Winter is coming....

Well actually, it is here. My most hated season. Apologies for June, it just slipped me by. I have been a very busy little vegemite since that last soppy post about not Mother's Day. There have been some up's and downs. Wise old wizards and young dogs with old tricks. Not to mention, the constant urge to bang my head against the sign on the back of the door at work which says 'bang head here' (the youth worker is a genius).

Through the months of May and June, I came to realise why my head shrinker was so keen on me getting a job last year. Between work, camping trips and all round activity, I barely got a chance to scratch my arse let alone think about the whole bipolar thing. Turns out sometimes what shrinks say is not complete and utter bullshit.

Problem being, when life gets busy you tend to loose your mindfulness. By the time I had beavered my way through my hectic May/June schedule, it turned out I was a little down and hadn't even noticed. Apparently being busy is great for your mental health. That is of course, until the busy dries up and you are left sleeping for 14 hours a day, eating far too much junk food and being generally miserable.

I learn the most from falling. The other day I had two such falls and learnt two important lessons. Number one, do not attempt to drive to work before fully removing that cursed winter frost from your windscreen. Number two, there are 10mm in a cm not 100 and if you try to tell one of your students otherwise, it may take a while to recover. Kids can be so cruel. Still, I will never make either mistake again. The first being outright dangerous and the second just plain stupid.

In the same way, I learnt from having such a plate full for those few months. The lesson is that no matter how busy I get, I still need to find the time to be mindful of my mood. It may not sound like much to those of you that aren't 'mentally interesting' but when you are prone to extreme mood states, knowing where ones head is at becomes pretty important.

Winter is my most hated season. Especially in this miserable little backwater. I am too uncoordinated for all those cool winter type things like snowboarding, ice skating and making snow angels. I am also kind of grossed out by the steam that comes off the ground when you go out for a whiz in sub zero. Fortunately, the days have started getting longer and the apparently dangerous morning frost on my windscreen is getting thinner. Bring on the Spring I say and may it be a very long Summer.

Sadly I cannot bore you any more for I must go and study some maths. I did however find this video of amusing animals for your enjoyment. Let's face it, if you took away all the porn, animals doing amusing things for our entertainment would be all that was left.

Stay awesome!

Mother's Day

I love my Mum, but I don't do Mother's Day. We have come to an arrangement.

Now, let me explain. For some reason, be it the alignment of the stars, the change in seasons or insert clever anecdote here, this time of year hates on crazy people like me. This is the first Mother's Day in six years that I have not been either too depressed to drag myself out of bed or too manic to tell the difference between my mother and a large pineapple.

The worst Mother's Day we've had together was in 2008. It involved a nine hour car trip from Victoria and me at my most manic. I was hospitalised the very next day. The old man was driving (he is very old school in that respect, driving is the job of a man). I was on the back seat obsessed with my iPod, playing certain songs over and over again at a volume which Im surprised hasn't done permanent damage to my hearing. Over the course of this nine hour Mother's Day journey, my darling mummy would have looked over her seat to check on me over a hundred times. Completely powerless to do anything but concerned about me so much that on her special day I was probably the only thing she thought about.

I tend to burn people out. I have a few good friends that somehow put up with me and I hope they stick around. Even if they try though, they will never view my bipolar as intimately or with as much compassion as my mother does.

She deals with the fallout of my manias. She has seen me lie in bed for weeks on end. She knows me at my worst and at my best. While she hasn't been the most helpful to my mental wellbeing at times, she has given more than her best to understand and do whatever she possibly can to ensure I stay in the world of the living. My mother is very stubborn as far as I am concerned. She brought me in to the world all those years ago and has spent the rest of my 21 years making sure I stay in it.

At this point, I wish I could climb the moral mountain and tell you all that every day should be Mother's Day. That we should love and respect our mothers every day of the year. I only wish it were that simple. When you have a mental illness like bipolar, you never know from one day to the next how capable you will be of loving and supporting those around you.

