Derek Thompson's Blog, page 3

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol. 4 Issue 19

Trippy Manic Flashback February 2008
Ding-Ding-Ding Inbound Train Northbound towards San Franci. . .
Let’s see that’s the 3:30 commuter with all stops to San Fran so that should put me there by five; that’s perfect and gives me time to get some work done. I’ve been seeing the symbols throughout San Jose and Santa Cruz over the past few days but haven’t been able to figure out the code. I’ve only been seeing the subtle differences speckled throughout plain sight that are leading the way towards the answer.
As I find a seat on the train by the window I noticed a nearby church message board:
“Be Careful When You Snap Back”
The train starts and jerks me forward and pulls me back into the spin. I’ve been drawing these connections to random events in my past and the reality around me in the present to time travel in my mind. I’m not sure what’s going on right now but it’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before and it has to be something great. I’ve been challenged to complete a mission and my journey has brought me here but why?
In Denver during my walk there was the federal building I stopped at; took those pics of the American Seal. . .
Mobile Google Search: American Seal

 “The 1782 resolution adopting the seal blazons the image on the reverse as "A pyramid unfinished. In the zenith an eye in a triangle, surrounded by a glory, proper." The pyramid is conventionally shown as consisting of 13 layers to refer to the 13 original states. The adopting resolution provides that it is inscribed on its base with the date MDCCLXXVI (1776) in Roman numerals. Where the top of the pyramid should be, the Eye of Providence watches over it. Two mottos appear: Annuit cœptis signifies that Providence has "approved of (our) undertakings.: Novus ordo seclorum, freely taken from Virgil, is Latin for "a new order of the ages." The reverse has never been cut (as a seal) but appears, for example, on the back of the one-dollar bill.”
The dollar bill, zenith eye in the pyramid, that’s a Masonic symbol. Do I have a dollar bill on me? Yes, what time is it; 4:00.  I’ve got an hour to break the code; I put on my head phones, push play and start working. . .                                                                                                                                             Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,d01roK

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol. 4 Issue 18

I think I might be going a little crazy; even more than what I am now. I have found myself really talking to myself a lot lately. I’m not saying you’re driving down the road and something pops in your mind so you say something quick to yourself talking. I’m not talking about pumping yourself up to go get ask the only woman in the bar that you definitely have no chance with out talk, or cuss out loud when you stub your toe on a corner kind of thing. I’m talking flat out having a conversation with myself.
I mean I’m having arguments with myself on a consistent basis and it tells me one thing; I think the country is starting to get to me. So instead of arguing over political views and Reds games with the imaginary person to my right I’m going to tell a story to you all. To be completely honest the story really has nothing to do with BMD but it will stop me from talking to myself for awhile which has to be good for my mental health.
So it’s the summer before my third year in college (I’m not sure if it’s my junior or sophomore year due to the five year plan) and I’m living on campus with some peeps that would eventually grow on me (well some of them) and enjoying the single life. Prior to this my first two years in college I was what some would call (ok most would) a whipped little bitch; I always felt that was a little harsh though. Any matter the summer of single Derek was going pretty good.
The majority of the time on the weekends I could be found enjoying an adult beverage or keg stands throughout the day to relax. I wasn’t alone (most of the time) and on this particular day Jamin and the second coming of Robert Downey Jr. were partaking in the celebration of me not being pussy whipped (ok I admit it, it was true). I’m not making excuses here but I had been drinking a lot when my youngest brother, Monkey showed up.
Monkey was a starter and played both ways on the line for our high school football’s playoff team and I was a 160lbs (maybe) hurdler so naturally my first thought was:
 “BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD ALLLLLLEEEEEEYYYYY!!!”
In case you didn’t grow up with idiots Blood Alley is a game where one participant stands 10 yards back with the football and tries to get past the defender anyway possible. Everyone except for me at the time thought this was a bad idea but I insisted; I knew I could take him.
It didn’t matter how sweet my moves and jukes were it was like Monkey knew what I was doing. I started out by faking left, juking right and then spinning left only to get de-flip flopped and come to on my back and my buddies laughing hysterically at me in the back yard. I of course blamed the first run on my sandals and take those no traction P.O.S flip flops off and it didn’t help at all. This time I went right and then straight backyards five yards after Monkey’s hit. I decided right then offense wasn’t my thing and switched to defense (Jamin & Rob Jr. really thought this was a bad idea; and they were right). I lasted one run, threw myself at his knees and then didn’t move for ten minutes as everyone laughed. It didn’t have to go the judges, I lost and got my ass kicked by my little brother in doing so.
Wow I must admit it feels good telling that story to other people and not just having another conversation with me; but do you know what the moral of the story is? Nope it’s not about binge drinking (well maybe), or that I need to get out of the country (well sort of) it’s that you really shouldn’t tie-up and leave your little brother to a basketball pole when you’re a kid because he’ll eventually find a way to kick your ass for it later (if I was talking to myself right here I would have laughed at that).
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,d01roK

