BEING BIPOLAR, Part Thirteen: A New Project

Being Bipolar is a series that began in the winter of 2011.  Every now and then I post a new article, as an ongoing attempt to chronicle what it is to have a mental illness.  In my case it is bipolar disorder, also known as manic depression.  Perhaps in doing so others might gain greater insight and understanding of what it means for millions of people who likewise must deal with severe mental and emotional disorders.  As always during this series I strive to be as honest and forthright as one possibly can possibly be.  I am not a psychiatrist.  However I do come from a background of being a state-certified peer support specialist for four years.  And it is especially in that capacity as having been a mental health professional that I endeavor to document mental illness.  If you are experiencing a mental health crisis, especially if you are having thoughts of self-harm or harm to others, please consider calling 911, or go to your nearest hospital emergency room.  Trust me, I've been there, done that.  You may also find help and encouragement from a support group, such as those sponsored by mental health advocacy organizations like National Alliance on Mental Illness (nami.org).  Help is available.  You only need reach out for it.  People care about you.  Remember that.

Throughout the course of Being Bipolar, going back fourteen years now on-and-off, I have written extensively about the disease and its consequences.  Those being the episodes, the medications, the affects on my faith, how it's altered my outlook on life... lots of things.

It struck me in the past few days that maybe it's time for another edition of Being Bipolar.  And perhaps it's time to change things up a bit.

I've been defined by this disease for too long.  I've let it touch upon aspects of my life that should have by all rights been mine, not a chronic misfire of my neurobiology.  Unfortunately that's what I've allowed to happen.

And I'm finally sick and tired of it.

I'm fifty years old, going on fifty-one.  For fully half of my life I've had to struggle against a mind turned against itself.  Something that has cost me careers, friendships, a vibrant relationship with God, and even a marriage.

It's time I take back my life and everything pertaining to it.  I'm in a place where I believe I'm finally able to do that.

In a week and a half I begin a new career.  One that will let me help other people, much as I did when I was at the state mental health department.  It will require intensive training.  It will also require much patience.  It will certainly require a focused mind and an empathy for others.  It will call upon skills and experiences that I have gained at various times throughout the course of my life but have not had to employ for quite awhile.  But it will be personally rewarding.  It will have me feeling accomplished every day when I leave, and eager to come back the next morning.  It will also, I have to believe, be a little fun.

This job comes after more than two years of a career drought.  I had to depart from my position at the mental health department because the economy turned bad and I wasn't able to afford living on it.  Exiting that was one of the worst things that ever happened to me.  I had to leave behind many good people.  People who I worked with and the people I was helping on a regular basis.  I became part of their lives and they became part of mine.  I miss them.

I've been without reliable income all this time.  And I have had to rely on help from others to get me through.  It's not an enviable situation, but it was having to accept reality.  Maybe God has needed me to go through this.  Perhaps it's His way of making me more thankful for the blessings He has given me.  Perhaps it's making me hungrier, to be the person He made me to be as I've never been before.

I am ready for the new career.  And now maybe I'm ready for other things, too.  The things that have mattered for most of my life.

Throughout this time without a real career, I have had to put my writing on hold.  I've been too busy trying to stay afloat, keeping my head up in spite of the financial difficulties.  It's not just for my own sake: there is also my dog Tammy, who I promised my father as he was dying that I would take care of her.  I can't let him down.

I've lost my writing.  Something that my freshman English teacher in high school told me was my gift.  That's something I've tried to exercise and cultivate ever since.  When I was seventeen I began writing for publication.  I thrived on that.  It led to some really amazing opportunities, like working at a couple of newspapers (okay, one of them turned out to be a swindling operation, but that was not my fault) and being an associate editor of a major pop culture website.  I've maintained a blog for more than two decades.

The past two years caused me to lose my touch.  I know it.  I can recognize it.  It's one of the worst things that's ever happened to me.  And in great part it's not only because of struggling for better employment, it's because of the bipolar disorder and especially the meds I take to manage it.

The meds take a lot out of me.  They take my edge off.  Have stricken me of much of my passion.  I'm not the Chris Knight who I used to be.  I can't write as I once did.  And a few weeks ago it struck me that if I were to engage in community theatre again, I couldn't be as good an actor as I had been when I was living back in North Carolina.

I've become someone different from the person I once was.

But I believe that I can find it again.  And that's what this installment of Being Bipolar is about.

Two months ago I finished writing my first book.  It's a memoir.  Actually, it's more like two or three mushed together into a cohesive autobiography.  Every phase of my life - childhood, the Christian school and then transition to public education, the Elon years, the onset of manic depression, my marriage, coming to terms, the year spent driving across America, the "chrysalis" stage - is included.  The book is something that I've spent ten years of on and off laboring upon, and now it's done.  I was able to commit three months of solid work, when I wasn't eating or sleeping or a part-time job or playing with Tammy, on the manuscript.  It was very difficult.  It demanded a lot of me.  But in the end it was done.  I'm hoping to eventually see it published.  If it can make it to a real brick-and-mortar bookstore's shelf then that will be a supreme accomplishment.

