Well, here I am. It’s 6.00 am Sunday morning and I still Haven’t written the blog I’d intended to write on Friday. I’ve been procrastinating, spring cleaning, smoking, doing anything except writing. I feel like a bit of a fake. Over the past few weeks I’ve been teaching a writing class and urging new writers just to jump in and splash words around. But here I stand on the writing shore to scared to dip my feet in. When I started this blog I intended to post once a week regardless of how I felt. It was a personal challenge I’d set for myself. I wasnt’ thinking about an audience, because at the outset I didn’t imagine having one. Writing this blog was going to be pure therapy. It was going to be a way of ordering my racing thoughts and something that would exercise my writing muscles.
Much to my surprise along the way I’ve been blessed with a group of readers who cheer me on. You’ve stuck with me during the weeks when I was to crook to write. You’ve rode on trams and trains with me. Listened with your hearts when I’ve written about the black dog. And trudged around Sunbury at my side as I’ve stuffed Coles catalogues into letter boxes. The blog that was going to be a solitary activity has become a shared journey. So as I sit here this morning scratching around for something to write I feel the only way to go is to be honest.
Today I don’t have a neat little homily. Over the past week my energy levels have been through the roof. I’ve been rushing around jumping from one job to another. I’ve been feeling invincible. Feeling like life, talking, teaching were the easiest things in the world to do and that I’m doing them with panash. I’ve got to admit to you my friends that maybe I’m a bit manic.
I’ve never admitted that before. I’ve always been prepared to share when I’ve been depressed, but the highs that come with being bi polar I’ve always been reticent to talk about. I’ve always wanted people to think that the guy with the quick one liner is the real me. Fact is when I’m being my funniest I’m not being me at all. When I get manic I find it hard to focus on anything. My mind races like an out of control movie projector. Images flick across the screen of my mind and each dream each leap seems possible.
There I said it. It’s been a good week.It’s been too good a week and it’s time for me at 56 to be mature enough and honest enough to say It’s time to slow down. When I was unwell at christmas my doctor put my antidepressant up. I’m going to see her tomorrow and tell her it’s time to put it back down. In the past I wouldn’t have done that. I would have ridden the high for as long as it lasted. I would have told myself that I am invincible, cool, articulate, sexy. I would have ridden the wave for all it was worth and ignored the fact that eventually it would have spat me out on the beach.
Maybe I’m getting a bit wiser. Maybe I’m just getting a bit more honest with myself. In some ways I’ve seduced myself into believing that I want to be that over-confident bloke, who always knows what to say and how to say it. I’ve wanted to be the guy with endless stamina who fancies himself as a bit of a rock star. But the truth is being that guy wears me out and is always followed to closely by a fall.
But this time I’m not going to tumble up onto the beach. This time I’m just going to be honest. I’m going to take action, ignore the lure of the high and save myself before I fall off the wave.