Motivation

Comments/Correspondence to:
sunfoof
(C) MMIV

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I think that one of the toughest challenges facing me, as a bipolar, is motivation. Knowing what it is I need to do is not so much the problem. The problem surfaces in the transition from knowing such things to actually doing them. I can listen to - and do, in fact - listen to the timeless liturgy of a famous shoemaker to, "Just do it!" I would, if I could, more often but something in me stops myself before I even reach for the door. Meantime, opportunity gets bloody knuckles from trying to get my self out in the hall. Other "helpful" phrases like, "The world is your oyster," and so on, frustrate me because the little voice in my head effectively counters that not all oysters actually produce pearls. I recognize that by not trying any of the oysters I will never find my pearl, but that damned little voice is real effective at slicing a good gash or two in my sails to let the wind out.

I don't think that I can actually attribute all of this to the disease, I realize that. But I do think that some of the synaptic disruption inherent in my mind exacerbates my natural reluction and reticence. There are some days that I pine for the warming confidence of the manic state. It is such a decent feeling, knowing that no one in Creation can sway me from my goals, as disturbed as they might be. Medicated, I also recognize that in-bred danger of the manic state, as noted - some of the goals are much less than self-promoting, though usually no less self-serving. I actively choose the safety of the medicated state of mind because of the actual things I can accomplish. For example, if I had had this idea for blogging my bipolar disorder, while high on mania, I would likely never actually begun it. Or if I had, I would have gotten so engrossed in the minutiae of its design that very little content would have arisen.

Instead, in doing so - medicated, I have at least begun putting real content into the cargo of this blog. I can imagine that, for the most part, this content will be fairly literate and directed, even as relatively chain-of-thought as it already is. It is tempting, though, to de-medicate for short "spells" to try and include some of the more esoteric states of mind that I have realized before. The reason I am not willing to de-medicate is that I don't wish to actually endanger my overall enduring sanity. I have pacted with myself that a third hospitalization is like my third strike. I'm out, then. Whatever that means. I guess, though, that I should also consider that I will get a chance at three more "strikes" next time I take the plate. The hardest part about all that analogy is the part where I take the field. If I don't make the outs, the scores just keep rolling and rolling. That's the hard part to endure.

Being at the plate is an actual embodiment of the definition of "life." I just feel so alive it's incredible. No real need for drugs at all because they couldn't touch the chemical forays my mind is producing, anyway. Stimuli are pronounced with such clarity that I feel limned with just a little part of God's vision. It seems that food tastes better (when I feel like eating), and that sex feels better (and I'm randy 24/7); it even feels like I can differentiate between the various particles dancing with the molecules in water. Nothing in the world equals the experience of the manic state. Except, perhaps, free-falling in a skydive (which I've been feeling the need to do again someday soon).

Then, if I'm "fortunate," as I have been, I get caught and re-tethered to the common struggles of reality by loved ones and family. Kicking and screaming, I plummet back to the stadium to take the field. Then it's run, run, run to make the outs while the flame inside me subsides. Funny thing is that, without the flame, the biggest, non-specific motivator available to me is put on a shelf and locked away in the oubliette of a chemical closet that everyone around me hopes will never be opened again. As the bard said (I think), "Therein lies the rub."

I think that's about all the blood I can squeeze out of my rock today. Thanks for reading. Namaste.

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To live is to wonder.
To wonder is to live.
sds