Doing that showed me that maybe I haven't lost all of my touch after all.

Earlier this month (January 2025) I began an endeavor.  That being to write a new op-ed piece every week for the rest of the year.  Hopefully for publication elsewhere but if not when I'll post the essays here on The Knight Shift.  It's already been a challenge.  I have come to spend my Saturday and Sunday evenings (helpful hint to self: a lot of work can be done while Svengoolie on MeTV is on every Saturday night) thinking about new pieces and composing the with my iPad Pro.  As of this writing I've had two pieces published.  And it's sparked my inner fire again.  Like Rocky Balboa I'm re-discovering "the eye of the tiger", the part of me that enjoys taking part in the arena of ideas in this world.  That's been gone too long.  And now I'm doing something about it.

So committing to write op-ed commentary articles is going to be one part of a greater project.  I'm going to strive to bring the original Chris Knight back, absent the occasional depression and racing thoughts.  In writing, and also in other ways.  Who knows, maybe I'll be back on stage again sometime in the future, collaborating with others on a theatrical production.  If that desire is there, then I have to believe the drive and the ability and the raw passion is there too, waiting to be uncovered.

It may take awhile.  But it will be worth it.  At fifty I don't believe that I'm done with life yet.  Not by a long shot.  Manic depression has taken a lot from me, but there is still plenty of time to make the most of my life.  Hey, maybe I'll even be blessed with a relationship again someday.  I would be very thankful for that.

In the meantime though, there is zest for life and the hunger to make an impact on this world for the better to find again and cultivate.  I aim to play that particular sword to the hilt.

Expect the unexpected from here on out.  That is my mission.

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BEING BIPOLAR, Part Twelve: Report on Mixed Episode

Being Bipolar is a series that began nearly fourteen years ago in the winter of 2011.  It is an occasional look at what it is like to live with bipolar disorder, or manic depression as many still call it.  This blogger posts a new article whenever he feels the time is ideal to write about an aspect of bipolar disorder, so that others might have deeper understanding of this disease and appreciate what it is to have to exist with it on a routine basis.  In doing this I do my best to be as honest and forthcoming as is possible.  I am not a medical professional.  However I spent several years as a peer support specialist - a person with mental illness who undergoes extensive training so as to help others with like and similar conditions - for a major state department of mental health.  I believe that this may put me in a unique position to examine bipolar disorder.  Perhaps writing this series will be in some way how I get to make up for many of the things that I have done while in a depressed state or exceedingly manic (ESPECIALLY manic).  If you are experiencing a mental health crisis, please consider calling 911 or if you are able to then visit your nearest hospital emergency room.  You may also find help and encouragement from a support group, such as those sponsored by mental health advocacy organizations like the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI.org).

 

Hey hey!  Once again it has been quite awhile since I have posted anything under the Being Bipolar brand.  That last one came almost two years ago.  And a lot has changed since then...

When last you read this space, I was still working at the South Carolina Department of Mental Health (the very first mental health department among any of the fifty states, and they're dang proud of it!).  And I would still be there too, had the economy not turned so rotten.  That compelled me to seek out employment that paid better.  I spent two weeks at the car manufacturer near here...

...And then had to leave voluntarily.  The meds I take to manage manic depression made it impossible to have the fine precision finger mobility and speed to keep up.  I quickly realized that when it came to critical car components my presence was more a liability than a benefit.

After that I was at another manufacturer.  I was doing really good too!  And then two months into that job I was dismissed.  Because they discovered that I was taking medication to manage bipolar disorder.

Well, I can't really talk about that much.  There were legal proceedings and an out-of-court settlement.  It ended as best as it probably could have.  But that still left me unemployed.

Several months of work drought followed after that.  And then I was able to sign on as a substitute teacher for a local school system.  But as was reported almost a year ago that didn't last long (because ahem... I was accused of teaching high school juniors how to make high explosives).

THAT led to a job that nearly killed me.  The less said about that one, the better.  It was destroying me mentally, physically, but also spiritually.  I was never able to attend a place of worship with others on weekends, or during the week either for that matter.  My relationship with God is something that has always been precious to me, even during my worst of moments with manic depression.  For those reasons and more I left the job just before my birthday this past March.

What happened after that was practically a God-send.  A friend got me involved in training artificial intelligence systems.  We're talking real cutting-edge stuff here.  I've been able to see the AI industry from a vantage point that few get to witness.  I'm now beholding all that goes into making AI work.  Its good points as well as things that I don't believe computers will ever be able to surmount (I very strongly doubt that AI will come close to approximating real human thought, and that's a great comfort).  I consider AI training to be my true career now, and it's solid work that employs much of my educational background and experiences.

