Hello. My name I Jane. I am Percy’s Front part of the brain. I am also what he thinks in English, sometimes. I am his moral compass. I am usually wrong. I have been with him since he chose to become bipolar. I told him that. I have become a real voice in his head but typically a boring one to him. He would rather chat about mathematics of Fibre Bundles and Quantum Field theory than about that woman talking to him about her itchy place or something annoying. I think he thinks I am Maria without an accent. I don’t have an accent to him. His brain is constantly thinking, wondering about something weird and with maths in it. I find it boring to be in his brain, I want to think about people and gossip and drink. He is always observing the world and his senses are really up there and sensitive. He said to some people that Jane was given to me because he read that if you have brain illness you don’t give voices made by your brain a name. He knew this girl when he was a boy named Jane so he chose that one and also there are some songs with Jane in the title, for instance “Jane”. He has a Mood Disorder.Yes the real one, not the Bipolar Disorder too. The one where you have to take lithium to feel kind of right. The kind where sleep is not really important and yet you need it and can?t get it. The kind where you scare people because you are not making sense because either the math is too advanced or you are going too fast. The kind where you can’t find which book to take to the library and you waste brain power and figure out you need most of the them. The one where people think you are making up the fact than you went to graduate school and have a degree with a thesis on quantum field theory and therefore you have a little knowledge on how it is done. The kind of bipolar disorder where your passion for art, music and science is beyond anyone they have ever met and that it is the most important thing in the world for you. The kind where you can?t really get yourself to eat because you think cooking is trivial and you didnt buy food. The kind where you impress a woman and she thinks the world of you and calls you to listen to you play harmonica and sing badly yet she likes the effort. The kind where you can?t really have the energy to get out of bed but only to pee and you stink because it was been three days. The kind where your facebook messages are empty and no one really calls to make sure you are ok. Then you have a coffee brought to you by the woman who thinks you are great and forces you to shower and change clothes. The woman who is a psychopath is the only one to do this. She knows you have the mental illness and the rules say to do things to make the person function again. She adds extra hot sauce to the eggs because the rules say things taste horrible in depression. She know strong coffee and redbull might help. She makes you shotgun the redbull. Then she walks and sits with you as you try to work out the details of the paper and you reedit the paper. The kind of bipolar where you are upset at this very notion. The kind where you go into tears because you are not well and the world is falling apart. The kind of bipolar where you learn to hide this condition and then you are proud that you have it and made it to princeton/amsterdam and got a couple of degrees just to make the normal folk feel not so good about their not being able to. The kind of bipolar where the only work you can get is in the arts so you take photos of people and send them in applications for art grants. Then you wake up and you smell the coffee and you are done being depressed and the whole thing is over for the time being. You walk and you smile and you have coffee with another person. The kind of bipolar where the trail of destruction and creativity is admired and talked about. You learn to take the shame as well. The work is appreciated which are the creations. The things you have left are nice and you are good. You have learned that others have suffered along with you and you know your peeps are good to you and you keep trying to work on more. The world is seen differently because you were there to show them a small glimpse of the universe and how people can be. You don’t really need to say thank you but they know in their minds you are thankful beyond what a few words can say. This is the beauty of a mood disorder, you feel things and you feel them in most extreme ways, that feels of pain and misery but you feel life more than most. You hold on to that and you keep going. This is who you are. This kind of bipolar is not one kind. It is a judge of you and your character. The kind of bipolar that makes you dance and sing and the kind that makes you cry and stink. It is wonderful but once you have reached the end. You have seen things and experience things that some senses are incapable of. You see a little of the truth, the beauty, of the world. The ugliness too. And you fight this ugliness with a smile and with your self. This is his bipolar. The study of the world using science and math. The reason it is created and the pain it has and will continue to cause is important. But I struggle for the good parts such as when you see an image of a star being created long ago. The mystery of the quantum world and the fact that the theory works for now. The brain is a marvellous bunch of neurons to make this happen and the work required is immense. The mood is part of the journey and struggle. Without mood it would be not there. There is a passion for understanding and giving other what you find wonderful. The kind of bipolar where you can just sit and think about things. So if you have a mood that is diagnosed bipolar just do it and hang onto the creativity that it might bring. And know that the pain will be gone and you just have to wait; it’s just your brain getting ready. Percy got the shock treatment as well. It hurt and I went away for while. (more to follow with corrections)
Filed under: Bipolar, Fiction, Memory loss
