, and I caught it before it got to the point that it did consume me.

"Did you find a good therapist?" Um, nope. (And no comment)

I kept journals then. And when the things in my small space I could read were expended, (Including Cereal Boxes) I begrudgingly picked them up and read. I saw the writing before my eyes, in my own handwriting, but didn't recognize myself in the words there. It just clicked, and I read from the latest to the earliest to trace back where this mess began. Resolved the base of the problem, and began to heal myself. When I was ready, (Or probably before because I do tend to get pushy at times) I ventured out to find that those who did not know me didn't stare, nor did they whisper as I passed. I was free. This time.

For a Bipolar, it is "this time" that is important. For a Bipolar, it is realizing that anything can trigger a memory, a feeling, an emotion at any time. How you handle it "this time" is what matters, because for us, there will be a lot of "this times". Recognizing and controling is the best to hope for, and realizing and finding your way back is what to strive for. And you can do it if I can.

But now, for the real reason you all tuned in.

Are you ready?

Here we go.

What do Patty Duke, Abbie Hoffman and oh, say, Jonathan Winters have in common?

Bad Hair? Nope.

All have big screen TV's? Um, maybe.

All Bipolar? Yah! Boy can't get anything past you, can I? Till next time, Happy Bipoloring.