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 4 Issue 17

When I graduated from Witt I had zero desire to walk, in fact the real reason I did it was for my parents. Not only had my close group of friends graduated a couple years before me but I was in my fifth year and only took 2 classes the entire year (I wasn’t even considered a part-time student). Oh add in on top of all that the fact that I had already received my job at AT&Tizzle in A-Town a month before and you can see how I was checked out and only thinking about southern belles.
While I wasn’t thrilled with the whole walking during graduation tradition there was one at Witt that I had a particular fondness for (it wasn’t not walking on the seal either, I used to break-dance on that thing; probably the reason it took me so long to graduate) and that was streaking. Of course alcohol played a significant role in my streaking but you’ll have that.
While alcohol was the common variable in my streaking there were two different types of the streaking tradition at Witt I’d like to talk about. The first is the involuntary streak and this for me followed a poor performance on the beer pong table. Unfortunately I was off my game and we got skunked on the table with house rules of streaking. Luckily only half the party knew I was streaking and to be a good sport I stopped and gave them all the Heisman pose as I streaked by the front porch.
The second type of streaking involves the Hollow (despite the fact that it sounds like it is, it's not a mythical place in “Lord of the Rings”) and voluntary action (well I have done some things willfully while drunk but involuntary, anyways). The Hollow is usually filled with Frisbees (“That weasel snagged the B!”), girls laying out in shorts and shirts (kind of defeats the point) and not naked people. Well everyone’s got to streak the Hollow before you graduate so of course I decided to do it twice.
The first time was a dark, cold (Costanza understands me on this one), wet, winter night when I stripped down and streaked the Hollow with a number of good friends. As I was sprinting towards the group I thought what better way to cap off my streak than by a Pete Rose slide. It was pretty awesome and I got at least a 20 foot slide before retreating to my clothes; totally satisfied by my streak. The second time was dry, warm (still blaming the coldness though) and a summer night. I thought once again a Pete Rose head first slide would cap off my streak and bring a memorable moment to all those involved.
It was memorable but for other reasons as I recall I hit the ground with a thud and didn’t slide an inch as everyone started cracking up. I pulled myself off the ground and managed my way back to my clothes thinking the whole time:
“Damn, that wasn’t a good idea. That really wasn’t a good idea.”
I had entirely way too high of expectations with my streaking efforts. I figured since my first streak went so well and I nailed the head first slide into the group the second time would be even better. I mean I was running balls to the wall when I belly flopped to a stop in the middle of the Hollow. I’m a victim of my own expectations at times. It’s been true with my BMD in the past as well from the first week after I was diagnosed up until today.
Instead of taking the time to properly recover from my episodes I always jump back in. I have these expectations that I should be achieving as much or doing as well as I was doing before my episode. I base my expectations off my past and what used to be rather than what I can do now and where I need to go. I’m glad one of my problems is that I am too ambitious but if I’m not careful and get ahead of myself and my expectations too much I’ll probably end up showing my ass again and thinking:
"Damn, that wasn't a good idea. That really wasn't a good idea."
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,d01roK