Mental illness is in it's very nature selfish. You try pretending you are Yaweh for a day and then tell me it is anything but self-centred. Those around you feel it most and I know this because I have experienced the other side of the asylum. I attribute the fact that I am still around to rant at you mostly to my family but particularly my mummy.

My mother is caring and understanding when no one else is. I can have a screaming match with her one minute, shortly after discover I need help with something and know I can still turn to her. She is the most selfless person I know and will ever know. All she asks of me in return is that I follow my dreams, stay true to myself and have a conversation with her once in a while. She cares. Not just for me but for every person that is lucky enough to know her. My role models aren't famous people. They are people like my mum that do what they do day in, day out without recognition because it is just the person that they are. She is a gold standard. Someone whoose blood I am very proud to have flowing through my veins.

I urge you all to love, respect and appreciate your mother's. Be it on Mother's Day or another random point in the year of your choosing. When the appocalypse is upon me, be it zombie or other wise, when things are just FUBAR, there is only one on this earth that gives me a 100% guarantee that they will be in my corner of the proverbial ring. I am just hoping when mania strikes again, I am sound of mind enough to know the difference between my mother and a large pineapple.

Happy Mother's Day to all you amazing mummies out there but particularly mine. When the day comes that I have to put you in a home, I will make sure it is a nice one.

With all my love and never enough gratitude,

Your mentally unstable Son.

Stay awesome.

Max Power

Shocker! I was in one of my favourite establishments for the purveyance of my beloved amber fluid the other night. It was here that I had a rather interesting yet somewhat puzzling conversation with a friend of mine.

You see he, like me he finds it somewhat problematic containing his mood within any sort of completely functional range. It was in between the gulps of fermented beverage and the usual shit talking he shared with me a fun fact. A fun fact which at first, I could not quite comprehend.

The title of this blog refers to where I like my brain to be, right of the center. A little bit on the high side and going fast enough so that if you ever get me to be quiet, you might just hear the whizzing sound it's fans make. My friend, lets call him 'Max Power' as my hair is super dry at the moment feels completely the opposite. To Max, being a little left of center, that slight blue twang is what sees him at his most functional.

At first I was baffled by this statement. To me it seemed a conflict of interest that Max could derive enjoyment from being slightly depressed. As the conversation evolved, I gained understanding and it gained the thought-provoke attack.With bipolar, while it is never black and white we really do get the best of everything. There are both positive and negative elements to all the mood states; high, low and mixed.

The highs give us a taste of invulnerability, confidence, creativity and the incredibly fun ability to embrace ones inner 5 year old. I would continue but I do not want to make you mentally sound types jealous. In short, imagine the best you've ever felt be it drug induced or else ways and imagine doing it for months on end, without the drug or whatever else it is that floats your boat. For me, the highs come with an incredible productivity. I sleep less, do more, think harder, better, faster and stronger.

To the lows, as Max put it, they give us poise. You get the chance to sit back and reflect with an incredible thoughtfulness that comes with thinking more inwardly. While the productivity takes a knife to the eyeball, chances are what you write and or do is more profound. You feel things and take in things that the high you usually has fly right past him.The brain fans slow their pace, more of a calming breeze than a gusty head wind (terrible pun, deal with it!).

I've been contemplating why I like to be on the right side of the spectrum. I discovered that there are negatives to both sides of the tiny little fence in the middle I never quite manage to sit on.

Depression is not all that fun for me. It is something I try and avoid just like that strange red headed  midget I went to school with.... and of course chihuahuas. Being on the right means that if you stumble a little, you still maintain a tight grasp on life. I find it much harder to claw my way back to the world of the living when I am depressed than employing a sleep parachute to drop back down into reality.

On the other hand at the unrelenting ends of the bipolar rainbow, I would rather be severely depressed than ludicrously manic. With depression, I am still in control of my actions. I don't believe taking my own life is an option for me. I have been to the edge of the cliff and decided it is just a bit too far to jump. Plus, I am a big wuss.

