Some people will get the title reference right away. One of the ways that people with bipolar disorder try to explain their illness is by referring to Tigger and Eyeore. The manic, bouncy, cheery (though slightly short-tempered) Tiger and the deliberate, melancholic, slow as molasses donkey, both loved in their own right but not always understood. This is the page where I will post essays about my struggle with bipolar disorder type II- the one where I don’t go psychotic but am more likely to try to kill myself (oh, I’m a delight, I tell you). I’m not going to tell you bland new age treatments nor am I going to tell you how wonderful it is to be gifted with such a trial. It fucking sucks, 100% of the time. And believe me when I say this: NO ONE CAN HATE ME MORE THAN I HATE MYSELF. If it’s true when you aren’t bipolar, it a million times more true when you do have it. Mostly, it’s where I’m going to try to explain how my brain works to people I love, because those people are saints and they deserve to have me try and work through my issues and sometimes publicly telling people what an asshole I can be is good therapy. I am also quite aware how whiny, sad, and pathetic I sound in some of these essays. So please don’t add to it by telling me that I am all those things. I know. I know. I really know.
Links to essays are below. Eventually these essays, along with poems and rewritten song list commentary will be edited into book form. Believe me when I say you will hear about it when it’s ready.
Love to you, Oh Messy Ones, always.