Confessions of a "Crazy" man...

be forewarned, this post is lengthy.

I’ve been keeping this secret of sorts and it’s been eating me alive. It’s also a great point of personal shame. I’m living with Bipolar Disorder, type 2 to be exact.

The fucked up thing about BP is that there isn’t really a “nice” way to find out you’re afflicted. There’s usually some huge moment in your life where shit just falls off the rails… now that i’ve been diagnosed, I often look back over the past few years and i say “damn, I should’ve known/seen it coming”

Let’s take a trip back in time.

Spring 2011

Spring 2011 was a pretty good time for me. I was dating a woman whom I loved (in fact, i’m still in love with her. Which is probably not good for me. But that’s for another day). We had a small crisis but it made me realize that she was someone whom i could see in my life forever. In fact, I felt so in love that I thought my heart would explode. It was an overwhelming feeling.

The school year ended and I’d found funding for a really cool research project for the summer. I had taken out a student loan also so i had a little bit of disposable income. Life was good. One day at the end of June my advisor emails me saying we need to talk. We meet and he informs me that I’m being effectively dismissed from my PhD program. I felt like a kangaroo had kicked me in my gut. I was crushed. I went back home and told my girlfriend, she was her supportive and optimistic self and said that everything would be alright. I had my doubts.

The school year starts and I’m in a frenzy to find a job for after graduation (they allowed me to stay for a year to find a job). And every day my stress level grew higher and higher. It was too the point where it was causing me physical pain. I couldn’t sleep at night, the nightmares were rampant. I was afraid of what would await me every time i closed my eyes. My solution, as it had been many times in the past, was alcohol. Johnny Walker Black to be specific (an uppity alcoholic, the nerve!) I would buy it by the handle and drink until i passed out every night.

My girlfriend tried to be supportive but I don’t think she truly understood the depths of my sadness. She was trying to encourage me but it just didn’t work. The more i saw her the more I felt like a failure. I wanted to build a life with her but with no job, i felt worthless. I was a man without a plan, aka a piece of shit, in my mind.

Subconsciously (or consciously?) I started to push her away. It seemed like all of our talks about the future turned into arguments. I felt like I was purposely trying to say things to make her break up with me. I just wanted her away from me. She wasn’t the cause of my problems; but I felt like the ship was sinking and I didn’t want to take her down with me. So one day I called her over and said those fateful words: “I’m not in love with you anymore”. She cried, and it hurt me, deep. But all i could think was “at least she’s free from me”. I felt some sort of relief, I was the only man left on this sinking ship.

Then it happened…a fellow classmate in my PhD program committed suicide. I was at Cornell University, suicide was almost “regular”. But this made me realize the path that I was on. Suicide had crossed my mind almost daily at this point. So I decided that the following semester I was going to get help.

Right before Christmas break I went out drinking with my frat brothers (yes I was 26 hanging out with undergrads). I was feeling good. I don’t know if i’d say i was “happy” but i definitely felt like taking some risks. I decided that night to smoke some hashish that some White chick had. I’d never been so high in my life. The high feeling overwhelmed me and I started to panic. I just needed to break free. I decided I would walk home. It was 3am.

I walked across the footbridge above one of the many gorges in Ithaca. This crazy kind of clarity came over me. I asked myself: “What is my life worth? What’s the point of living when everything ends up bad?” I put my foot up on the fence, I was ready. It’s wasn’t so much that I wanted to die, as much as it was I was tired of living. Cornell recently installed these fences on the bridges to keep people from jumping. I’m not sure I would be here if they weren’t there.

Frustrated, I walked home. I was just so angry. I was raging, except all the rage was directed internally. I punched the brick wall of my building until my knuckles bled. I walked into my apartment and destroyed it. Then I saw my friend, my bottle of scotch. I took it to the head. But i knew booze alone probably wouldn’t do the trick. I had some sleeping pills in the bathroom…i filled up my hand with pills, forced them in my mouth, and washed them down with Johnny Walker. I got in my bed fully clothed. I prayed for God to forgive me and I fell asleep.

Obviously, I didn’t die. In fact I woke up the next day feeling great.