With a mania, I am completely out of control. I could spend thousands of dollars on rubber chickens, think that they can make me fly and proceed to jump off the Empire State Building. Perhaps my delusions involve me becoming a martyr. I decide I need to save the sharks from the dolphins, go swimming in the ocean cleverly disguised as a whale to kill those pesky buggers in cold blood and then provoke some Japanese whalers into shooting me with a harpoon gun.

I would love to  wrap this post up with a suitably profound conclusion containing shiny and elaborate word play. If however you have made it to the end of this rather intense bit of word filled bile, I apologise that this monologue does not have a neater ending. Obviously my thoughts on Max Power's fun fact require more time down the pub to develop. I will wait till I have my next low and perhaps let you know how it pans out.

I sincerely hope you all got the reference. In case you didn't or you just love yellow people with eight fingers, another gem from the you of tubes. Just strap yourself in and feel the G's!

Stay right of the center or, if you prefer, to the left. I personally, kind of sort of maybe think that possibly I know where I want to be.

Stay Awesome.

Boring Desk, Amusing Animals

Hello lovelies. My sincerest apologies for taking so long between posts. It has just occurred to me that my life has become progressively more boring since the last time I spewed my thoughts in to blog form. I can't promise you that this post will be nearly as entertaining as my previous attempts however, I will do my best to find a video of some animals doing mildly amusing things and tack it on to the end to make up for it.


Until this weekend I had given up my nicotine addiction for a far more healthier habit of oxygen and exercise. Unfortunately the stresses of my first job in over twelve months coupled with my love of all things alcoholic have recently sent me in to remission. It is an excuse, but I am good at making them and as always I have a quote to back it up.

"Success is not final, failure is not fatal, what matters is the courage to continue." - Winston Churchill

Yes, it is true. After over twelve months of  blissful unemployment I once again find myself contributing to society. I am now working four days a week in a couple of different schools helping kids with varying disabilities learn shit. Before you think it yes, I can see the irony of a head case like me doing this sort of work.

The most exciting part is that I have a desk. I have never had a desk before. It is not a big one, nor is it terribly fancy and I have to share it. None the less, it is a desk.

While I appreciate the school affording me such a provision, I don't plan on using it too much. Number one, given the nature of my role I highly doubt I will find much time to actually sit at it. Number two the desk comes with one of those cool swivelly chairs which would be an endless source of amusing procrastination for me. Finally, if I wanted to sit at a desk I would of got a far better paying desk job as a public servant with the Department of Acronym.

They say all good things come to an end. Unfortunately I think my run of being right of the center finally has. It was fun while it lasted. I got a little too high at one stage and spilt a beer at the pub, not because I was drunk but because my brain had put the beer down long before my arm had finished completing the task. The early stages of mania are interesting indeed. I thought it was hilarious but I don't think the people I was with appreciated my mood quite so much. Still, it is the price you pay for associating with a crazy. I don't know how I've managed to procure friends with such incredible tolerance.

Anyhow, here I am, back to my boring old self, contemplating forcing myself to sleep because I want to be up at 6am to get in a run before work. Still being at a normal mood state isn't so bad, I hear there are some poor souls that spend most of their life in such a way.

At least when I am like this I can still enjoy videos of animals doing mildly amusing things.

Stay awesome.

Puppies, Rainbows and Unicorns

I mentioned in my first post Introduction: To Blog or not to Blog that this blog will not just be about bipolar but may also contain puppies, rainbows and unicorns. Well, I am a man of my word and it is your lucky day because I recently found myself with an excuse to talk about all three.