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 4 Issue 16

I got called a douche over this past weekend by a girl; so I got that going for me, which is nice.
I really couldn’t take too much offense to the attacks on my doucheness (not sure that’s a word but I like it) because she was referring to me in my freshman year in high school when she last saw me. But I mean how doesn’t a bowl cut, chicken legs, and the style of a middle school soccer player not scream douche? But all that being said my high school bully also said that my family and me were really nice (in hindsight is that really a compliment because what high school guy wants to be viewed as the nice douchey kid?)
On the subject of being a nice guy though did I ever tell the story when I was arrested? Well short story long I spent a night in the Kenton County Jail in Kentucky where I got to cross off an item off my bucket list. I don’t why but I always did have a bucket list item of going to jail. I didn’t want to commit some serious crime where I could be locked up for sometime but I for some weird reason wanted to experience going to jail (you know something to brag to my future in-laws about).
In case you were wondering it was not good for me, in fact it was pretty bad. I mean I’m not one to bitch but I was the last one in the tank that night which meant I slept by the toilet (you’d think a bunch of drunks in jail wouldn’t piss every five minutes but they did). Somehow I was the only guilty person in jail as well, no one else in there deserved to be which I found rather odd. I won’t go into any more details of my jail experience but I will say I was arrested by a cop on a bicycle so it wasn’t a real good experience from the beginning.
When the jail contacted my mom with the good news of her oldest son’s jailing the woman did say I was a very polite and nice young man (future in-laws will appreciate that). She didn’t mention me being a douche because I’d outgrown that phase of mine sometime the year before. I guess I’m still going through an adjustment period with this BMD for me because I have no problem with being called a douche but if a nurse asks me about my mood swings it hits a nerve.
I had a doc’s appointment earlier this week and after I got to wait for 20 minutes after seeing the doc for the nurse to finish her lunch I got to wait another 30 minutes for her to track down my labs. I should take it easy on her for the whole labs thing because it wasn’t her fault they said they’d fax them over and reassured me twice only not to do it (standard operating procedure). I think I was just frustrated with the time it was taking to simply get my weight (does anyone wanna run through fire and other warrior shit with me to lose some lbs?), my vitals (are they called this because they’re important?), and my recent health history (this is where my patience wore out).
I was really trying to be nice to this nurse because she had a ton of religious scripture and and other items about her office so I knew her heart was in the right place but I think that’s about it.  She couldn’t find my labs for my blood work which meant I was going to have to get it done again and I suck with needles. Then she was asking me health question after health question that I had already answered with the doc. At this point I was ready to leave 20 minutes ago so when she asked if I had mood swings I replied with a smart ass remark (shocker I know):
“Well I am human aren’t I?”
I do hate that question but I definitely didn’t need to be an ass to the nurse. I have noticed that I become a little snippy and short with people at times. I’m not sure if it’s my BMD or the frustration of everything or the anxiety of wanting to get on with my life but I need to work on being nicer or I might turn back into a douche (that is if I'm not already there).
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,d01roK

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 4 Issue 15

It’s been a couple weeks since I posted and it really feels like we are starting to drift apart and I want to apologize for that. To regain that trust that we had of me spilling my guts to you as you laugh at the inconvenience and disappointment that at times is my life I’m going to try and tell you a few funny stories from the past week.
First off yes I really did like the First Lady Dresses exhibit in DC and I don’t care what anyone says; but that yellow jacket that Nancy Reagan sported is even pretty hideous in person (does that display her lack of style or validate my nickname of Gay Derek in college?). Secondly women if you get into every museum free that’s basically in DC then don’t bitch about Diet Coke prices. I know they’re expensive but seriously you just saw the original flag flown with the battle scars still on it that inspired our National Anthem, let’s keep things in perspective.
My last story has to begin with the cover art that my publisher put together as an option for “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” so check it out:


I must admit I’m not one that really gets into or understands art. All I really know is that I like something that is unique. By that I mean art that gives someone a different perspective whenever they look at it. I like art that allows people to see different things and experience it in their own way; something unlike anything else. Kind of like my cover up there only when I look at that cover I only see one thing; stigma.
Last week I attended Ohio’s NAMI state conference and other than trying not to totally drop the ball and be funny when signing my books (not very successful by the way) I listened to the Keynote Speaker. The topic of the conference was the “Elephant in the Room” and it focused on the discrimination, stereotypes, and stigma’s associated with mental health. Patrick Kennedy (who credited none of his political career to his last name; or was it mainly all of it?) had personal experience with stigmas and the like and touched on a number of issues that could be resolved and even discussed the role of our Vets in the fight.
For some reason in my day to day fight even when I experience stereotypes or stigmas it never really bothers me. I’m not sure if I purely see it as an ignorant comment that the person has no idea they’re doing or if I have bigger problems to worry about. As of late I’ve started to see the light at the end of the tunnel and am feeling anxious to get back to a life not completely filled with worry about my health. Now it seems at times I can lose my patience and become irritable with having to wait around and “kill time”.  It’s at these times that I try to focus on the stigmas and stereotypes that I never used to have time for.
I mean look at that cover; I sent over a page description of my book and they “creatively” came up with that. For shit’s sakes look at the sun’s eyes (never mind I’ve never seen the sun without sunglasses, I mean it is the sun) I have no idea how that represents bipolar disorder. Now just like with art I know people can have different perspectives with mental health and I can respect that. However I’ll be honest I really don’t like the way most people are looking at bipolar disorder and I’m planning on changing that (yeah, that shouldn’t take any time at all).
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,d01roK