Unfortunately there are times when there is a lull between projects.  And it is during those times that I need supplementary employment.

Which brings me to where I am today.  I've been able to be a part of the establishing of the first branch in this state of a respected company that is experiencing nationwide growth.  I've been with the company for almost two months now and have really come to enjoy the community and camaraderie among the staff.  That's all that I can probably say at the moment however.  For reasons which are pretty easy to figure out.

So now we come to August 13, 2024.

I've written about having a depressive episode before, and the previous installment of Being Bipolar dealt with experiencing a manic episode.  Well, since last night I have been having a mixed episode: an entirely different beast altogether.  So I'm going to do my best to describe what this is like.

This morning I had to call in sick.  I was nowhere in any condition to handle the tasks I regularly engage in.  I probably was not even fit to drive the relatively short distance to the location.  Not when I was unstoppably blinking back-and-forth between extraordinary mania and then curling up in a ball on the sofa.

This has been a day of extremes, to be mild about it.

It started yesterday evening.  I felt it coming.  And prayed that it would pass over.  Maybe God let it be not as severe as it could have been.  As severe as it was fifteen or so years ago, when I lacked the proper medication and the counseling and the tools to deal with an episode.  Back when I had to be rocked here and fro by manic depression.  The time in my life when I caused so much damage and destruction to relationships that I cherished so deeply with those who I loved.  But that's digressing, sort of.

I sensed this coming.  And braced for the storm.  It could have been worse.  But it was harsh enough.  By 8 a.m. this morning my thoughts were racing furiously.  At 9 the swings toward the opposite direction began.

It's funny.  A little after 9 there was a brief respite.  And I found myself inspired to post the following on Facebook:

Dear God, thank You for giving me this morning. May I have a great day today. Let others see not myself but You within me, that they might be drawn to You and You alone.

 

I was hoping that the day would turn out well, in spite of how it was progressing.  And maybe I was trying to bargain with God: that I would surrender to Him and that in return He would make my day a blessed one after all.

It was not to be.

Ten o'clock.  The mania had been roaring for some time.  About this time I plummeted back into depression.  It was what ever since the symptoms first began nearly a quarter century ago I have called "the Dark Fountain".  Winston Churchill called depression his "Black Dog" that hounded his steps wherever he went.  Mine is the Dark Fountain.  When it erupts it sends dark viscous fluid seething across my neurobiology, and it takes a supreme effort to fight against those black waters or else drown in them.  And it has come close to drowning me completely at times... make of that what one will.

Today around noon I could almost hear the Dark Fountain bursting forth.  Could almost feel the waters creeping throughout my brain.  And then it stopped for a little while.  Enough to post on Facebook that I needed prayer, from whoever might be reading my words.

 

Several people responded, and I am very thankful that they did.  I believe in prayer, now more than ever.  Prayer is nothing more or less than talking with God in a personal way.  He hears our prayers.  He may not answer them as we would like for Him to... and trust me, I have prayed to Him many times over the past two and a half decades to relieve me of my own "thorn in the flesh" (as Paul described his own ailment).  He hasn't done that.  I doubt He ever will do that.  Not on this side of the veil, anyway.

 

Maybe God needs me to have a mental illness.  It's a way of keeping me humble, of having to rely upon Him, and to rely upon the prayers of others.  It would be a pretty sad and miserable world if we didn't lift each other up, somehow or another.  But again, I digress...

 

One o'clock.  Two.  Three.  I was SERIOUSLY fluctuating.  It was almost making me physically sick.  I've been trying to eat healthier lately (because, hey, it's time to admit the truth: I'm no longer in college and it's way past time that I start eating like a responsible adult, so no more frozen pizza for awhile) and later on a friend suggested that maybe this episode was triggered by my turning to healthier food TOO suddenly.  I suppose it's possible.  There can be any number of triggers of a manic or depressive (or both) episode.  Sometimes there's no apparent trigger at all: they just happen.  I mention this now, just openly wondering if the change in diet is what precipitated this latest bought with bipolar disorder.

 

And then, almost as suddenly as it began... the episode stopped.

 

Well, it was more of a tapering off.  Fortunately that occurred quicker than an episode usually does.  I could literally feel the episode coming on and now I could feel it abating.  Like a hurricane that passes over a beach, the rain decreasing until there is a measure of peace.

 

The episode was over.

 

Cost to me: a day's lost wages.  And I needed that work.

 

The alternative however, would have potentially been much worse.

 

This is what it is to have a mental illness.  But the good news is that it is controllable, to some considerable extent.