I was at a 21st recently and the theme was rainbows, unicorns and the yellow brick road. Having arrived fashionably late, as is normal for me if I even show up at all. I looked around at all the guests in their ridiculous apparel and came to the sudden realisation that I was one of the few people I actually knew at the party. There I was in an unfamiliar place, wearing amazingly rainbow clothes, with strange unicorn looking people prancing all around me, wondering who the hell I was going to talk to.

Fortunately, I was a bit right of the center that night and so it wasn't long before I was pretending to be interested in learning people's names and conversing with strangers about the weather and that local sporting team. I am not naturally adept in social situations, it requires a certain amount of effort on my part that can be particularly hard to summon, especially when I am a bit down. By the time I was on my fourth beer, the urge to fight a unicorn out of boredom had subsided, I drank some beer from my shoe (apparently it is my new party trick) and discussed with a random stranger the benefits of various types of garden fertiliser. At some point in the night a 50 litre keg of ginger beer in a wheelie bin appeared and my memory of events afterwards whilst not entirely gone become somewhat blurred.

Earlier on, I met the birthday girl's new puppy who I must say is absolutely gorgeous.  Having become a bit of a hippy in recent years, I don't care too much for possessions. At my 21st I requested that people donate money to Sane Australia rather than buy me some shiny thing I would not use or a token bottle of booze which technically I am not supposed to drink. I told my rentals they could either do the same or get me a puppy. Before you think it, yes that is emotional black mail and I am a terrible human being.

Short story long, I got my puppy! Her name is Dip and she is a 10 month old (almost all growed up) ACD/Mastiff and In the 6 months I have known her she has rapidly super glued her position as my best friend. Whilst Dip was not around for the shit storm that has been my life for the past 5 years, I know if she were, it would of been made all the more bearable.

Animals have this incredible intuition which puts my fairly sharp human one to shame. I know when I'm starting to get a little depressed because the cat will start avoiding me, she always knows before I do. Dip who is still a youngen can already tell when I am upset. At these times, rather than exhibiting her usual behaviour of jumping all over me and trying to get me to play tug-of-war, she will come and sit quietly by my side in an uncharacteristic display of self-control.

Being responsible for another living thing while sometimes presenting a challenge for someone like me, is by no means a chore. I will admit, sometimes Dip and I skip breakfast and a lot of the time we skip our walk but I know she understands that I am doing the best I can with the cards I have been dealt.

I wish that the world was fill filled with rainbows, unicorns, puppies and that we could all end up living happily ever after in the magical place George Orwell refers to as sugar candy mountain. Sadly, idealism never quite matches up with reality. We have to rely on the little things like spending time with man's best friend to give us that little extra unquantifiable something that helps to make life worth living.

Whether it be a a unicorn, an old person, elephant, fly or a puppy I am of the firm belief that everyone should have a pet. Call it an investment in your sanity because at some point in life it is nice to have the kind of unconditional love that only animals can provide.

Now, I would love to tell you more about puppies, rainbows and unicorns hell I could probably write a novel. Today however is one of the few beautiful days we have had all summer in this miserable place and I intend on making the most of what is left of it. If you have not been paying attention while reading this, the video below pretty much sums up this post in a bean pod.

Stay right of the center and keep on doing what you do. If you encounter a unicorn in your travels, be sure to talk to it about the weather and that local sporting team because unicorns have feelings too.

Stay Awesome.

Drinking beer from a shoe

Hello lovelies. To begin where I recently ended a night. As the title of this post suggests I was kicked out of a pub for drinking beer out of a shoe. I can confirm to you that it is just as awesome as it sounds. I learnt a few things from this adventure. Firstly, the beer quality is not diminished if you drink it fast enough however, the smell is a little bit off putting. Number two the staff of the local establishments in my pseudo home town of Canberra do not have a sense of humour about such things (this is a generalisation from only a small sample group, further research is required). Number three and perhaps most important is that doing stupid things is not only fun but also educational.