I went home to Atlanta for Christmas and had a blast. It was as if i couldn’t feel any better. I was spending money left and right, doing whatever made me happy. It felt like I was chasing a high. But it felt amazing. I hadn’t felt this happy in 6 months.

When I got back to school I went to counseling. They put me on anti-depressants but they didn’t seem to work. All i knew was that I felt empty and alone and I was longing for the woman I loved. I eventually swallowed my pride and asked her to take me back. Eventually she did. My life appeared to be back on track.

A few months later I found out I got into business school. I was ecstatic. I had been sad and stressed leading up to that moment but it was nothing compared to what I had experienced before. Long story short, I went on another binge and spent almost all the money I’d saved up for a move. The shame came again. I broke up with my girlfriend for a second time. We were going to different cities and I felt that she deserved better than me. In fact, I still do. About a week or so later I left for North Carolina.

It got really bad in North Carolina. I had no money and no friends. All i had was time to think and to hate myself. I knew the path down which I was headed. I knew it would be bad. I managed to survive until the school year and I got up the courage to go see a psychiatrist. Initially he put me on some anti-depressants (again). But they really just made me sick. I e-mailed my ex-girlfriend and told her how I felt (I was literally dying without her). She came to visit me and things were on the up-and-up. But then…I started experiencing things i’d never experienced before. One day i was washing dishes and all of a sudden my mind started racing. The easiest way to describe the feeling is those old TVs with the broken v-hold, where the picture just keeps scrolling up and down the screen. Yea, imagine that. But now imagine all the images on the screen are bad thoughts and they’re just flying through your head.

I didn’t think anything of it at first but then it happened to me when I was driving. That was really really scary. It was almost as if i couldn’t see the road or realize that I was driving. All i could “see” were the images running through my mind. When it stopped, i realized I lost 10 minutes of time but I was still operating my vehicle safely. At that point i went back to my shrink and told him what was happening. We talked over the course of some weeks and i realized that it wasn’t the first time the racing thoughts had happened. It usually happened when I was in bed, so i just assumed it was my mind flashing potential dreams or something.

Long story short, I went in to see him and he broke the news to me. “Jeremy, I believe that you are type 2 bipolar”. I almost started crying. He said it so casually, he even had his feet kicked up on his desk! I’m in full panic mode but I’m trying to keep calm. “The good news is that this is something that you can live with. You can still have a normal life” WTF does he mean i can have a normal life?! He just told me I was crazy! He gave me some medication that was supposed to help stabilize my moods as well as help me fall asleep. And at $50/bottle I was praying that it worked.

I was devastated. I didn’t tell anybody for a few days. In fact most of my closest friends don’t even know. Eventually, I reached out to the one person I trusted and whose heart I trusted. If anybody could handle this it was her. It was in fact her kind heart that made me fall in love with her in the first place. I told my “girlfriend” (previously referred to as my ex). Her response was ” So does this mean we can’t have children?”

Her concerns were valid. Her question was a serious one to consider. Kids are really important to her. But no matter what I carry that experience with me. I was looking for words of comfort but instead I received a fearful, albeit honest, reaction. I’ve been living in fear ever since.

I’ve told a few more people since that day. The reactions have been positive. But none of those people are close to me. None of them have to live with me or interact with me daily. None of them were in love with me. Of course it’s easy for them to say “oh that’s fine. I’m glad you shared that with me”. They don’t have to see me if they don’t want. And all of the people, live far away. I’ve told some people who I do see/interact with regularly, and if I were to say they didn’t treat me differently I’d be lying.

But honestly, I’m tired. I’m tired of having to live in fear. I’m tired of being afraid to trust someone. Tired of being afraid to get close to someone. I just don’t care anymore. If you think I’m crazy. So be it. All i can do is manage myself. I realize a mental health issue is too much for some people. Shit, I could be single forever. But no matter what, I will NOT live in fear anymore. Every week I see a professional to help me understand this illness, and every week it gets better. Now I can see when the swings are coming. I can more easily recognize the triggers. And maybe one day I won’t need medicine anymore. But until that day comes. I will continue to live. I will continue to love (even if heartache and heartbreak feels like it’s going to kill me).

So there you have. J-Full is crazy. Judge me if you want. It won’t make it go away.

If you got this far thanks for reading.

