The Measure of a Man

Often it will occur to me how during the course of a day, many days, perhaps all of them— at some point I will experience the sublime, feeling exultant and Divine, and at another point I may be so despondent that I start running that old guillotine fantasy again. It’s such a familiar part of life for me, I guess— well, I can’t really say I’m unaffected by it because I am very affected by it. I can say that I recognize it as “normal” for me, which is a funny word for someone like me to use. I don’t need life to be this way. I don’t necessarily want it to be that way. I can, almost as an outsider, watch how different things (a friend not returning my text right away for example) can affect me. I don’t really participate in DSM-V diagnostic methods as I consider most of them to be very problematic. (Incidentally I’ve worked in the field and I understand the “necessity” of them and have heard all the arguments so save your ink.) All that being said, if I were to peer into the DSM to see what it has to say about the phenomenon I just described, I would say that I am what the kids call “bipolar” these days— the only problem is, my cycles last minutes, maybe hours not weeks.

I’m not bipolar. I’m an artist. So fuck off.

Love you.

See y’all tomorrow.