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 14

Fate

I met the Devil once when I was 26 and once again at the age of 28
And as much as I had changed in those 2 years he had stayed all the same
He liked to speak of a prophecy involving a journey that would reveal my fate
Lucifer liked to whisper to me my future in hopes of my soul he could take

Beelzebub is a tricky son of a bitch that plays with faith to get his way
His game hides as madness inside your head guiding your journey from day to day
Delusions, hallucinations, and psychosis were all part the game I had to play
Convincing me my fate was always before me but that only he knows the way

At first I foolishly tried to fight the prince of darkness but it was all to no avail
He had already planted his deceptive seed in my mind that my mission can't fail
My journey of enlightenment was only his devilish way to play with my fate
I never was in search of the light; it was all rather a psychotic mental state

The fallen angel was all along really only out to blacken my heart and corrupt my soul
The journey was to play with my beliefs, manipulate my faith, and try to steal my soul
He wanted to strip away my reality so he could expose the weakness of my soul
His evil game of psychosis in my mind was only the means to the end of my soul

I never really believed in fate, in a plan, in something bigger than me
I looked at the world through naive eyes at any perspective but truly
But Lucifer's game of fate did reveal my mission and he has changed my beliefs
Because what Satan's journey of fate really showed me; was his home and where he sleeps...

 

 Coming Correct,
 d01roK

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 4 Issue 13

It’s Friday the 13th and this is my 13th issue this year which only means there’s some bad luck in the air. I think I’m good on my end with experiencing any kind of negative consequences due to the psychotic effin’ manic episodes I’ve endured. However I’m afraid to say one such young lady isn’t quite as lucky (and no I haven’t started dating someone if that’s what you’re thinking; it is a valid assumption though). Why is it her unlucky day? Well because one week from today she’s going to get served in our nation’s capital.

I’ll be in Washington D.C. next week which also means I won’t be writing a post so the bad luck continues for everyone else sans me. I haven’t been to our nation’s capital since I was in the seventh grade and still wearing soccer t-shirts and Umbros to school (the ladies just loved my checkered multi-color Umbros). To be honest while there I really didn’t learn/pay attention/appreciate/really care at all about anything other than sneaking peaks at the girls in hope of seeing a bra strap.

I mean sure we visited 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and other than being another example of Wesley Snipes solid performances as a badass (I don’t think he can play anything else and yes I do consider him as “Noxeema Jackson” in “To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything!” as badass). Staying with the Hollywood theme I also couldn’t tell you if there’s a man in the bushes or not; red team go, red team go! (Example of Jon Stewart being a badass in a movie.) This is really sad because I honestly can’t remember what else we did (“Do, do, dooo: marijuana affects the memory”) but I did see 5 solid bra straps that for some reason I still think about today.

Anyways I was obviously way too consumed by girls my first time to D.C. so I’ve decided to venture back next week. I really can’t wait to see the new dispensaries; so marijuana is a schedule one narcotic in the eyes of the Feds but you can buy it in our nation’s capital (God Bless America). Nah I’m just joshing with you, I’m going to spend the majority of my time trying to prove the Freemasons are instituting a New World Order by revealing the conspiracies surrounding the role they play in the government. That’s a lie too, I’m just going to act like a tourist; oh and dance.