J-Full

Temptation...isn't as bad as you'd think

Yep look at this poster. Tyler's cashing in on your Christian Guilt!

Tyler Perry is a genius. Maybe not as it relates to "film" but as it relates to knowing his audience. He releases a movie on Easter weekend because he knows his audience loves the Lord (at least 3 to 4 times a year). Easter is a family holiday and people will be talking about his movie. There will be ones that saw it friday and they'll be talking about it as their kids hunt for easter eggs (aside: I'll never understand how a rabbit started laying eggs, i know there's some pagan history behind it but it's still dumb). And the other folks who didn't see the movie will hear about how great the movie is and go to see it. I wouldn't be surprised if his movie did at least $20M opening weekend. I'm sure it cost him less than $10M to make. He's Lionsgate's cash cow.  For all his faults, Tyler Perry knows how to cash in on his audience!

But there's the part of Tyler Perry many of us find problematic, the actual movies.  I'll admit, i'm not a film critic and I also like tons of terrible movies. That being said, I absolutely abhor all Tyler Perry movies with Madea. That character just works my very last nerve. Nonetheless, I try to see all of his movies that don't have Madea.  They're generally okay and the audience commentary is probably the best part. So if you go to see a Tyler Perry movie, for maximum enjoyment, go to see it in the "Black" part of town. Yes there will be talking all throughout the movie but trust me, it will absolutely be worth it. (There will also be a lot of "Amens" whenever TP does his Christian Guilt thing)

On to the review...

The Plot:

If you couldn't figure it out from the title the movie is about infidelity in marriage. Jurnee Smollett-Bell and Lance Gross are married country bumpkins in a big city (D.C.) and yea it's what you would expect from that set up. The plot is the bastard child of I Think I Love my Wife, Sparkle, and Family That Preys (or whatever TP movie that was when Sanaa Lathan got with that no good white man).  There were times when the plot was absolutely predictable; but Tyler threw in a couple of twists to ensure he can get $10 of your Tithe money when the new joint drops. There wasn't that moment where the main character walks into church at the apex of struggle and gets delivered by a light-skinned man. But, there was plenty of Jesus talk. It wasn't "beat you over the head Jehovah's Witness knocking on your door" kinda badgering, but it was definitely present. Again, Tyler knows his audience.  But that wasn't enough to turn me off to the movie. For all the moments where I normally would've been annoyed by the plot the audience commentary definitely made up for them.

The Casting:

Jurnee Smollett-Bell was perfect for this role. She definitely has that subtle beauty that you would find in a country girl who's never been anywhere. Tyler did manage to sex her up a little bit at certain points which made me realize she is really petite! Svelte to the max! She's definitely built for the long-haul, kudos to her husband. That frame will hold up even after she's had a few kids. Overall I was glad to see her in a different light, though I'm kinda tired of her playing a country girl. Jurnee did her thing but I couldn't help thinking "Didn't Carmen Ejogo just play this character in Sparkle?"

Lance Gross proved to me that he's the same guy in EVERY movie. And he's not really that great at acting. He does what he does best: look handsome on screen and flash that smile. Of course there was the mandatory "let me show this ripped black man shirtless" shot that you come to expect from Tyler Perry. I instantly felt like I should've gotten on the floor and did some pushups and crunches. Those old women in the theater were thirstin' for him. There was even an "Amen" when he got out the shower. But Lance Gross on screen is that guy you hope your daughter brings home. You just see him and thing "awww poor fella, he's such a good guy".  In fact, the scenes where he was angry were so not-believable, I chuckled. But hey Lance, you found your niche. Stack them checks black man, stack them checks!  Lastly, Tyler Perry has got to fire his makeup people because those hair pieces were God-awful!

Robbie Jones was a guy I'd never heard of before. I thought he was african because of his strong facial features. His acting was dirty mackin' supreme. I thought he played his role well. The moments that I hated I won't blame on him. I'll blame it on the script. Some of those lines were downright cheesy. But he had the dirty mack playbook memorized. And of course he took off his shirt at which point i vowed to never eat fast food again. Yes i'm insecure, fight me.

