One of my friends said in disbelief: since this diagnosis it’s like this illness took over you! You used to be so positive and energetic, and now you’re depressed and sad! What the hell is going on?
It’s not like that at all.
I first felt depressed in 2004, and my depression had highs and lows all the time — what I would now call ultra-ultra-rapid cycling. Two hours of wanting nothing but death. Two hours of accomplishing things. Two hours of wanting nothing but death. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Try to kill yourself. Realise perhaps once things got so far, you might actually speak to a doctor FIRST. Get “cured” in 2006. Spend five years without medication.
But now that I look back at the last years, I can see long cycles of hypomania and mixed states/depression happening. Things that I thought were normal, but now that I know about bipolar disorder, they look a bit less normal.
My sudden infatuation with Jesus Christ in 2005. I thought Jesus was awesome, a beautiful long-haired bearded man with a message of peace, someone between a hippie and a very good person. In fact, a bit like me. In other news, I am and have always been an atheist. Well, always except those few months when I was suddenly totally into Jesus. Never happened before and never happened after. (Instead, I discovered neopaganism.)
My purchase of electric guitar, with full conviction I would become a guitar pro. Guitar gathering a layer of dust so thick you’d think it’s a tennis racket. My purchase of a USB DJ set, with full conviction I would become a laptop DJ. USB DJ set gathering a layer of dust. My sudden purchase of motorbike leather pants. Motorbike leather pants… you see the pattern. (I learned by now that if I have this sort of ideas, it is good to wait a few days before committing to them fully.)
Long hair. Mohawk. Buzz cut. Semi-long hair. Mohawk. Blonde hair. Black hair. Red hair. Ginger hair. Silver hair. (Very short-lived, it made me look 70.) Blonde streaks.
Not much of libido, one semi-interested encounter per week. Libido shooting through the roof, hunting for sex daily. Repeat both phases every now and then.
Being shy, withdrawn and terrified to be spoken to. Being a soul of the party and talking to everyone.
Sitting in my corner of the bar hoping nobody will notice me. Walking around and hitting on four different guys, getting them all to undress, starting to have sex in the middle of the bar with three of them.
Two-year creative break where I didn’t make any music, did a bit of writing. Followed by a creative spell in which I wrote 30 songs, made remixes, wrote half of a book (which I then got bored of), half of another book (which I also got bored of), had an idea for a book of short stories (subsequently abandoned), put out two albums (then decided to give up singing).
This sounds stable, right?