Yep I’m also planning a dance off with the second best dancer in the club (we’ll call her Silver Medalist). Silver Medalist was actually living in Denver when I had my first episode. She was one of the lucky few who had the pleasure of admitting me into the hospital (there went her Thursday night). Before all that madness and what not we use to have a friendly competition on who can dominate the dance floor. She really had no chance; see crazy people really don’t give a shit what others think so we go all out on the floor.

I think if this would have been just a year ago I not only would have been pumped about defending my dance title with Silver Medalist but also of finding out more about Denver. There for awhile I wondered what others had experienced when I was manic. Seeing how my memory of that time is piss poor at best I was counting on my friends to fill in the blanks. But to be honest now I don’t really care. I’m not going to bring it up either unless she wants to talk about it. For some reason it doesn’t seem to be that big of deal to me anymore; maybe I’m looking to the future more. I know I am in regards to next week’s D.C. dance off though, that's because like I told the Silver Medalist a couple days ago:

“What? You think I just sit around the country writing books? All I do is dance!”

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!



Coming Correct,
d01roK

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 4 Issue 12

I took a deep breath and tried to relax but other than being completely uncomfortable in my first STD test (don’t hate because I’m responsible) there was something familiar about my facilitator. To be clear I’m still not sure if he was a facilitator, nurse, doctor, specialist or what because like I said I’ve never had a STD test before this so I was basically learning on the go. At any rate this guy was about to invade my personal space to the utmost extreme and I couldn’t get over the familiarity with the soon to be violator before me.

While this uncomfortable situation I’ve been describing happened years ago when I was in college the face of that man never really left me (it wasn’t haunting me but it wasn’t real nice either). My suspicions were validated the last time Cuzin Art visited Ohio and I picked him up at his parents. While inside I was perusing the pictures because I figure if someone took the time to pick them out, frame them and put them out I can at least look at them. That’s when I saw his face and the whole uncomfortable situation came rushing back to me. I asked Cuzin Art:
“This guy looks familiar, where does he work?”

Cuzin Art replied:
“Oh that’s (Radio Edit) and he used to work at the county health department before he retired.”

To which my only response was:
“I’m pretty sure he’s seen my wiener.”

Without hesitation Cuzin Art answered:
“I’m pretty sure he’s seen a lot of people’s wieners.”

We both laughed and went on with our day leaving the subject at rest. Since I believe our relationship has developed to the point where I can share sensitive subjects like this with you I should also give you full disclosure. The story above was not the only time I had a STD scare (BTW I was clean the first time but that two week waiting period to get the results was miserable) and the second time was much worse; I was in a psych ward for it.

During my second episode I was more than a little convinced that I had started the apocalypse and everyone was going to burn from the sun being too close or something sane sounding like that. Once I was admitted to the ward (Southside!) I started to notice these tiny red like blisters in a very concerning area. Being completely manic I decided to drop trow right in front of my doc and his assistant (who would later be my personal contact in the study I participated in for ten straight weeks; that was a little weird) and ask what was going on down there. I was convinced it was a direct result of me ending mankind or my punishment for what I had done. Nope, he said I had lice.

Now for the next few days I was in the ward I didn’t really know what he meant by lice so I had to wait till I was released to look it up. Crabs; he thought I had crabs. I was like are you kidding me? Not only did I just have my second manic episode and spent a week in the psych ward I have crabs now? What the fuck?

I ended up heading to a public dermatologist at the hospital that was referred to me because my life is somehow less important than someone else who doesn’t have a pre-existing condition. While there I explained to the fresh out of medical school doctor that I was diagnosed with crabs but I’m not sure how considering my month had been filled with psychosis and my sexual activity was less than non-existent. She decided to take a look so I drop trow once again and after a long enough examination to cause me some extreme concern; my day got worse. The doc leaves to get another opinion (I’m thinking that can’t be good; and I was right). Instead two more women returned with my doc and after a lengthy examination and discussion I wasn’t diagnosed with Lice (or crabs if you want to be a dick about it) and instead needed some medicine to clear up the issue.

It was more than a relief because if I would have gotten my first STD from the psych ward without having sex I’m pretty sure it would have crushed my self confidence at that point. Instead now I just have to explain the red blemishes aren’t lice (or crabs if you want to be a dick about it) if I ever drop trow again in front of an unsuspecting doc. But after getting through this winter and now into spring without any manic episodes; hopefully I’ll never have to again.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!



Coming Correct,
d01roK