Kim Kardashian was largely forgettable. She was typecast for her role and she managed to not sound like she was reading flashcards. Kudos to her. I realized that I never really heard her speaking voice before; that was an experience. She had on a Herve Leger dress that made me say "Good googly moogly!". That playboy spread was turrible *Charles Barkley Voice* but she looks fantastic in clothes!  The whole time i kept thinking "She's gonna turn poor Jurnee out". She played her part and was serviceable.

Brandy and Vanessa A. Williams both got on my nerves. Vanessa Williams was supposed to play this fake negro-french matchmaker. The whole time I kept wanting to tell her to shut up. And Brandy's character just made me wonder "Was she this terrible at acting on Moesha?". Their characters were just a nuisance to me but Tyler knows what he needs to do to get butts in the theater (see Kardashian, Kim).  But no matter how much I disliked their characters they were better than 98% of the actors in Red Hook Summer


Should you go see it? 

If you have a few bucks laying around and an afternoon free, i'd definitely hit up the matinee. I wouldn't pay primetime price for this movie unless your significant other insists and you at least want to cuddle at night's end.  The movie isn't hateable and the plot twists will make you not regret your purchase completely. You will, however, regret paying for those expensive ass concessions; so make sure you go with somebody who carries a big purse

...on fear and binge drinking

buckle in...this is a long one

I rolled over this morning and blew into my breathalyzer... .34! This thing must be broken. According to all the stupid alcohol seminars I've endured over the years, I'm pretty sure that if I'm at .34 after 8 hours of sleep, I pretty much died last night. Except that I didn't. I remember driving home. Yes I was probably over the legal limit, no i was not too impaired to operate my car. I definitely don't play that. I was fully lucid. In fact I had only 3 beers and a whisky cider in a teacup. Hardly enough to get a veteran like myself drunk. But this is where shit gets hairy. I don't remember a single thing after arriving home. I distinctly remember driving home. I even remember the songs I listened to and how fast I drove (47 in a 45). But aside from opening my front door I don't remember shit.  In fact, I was lying in bed fully clothed. The only thing I didn't have on was my peacoat, which I didn't wear because it was a relatively warm night. I remember getting out of the car and then remembering to get my coat, while thinking "Jeremy you always forget your coat in the car and then it's cold when you have to put it on the next day". This is getting even more bizarre. The only logical conclusion is that somebody must've slipped something in my drink. I spent my night playing darts and chatting up some cute girls, one of whom was a blonde wearing a Herve Leger dress. It's impossible for a woman to not look good in a Herve dress. Don't debate me on this. It's fact. Actually her dress was from Asos; but Herve sounds like I actually know something about designer clothing. There was a group of guys beside me, right beside where my drink was sitting. Maybe they thought it was the chick's drink or whatever. But if my drink was indeed drugged, it was likely to be them. Again, I'm a veteran, I do not wake up with a splitting headache after 3 beers and a damn whiskey. I call that a pregame, a weak pregame at that. 

But this post isn't about what I did with my Saturday night. Nobody gives a shit about that. It's about a much larger issue. Binge alcoholism. 

I have an irrational fear of strangers. When I'm in public, I don't speak unless I'm spoken to. Even when I'm with people I know I often just sit off by myself until somebody speaks to me. I think a professional would call it social anxiety or some shit. In fact, I've sought professional help on this issue. I've had a great deal of success; but there's still that fear. I'm not afraid that a stranger will harm me, my fear is far sillier, I'm afraid a stranger won't like me. See I have this thing; I'm a people pleaser. I hate it. I can't stop it. I can't NOT think about what people think of me. They have to like me. That's VERY important to me. Too important even. See it's not that I care about being popular because I really hate attention. In fact, if you've ever watched me respond to a compliment, it's agonizing. Having a toenail fall off, agonizing.  Here's the thing: I don't trust complimenters. Who am I in the grand scheme of the other 6.5 billion other motherfuckers on this planet. Why am I deserving of a compliment? I think a professional would call this low self-esteem. I call it keeping things in perspective. But another reason is because I'm afraid of letting people down. See to me a compliment is an expectation. To me a simple compliment such as "Jeremy you're really smart" says that you expect a certain level of performance from me. Like to get an A in a certain class. If I don't get that A, then I must not be as smart as you thought. See even typing this out makes me realize how silly of a thought process I have. If I could stop it I would. My solution is to set impossibly high standards for myself. If I force myself to live up to that standard then I'll certainly be able to meet whatever expectation people have for me. Now to bring it back to strangers, if I speak to a stranger they expect the conversation to be interesting. If it's not, I’ve let them down. So I only speak if somebody speaks to me, that way the onus to be interesting isn't on me. Yes, I realize it's stupid. Maybe this is two irrational fears...whatever.

