Sunday, 12 August 2007

Write what you know.

Isn't that what they always tell you? 'Write what you know.' Some writer said that. I must look it up one of these days; it's something I've been perversely resisting the urge to do... Like putting off a good bottle of dry red wine for that one day when you cut the foil, pull the cork, let is breathe, and serve at room temperature. Once I get around to looking it up, I will be ready to know. My world will make sense in some small way.

Someone else who wasn't as famous said: 'Letting it all hang out is exactly as appetising as it sounds.' I agree with the sentiment, which was intimated in reaction to all those weird Americans 'sharing themselves' on Oprah and Ricky Lake. I must say that there is a certain difference, however, between an inbred Redneck achieving self-expression and enlightenment by hitting someone with a chair on Jerry Springer, and Van Gogh achieving transcendence by sharing his feelings as he did.

Whether by violence or art, you need to just let out all the pain and rage at all the crap that's been bothering you. Everything that's been messing you up, messing you around. Sooner or later all of us have to find an outlet for all the disappointment and frustration at eveything that's gone in our lives since that great time when we looked at a world full of opportunity and believed we could make something of this life.

Yes, dear reader, once I was an idealist.

I once believed that there was a deeper meaning to life, that the world makes sense, that I could Make A Difference. I felt that the world needed me, and my hook or by crook it had better be ready for Arno Breedt because here he comes. Meh. What still gets me from time to time is the total arbitrarity (is there such a word? Must look it up) of the world around us. When you're 18 and horny as hell (but I repeat myself) you aren't ready to stare into the void which is the world. You have Expectations. Dreams. Good Intentions. Condoms.

Then life happened. Which is what brings me to a point in this blog post.

My blog will be a glimpse on the life of two lovely, friendly, sometimes weird people. They both have mental disorders. Deal with it.

After a great saga and many quests to and from the offices and domains of the denizens of Psychiatry and the various iterations of that great Profession, my wife was diagnosed with Type II Bipolar disorder. The news, when I heard it, was a bit of a mixed bag. On the one hand, there's a sense of unreality... like that type of disorder is something you'd only read about in the Medical section of the Reader's Digest.

On the other hand, there is also an element of relief that there is finally a handle on a problem here. Some way to explain the sudden mood swings, weird irrational episodes, extreme depression, why I get thrown with stuff sometimes, and so on. Some reason to believe that it isn't my fault, that I'm not causing this person to become angry with me and throwing stuff at me. Or through some inattention or inaction on my part causing her to become depressed and feel unloved and hopeless enough to want to kill herself.

There is a reason why I might feel like it's my fault. It's because I am very often thoughtless, rude, and insensitive. It's because I'm autistic.

I will now pause for gasps of shock, not that I expect many.

I will not insult the reader by repeating a whole litany of 'symptoms' leading to my diagnosis. Read up about it. Get to know me. That's the only way to know someone. My average reader is intelligent enough to use Google and do further research if they are interested. I will, however, be providing some links as a way to get started.

That is what you could expect from my blog. A sometimes funny, sometimes angry, mostly cathartic and always brutally honest look at life in a house with two mental people and four well-adjusted cats. I won't aspire to telling the Truth, as that is a slippery fish and a very subjective thing. It might not be Art or Literature, but it will definitely range somewhere between Prose and Poetry.

As some other famous and probably dead person said: 'Prose can be defined as "words in the best order". Poetry can be defined as "the best words in the best order".' So there.

Oh, and some technical content may slip in from time to time. We're both geeks, so we tend to giggle over quotes and lame puns, drool over technology and discuss IRC as if it somehow has a meaning in the real world.

Some links for further reading:

Asperger Syndrome:

Bipolar Disorder:

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