Granted, I probably knew that last lesson already but a refresher course every once in a while doesn't hurt. I have done a lot of stupid shit in my lifetime. From passing out in all sorts of weird and unusual places, stealing things that are completely useless to me (if you lost a few pot plants from your front garden a few years ago that was probably me) and driving far too fast on dirt roads in a front wheel drive car. Just to name a few, without incriminating myself too much but all of these things add up to the collective pool of wisdom contained in my brain.

I often say to people when trying to describe a mania that in my case it is just like passing out. Believe me when I tell you that I have had a lot of experience at both. You kill enough brain cells so that all you can remember are flashes of the night before and you piece the rest together through eye whiteness accounts and whatever evidence you have collected along the way. With my manias this feeling of memory loss covers weeks at a time. As an example I vaguely remember during one mania saying '5-5-5-5-5'. Apparently, it is all I said for three days. Every question I was asked even simple ones like: 'what is your name?' I would reply: '5-5-5-5-5'. I remember vividly staring at some graffiti that said 'the end is nigh' for 6 hours but if you asked me why I did so, I couldn't tell you if I wanted to.

I find these stories about mania hilarious, as should you. A sense of humour about such things is vital to my well being. It is like that one stoner you know and all the ridiculous things he or she says when high; generally about melting in to couches and slaying dragons with marshmallows. I tend to collect these stories, not only from myself but from others as well and perhaps you will hear some more further down the line.

For now though after that short detour, back to doing stupid shit. One of my favourite quotes at the moment comes from the song 'Satelite' by one of my favourite bands, Rise Against:

"You can't feel the heat until you hold your hand over the flame
 You have to cross the line just to remember where it lays

 You won't know your worth now, son, until you take a hit

And you won't find the beat until you lose yourself in it" 

It is by doing stupid things that we work out where our limits are. From my father I have developed two guiding principles to any sort of moment like this in my life. Number one, was it fun? For what is life if not something to be enjoyed. Number two, did you learn something from it? Because if we don't learn from our experiences then what is the point of existing. On drinking beer from a shoe, obviously it was fun and yes, in a strange way I am smarter for doing it.

I have learnt far too often in my 21 years that life is fragile, opportunities only present themselves once and if you get kicked out of a pub you probably deserved it. It is a cliche but there's no point being in the moment if you're not going to live in it. I'll think about the past when I'm old and as to the future well, that's just a little bit too boring for me. I figure as long as I have a roof over my head, some half decent scotch and a bit of food to eat then I am doing okay.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some beer to drink and a variety of shoes to drink it from. I will let you know the best combination if you want to try it for yourself. The sandal should be interesting.

Stay Awesome.

Journalism

I was going to be a journalist once. It was a strange time involving travelling on buses, carrying around a hipster man bag and forcing myself to read the right-wing propaganda of the Australian on a daily basis. In the end I decided it wasn't for me after being told by my tutor that my language was too 'flowery' and winding up in a depressive episode for over a month (not because of that comment mind you).

Apparently hiding away from the world in a dark room for weeks at a time is not conducive to achieving things. It's not that big of a revelation but those of you who have experienced depression will know just how paralysing it can be. The longer you stay down there, the harder it becomes to crawl back out. You have a hundred things you should have already done and as each day goes by another five get added to that list.

Before developing a healthy addiction to nicotine, I once did not go outside my house for over three weeks. I probably would not have left my suitably darkened room had I possessed a large bucket and a few packets of chips. It was then that an educator whom I have the greatest respect for practically dragged me out of bed, made me stand on the front porch and have a conversation with him. Sure, I went back to bed straight after but I got that little hit of vitamin d, my first human interaction in god knows how long and the knowledge that despite the crawl ahead of me being difficult, it wasn't impossible.

I like to pretend that I have learnt my lesson when it comes to the depression side of bipolar. I guarantee you though, when I inevitably go to that place again, snapping myself out of it will be just as difficult.