But what does this have to do with binge drinking...hold your horses, i'm getting there. 

It's funny that I even drink alcohol at all. Growing up I swore I'd never touch the stuff. My foster parents made it clear that drinking was a sin. My mother is a crack addict, I was born addicted, and alcoholism runs in my family.  These are all things I grew up knowing. I knew I was at risk.  It started with having a wine cooler on New Year's Eve as a kid. I must've been like 10 or something. My caregivers were going out for NYE and they gave me a wine cooler before they left. It tasted like shit but I liked the way it made me feel. For the first time in life I wasn't afraid. I wasn't afraid of getting a beating, of not being perfect, of anything. I just, for lack of a better term, was. But still, that was an isolated incident. I swore I wouldn't touch the stuff for real for real. Until the day I did. Funny thing about my first time drinking hard liquor is that I was a victim of date rape. Not that date rape is funny; I mean funny in the odd sense. How can a man get date raped? I thought the same thing. But if we're being technical that's exactly what happened to me. The young lady told me "I didn't come here for nothing. You gon' get this pussy or are you gonna be a bitch ass nigga".  Even though I was 18 at the time, frankly, I wasn't ready to start having sex. Just wasn't something I felt comfortable with. Plus I was on my way out of my situation. The last thing I wanted to do was accidentally get a chick pregnant and be stuck in Atlanta. But me being the people pleaser that I am. I had sex anyway. It was awful but she expected me to have sex. So that's what I did. Sure in her head she was just a horny teenager. I was a scared teenager. My first 3 sexual encounters all happened like this. Do you see the pattern here?

When I got to college, I got "drunk" for the first time. I was at a house party and I was bored, and afraid. There were so many strangers and I just felt like everybody could see me. In actuality I'm sure everybody was too drunk or too busy dancing to even notice my presence but that's not how it happened in my head. See, I didn't know how to dance. In fact, I'd never been to a party before college.  I felt like everybody was watching me because I didn't know how to dance. I asked the one person i recognized for something to drink. He brought me back some blue punch. Shit was delicious and cold. The next thing I know, that feeling came back. I wasn't afraid. I wasn't hyperaware of what I was doing and how I fit in the situation. I even had the courage to talk to this big-bootied country girl I saw in my dorm earlier. My first attempt at a pickup line was, I shit you not, "Aye shawty! What yo name iz".  I was just a poor nigga from the ghetto at an elite white school, i didn't know any better. Maybe she didn't either because she actually gave me the time of day. But yea, I'm chatting her up and then I'm like “yo I’m bored let's leave”. I was hopin' i was gonna get to see some titties. See, liquor gives you tons of courage! I got ready to get up and damn near split my head open when I lost my balance. Yea that's alcohol's ugly cousin, impairment. This was the beginning of an ugly love affair I've had with binge social drinking. 

Binge drinking is a pretty common part of the collegiate experience. My being in a fraternity certainly didn't help things. But I can't even blame the frat. Truth be told, I hated the fear I felt when I was in a room full of strangers. Occasionally, the liquor would wear off before the night was over, and all of a sudden I'd find myself surrounded by a bunch of faces I didn't recognize. Immediately I'd leave the party, even if that meant walking home at 1am by myself. I just had to get back to my safe space. The crazier thing is that this fear wasn't reserved only for strangers. I've felt that same fear around my closest friends. But my first response was to flee, and if I couldn't, drink. 

As lay in bed this morning, regretting every text message my drunken thumbs sent, I asked myself a serious question: WHY did I drink last night? Surprisingly, it took me 10 years to ask myself this question. The answer was simple, fear. Sure I could make up a gillion other reasons, but at the root of it all was that irrational fear. I was at the bar playing darts, having conversation with a friend but all around us were strangers. I was hyperaware of my surroundings. I couldn't get out of my own head. So what'd I do? Have another beer. Then another, and another. 

