Coming Down

Coming Down

“Pass the bong; I’m coming down.” 

Normally a bad development, coming down can also be good, as in coming down from a bad adrenalin rush. When the infamous ban was announced on Saturday, it took about 36 hours for this smoldering knowledge to burst into flames within my lil pea-brain, sometime in the wee hours, Monday morning.

In rapid-fire time, I posted five political pieces, one of them a blog hit-piece on a now-former friend, who annoyed the bejabbers out of me with what I thought of as a callous attitude toward the pain of others. Anytime you have anything bursting into flames, in this case knowledge, there is going to be residual damage.

One key characteristic of bipolar disorder is impulsivity. Weird, I know. When I was first diagnosed, I was in complete and utter denial, classically enough. My brain is smarter than the average bear’s, and I thought that gave me some kind of invincibility over mental issues.

Ha, ha, ha, bless my soul, as if I were really in control, to paraphrase Gnarls Barkley.

Ironically, I called my now-former friend arrogant, after displaying the same trait when confronted with a substantial file of evidence that I had a mood spectrum disorder. My coach, Gluten-Free Mama, had been researching ever since we returned from Ireland, where I had experienced a psychotic episode, which left me quasi-comatose for close to 24 hours.

After consulting other family members, she presented me with some basic facts, all gathered by direct observation. I went through all of the stages of denial before beginning my own research, and reaching the same conclusion she had.

Easy to do on paper-not so much in reality...

One word stands out above all others in my research: trigger. Appropriately named, a “trigger” for someone who is bipolar, means any thought, image, action or emotion which causes-or triggers-an instant reaction. 

For those who follow the path of medication, it keeps these triggers better under control; not so for me, who has chosen not to do meds. As a bipolar II dude, I still have the option, if I can monitor my disorder through therapy.

Most of the time, I am good to go but the emotion that the ban elicited from me, is what the trigger ignited. What’s funny about that explosion the other night, is that it left me almost eerily calm during the ensuing day, as I was hammered with comments from both indignant friends, and now-former friends.  

Is politics worth losing friends over? Unequivocally, not.

However, we are not talking about losing friends over political ideologies, as in Republican Party values versus Democratic Party values. No, we are talking about an attack on the Constitution by a man who is patently unclear on what he can do, and can’t do. I don't want to lose friends, but to remain silent is to side with the oppressor, and I can't do it.

if it means that others who are outspoken in their support for this man, and I, must part ways, then so be it. Nothing personal, you know? If we meet in the aisle at Geiger's, we can nod cordially and move on.

I have expended much energy denigrating trump-as brutally as I possibly can-but it never feels good to me. I do it out of what I consider to be my civic responsibility.

The man provokes instant revulsion from within me.

I do not feel I am fighting for a “cause.” Human rights are not a cause-human rights are the cause. Everything else fits under the umbrella of human rights.

Of course I am frustrated because of the antiquated electoral system, which delivered our country into the hands of not trump, but Steve Bannon. It has now become clear that the entire ban was nothing but a smokescreen for what was really happening. 

While trump was watching a scheduled viewing of “Finding Dory,” Bannon was test-driving his new role as President of the United States.

Because that is what it all boils down to before the saucepan melts.

That’s also what happened to my emotional equilibrium, for a minute or two there, Monday morning, a meltdown that no chocolate could have prevented, no matter how potent. 

I know when I call the President a tater tot, that I am doing to trump supporters, exactly what I hate having done to me, and I know I am not helping matters. And I’m trying. Now. But I wasn’t trying the other morning. I was detonating bridges with C-4 instead of just burning them. 

I cannot use my disability as an excuse, because whining’s not in style, if I were even able to recognize my own irrational behavior in the first place. It’s the old Catch-22. If I’m crazy and don’t know it, I am fine. It’s when I recognize that I am crazy, that confuses matters.

That being said, someone who is independent from the picture, someone who has not seen me since she was in high school, back in the nineties, could make an informed comment, should she choose.

Her comment would be based on the fact that she is a psyche nurse, and additionally, from what she had read on my blog about my mental issues. Seeing me suddenly erupt on face/book, immediately made her think that I was responding to the classic “trigger,” in this case, the ban. She commented on my post, accordingly.

The instant I saw the word “trigger” in print, I felt grounded for the first time in weeks. I realized that every meme I saw, either gloating or justifying a favorable political view of trump, was triggering an emotional response inside me, that had been building for an explosion, big enough to obliterate any proposed wall out of existence.

Having identified the trigger, I now feel I have a better grip on my ability to respond rationally in the future, when I encounter pro-trump memes.

btw, I’m sorry for the “Not MY president-Not my tater-tot” posts from this morning. It will indubitably stop. FOR SURE. I’m convinced. Right now. I know that for a FACT.

One of those “alternative facts,” that are the new rage.