Sometimes I wish we had switches to control our mood. Imagine you wake up and decide you want to write a song. Easy. flick the switch to melancholy crack a bottle of whiskey and hey presto youve got a number one. Alternatively you could be going to a party and want that little extra spark to get through the night, no problem just try the social butterfly setting. If you decide you want to create a religion that involves everyone in the world worshipping you why not flick over to mania and do a bit of preaching.

But alas, I digress. On the topic of Journalism. I was down at the pub the other night and there was a copy of the Telegraph on the table where drinks are supposed to go. The article facing up had such a catchy headline that I just had to read it aloud. Old mate that I was with who honestly is a little bit special told me I just had to include it in my blog. Judge for yourselves but I think him and the article have being special in common.

Tatts more like it: Josh Dugan yesterday flashed off his chiselled frame - and a few new tattoos - as he trained with his NRL All Stars teammates in sticky conditions at Coogee Oval. 

 And while Dugan may have broken down with an ankle injury midway through last year, he is ready to hit the ground running and reclaim his Blues No.1 jumper.

"That's the plan, but you have to remain fit and be playing games to get picked in the rep sides," Dugan told The Daily Telegraph.

"My parents told me the other day that Ricky said in the paper if I can get back to playing good footy, I'm a very good chance of getting back in the NSW team."

 I was going to be a journalist once. It was a magical time involving travelling on ponies, hanging out with fairies and reading the wisdom that coats every page of the Australian. However I then read an article in the Telegraph almost as good as the one above. I gave up knowing that I would never in my lifetime produce a piece of journalism even close to it's quality and that it would be a waste of my time trying.

Tatts all for now,
Stay Awesome.

Introduction: To Blog or not to Blog

“People don’t write anymore, they blog; instead of talking, they text; no punctuation, no grammar. ‘LOL’ this and ‘LMFAO’ that. You know, it just seems to me that it’s just a bunch of stupid people pseudo-communicating with a bunch of other stupid people in a proto-language that resembles more what cavemen used to speak than the King’s English.”     ― Hank Moody

If you have found yourself arriving in my little corner of the inter-woobs either at my direction or by sheer coincidence, welcome. By all means stay a while, enjoy the ambiance, a few imaginary beverages on me and my currently extremely sub-par lay out.

There are two main reasons for starting this blog. First and foremost, I haven't written much of the 'King's English' since I left high school in 2008 and it is a skill that I would like to preserve in the hope that I can one day make money out of it. Secondly, while there are already a number of blogs, forums and websites devoted to mental illness around, I think it's about time I throw my five cents in.

Which leads me to the elephant in the blog. I am 21 and I was diagnosed with bipolar when I was 17 after a couple of full blown manias. Please note I have bipolar, I don't suffer from it. I live with it every day, just like some people live with red hair, gap teeth and comb overs (which frankly I find far more terrifying).

This blog won't  be entirely about living with bipolar; there will be puppies, rainbows, unicorns and anything else I decide to vomit on to your screens along the way. Essentially though, my aim is to raise awareness and understanding of this invisible thing that is a huge part of how I live my life. If I write enough shit, there's bound to be something profound in here eventually right?

To the title of this blog. Right of the center by no means refers to my political orientation but rather my brains. In measuring  bipolar's mixed mood states an archaic rating system from 1 to 10 is employed. 5 is 'normal', 1 is severely depressed and 10 is the stage where you're so manic you should probably get yourself in a hospital bed before you kill a chihuahua in the interests of national security (which to be honest doesn't sound all that far fetched).

 Right of the center is where I try and keep my mood, with varying degrees of success. It's a fine line to tread but hey, I'm three weeks in and floating between a six and seven. Life is good and you are all beautiful people so go out and enjoy yourself. Take a complimentary cyber mint, stop by again some time if you wish and feel free to pose any questions you may have.

Now, I would love to stay and chat but I just looked out my window and saw a chihuahua strutting along the foot path. Hopefully I'll catch it before it makes it to Russel Offices...

Stay Awesome!