I'm not one for resolutions. However, I am a huge fan of setting challenges for myself. I challenge myself to seek counseling for this problem. I don't think the binge drinking is the true problem; it's merely a mechanism I use to cope. I'm sure the root cause of my problems is deep-seated in my subconscious. But I recognize that binge drinking is a dangerous behavior and I certainly don't want to find myself drinking on non-social occasions. Luckily, I still think that alcohol tastes like shit. 

Barack Obama, he is me

We made it in Americaaaa! 

The night of the second presidential debate, friendships almost ended. I was watching the debate with some classmates whom I consider my friends. We study together, drink together, and just have a good time. I’m the oddball of the group in that I’m racially different, socioeconomically different, and what would become painfully apparent this night, politically different.  This isn’t the first time that I’ve had friends with different political views. But something was different this night.

As we watched the debate, the amount of vitriol that my friends spewed at the President of OUR United States was alarming. There was nothing that the president could say that they could agree with. Shit, at the least give him credit for a good response whether it was the one you wanted or not. There were profanities being thrown around in his direction, quips about his intelligence level, and an overall disregard for ANYTHING he’s done in the past 4 years. That’s when I lost it.

I was ready to walk out of that place ready to never talk to those people again. Not because I care THAT much about politics but because I care THAT much about the President. For the first time ever, the President looks like me. That’s a huge fucking deal. If you grew up with the President always looking like you that change from the status quo might be a shock to your system. You might even hate it. But for some of us, it’s the illest shit ever.  And on the night of the second presidential debate, it was very difficult for me to hear my friends’ comments as an attack on Barack Obama, the President, and not Barack Obama, the BLACK President. In my mind I kept wondering, if they think such terrible things of such an accomplished Black man, what on earth do they say about ME when I’m not around? I haven’t accomplished shit in the grand scheme. If one of the most powerful people on the planet is nothing but a “nigger” to you, who the hell am I?  And most of the time people don’t outright say “nigger” but they might as well. The dog-whistling-racism rings loud in my ears. But maybe I’m just sensitive. Maybe I’m the only Black person that takes certain attacks against Barack as a personal attack against me. I’m willing to concede that. I have no problem with people critiquing President Obama’s policies; my problem is when they always seem to revert back to coded language and high-frequency whistling. Why can’t you say “I don’t agree with President Obama’s tax policies because I don’t want to have to pay more taxes one day”. Why must it be “I don’t agree with President Obama’s tax policies, he just wants me to pay for all these lazy people who don’t want to work to get handouts all day”.  Who gets that stereotype of being “lazy”, “unwilling to work” and “wanting handouts”? I’ll give you a clue, it certainly isn’t White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. Do you see what I mean?

 (Aside: In fairness to my friends, maybe there were no racial motivations behind their comments. In the spirit of full disclosure we have since hashed things out and moved on)

See, it’s not that I see President Obama as infallible. I’m sure if I searched hard enough I could find a bunch of things that he’s done that I don’t like or agree with. A recent article in The Guardian  talked about how Blacks support Barack Obama “no matter what”. Even though since he’s taken office we have been much worse off. Except that a lot of people have been worse off. Statistics show that Black people pretty much always get the shit-end of the stick.  So when times get tough, yea, we just get the shittier end.  But if I were to be honest, in my heart I NEED to believe that Barack Obama is a good man, because he is me. I understand that good men have to make tough choices and sometimes the end result isn’t a good one. But I have to believe that at the end of the day, when Barack rests his head on Michelle’s bosom and tells her about his day, his intentions behind his choices were noble.  Maybe that makes me blind to his faults, but that’s something I can acknowledge and that’s something I’m willing to live with.

On election night, when I saw those fateful words flash across the screen “Barack Obama Re-Elected as President of the United States” my heart skipped a beat. We had done it again. His victory was my victory. Despite all the negativity and hatred many tried to throw his way, he was able to overcome. Despite his Americanism and intelligence being questioned constantly, he succeeded. America gave me hope that one day the cards might fall just right and I might just be able to do something great with my life.

Victory sure tasted sweet!