 

I no longer believe that I'm too dangerous to be with others.  Including colleagues on the job, wherever that may be.  Nor do I believe that I would be too dangerous to be in a relationship with someone, if  God were to ever bring a woman into my life (and I would never cease to be thankful to Him for that if He did).

I'm not the person who I was a decade and a half ago.  I think about the Chris Knight who existed then, who was struggling to fight against his own mind and losing that battle ever more with seemingly each passing day.  That Chris is long gone and in his place is the Chris who was always meant to be here.  Someone who can love and be loved.  Who is a hard worker, without depression being a regular hindrance. Someone who isn't going to go out on eBay one night and buy two hundred dollars of LEGO models, just because he saw The LEGO Movie and decided he needed to recreate those characters on his desk.

It's not a perfect life.  But it never will be, for any of us.  We each have our burden to bear.  Sometimes it's just more apparent than others.  I should be thankful, about mine.  I've never turned to drugs or drink to make myself not feel numbness incarnate or to stifle the excess energies.  I've never been homeless.  I've been blessed with a wonderful support system of people who sincerely care about me, just as I care about them.  When I was in southern California I got to see many people who were not so fortunate.  They were obviously mentally ill, had no permanent places to sleep at night, whose meager belongings fit inside grocery carts that were no doubt stolen from supermarkets.

In a different reality, that could have been me.

I'm not thankful enough.  To God or to the people He has put into my life.

I truly hope that someday I can make amends with the people who I have hurt, which stemmed from this disease.

That is the true burden of bipolar disorder that I bear.

Maybe God can make that be so.

 

He has done miracles before.  He can do it again.

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BEING BIPOLAR, Part Eleven: A Weekend with Mania

 

Being Bipolar is a series that began in the winter of 2011.  It is an occasional look at what it is to live with bipolar disorder... which some still refer to as manic depression.  A new chapter is posted whenever this blogger feels that the time is ripe for a further examination.  In doing this I try to be as honest and forthcoming as possible, within reason.  I am not a medical professional. I am however a former peer support specialist in the field of mental health, and though I have recently left that post I am still dedicating myself toward advocating for others who experience mental illness.  If you are experiencing a severe crisis and are having thoughts about self harm or harm toward others, please do not hesitate to call 911 or reach out to your most available health care professional.  You may also find help and encouragement from a support group, such as those through National Alliance for Mental Illness (nami.org).

 In the previous installment of Being Bipolar, I documented what it was like to have experienced a depressive episode.  Although in hindsight I see now that I could have done "better" and by that I mean that it was so minor an occurrence that it couldn't possibly be called a textbook case.  A truly severe depressive episode lasts much longer, and is so debilitating that one finds it taxing just to get off of the sofa to use the bathroom.  I got off easy that time.

Some things have changed since that last chapter.  I'm no longer a peer support specialist with South Carolina Department of Mental Health.  Tomorrow I begin a new career, one that will be rather challenging I think.  It will also afford me some more breathing room so far as being in the proper mindset for writing.  I won't deny it: being in peer support has been rewarding.  But it also doesn't pay as much as other mental health professionals earn.  My new job will be earning more money than I would have once thought possible for someone in my position.  So with that worry gone, I think I'll be able to write better than I have in the past few years up 'til now.

But you're probably wondering why I'm writing a Being Bipolar this time.

It so happened that last weekend I was in a severe manic state.  I confined myself to my house for its duration, which certainly bewildered my dog Tammy.  She had to watch me pacing back and forth through every room in the place.  Too wide open to sleep.  Being incapable of writing for a website that I'm committed to contributing toward.   I was WIRED last weekend.

Fortunately I was able to see it coming and I knew what to expect.  And that afforded some capacity to observe and note what was happening to me.

I have said before that I have lost a lot because of having bipolar disorder.  Most especially friendships, family, even a marriage.  It was both extremes of manic depression that wrought devastation but as I've gotten older I can see that it was the manic phases which wrecked the most havoc.  Mania takes whatever you have -- be it good or bad -- and wildly magnifies it to horrific extremes.  Mania makes responsible decision making impossible.  It robs one of any modicum of self control.  It lays waste inhibitions.

Thankfully, the mania has withdrawn in large part, due in no small part to medication and counseling.  I've had to address other aspects of my diagnoses in addition to bipolar disorder.  Especially post-traumatic stress disorder: the spawn of abuses from my childhood.  Mania fed off of that, too.  As I've confronted that, the mania has had less to work with.  I wish I could have been the man fifteen years ago that I am now.  But that's a post for another time...

 So, last Friday afternoon I began noticing that my thoughts were beginning to run faster than usual.  There were too many of them, all playing at once.  I'd already committed to working on a story for the Western Journal website and was looking forward to that.  But over the course of the next few hours my thoughts wouldn't hold course.

By that evening I knew that I was having a manic episode.  A bad one.

I tried my best to sit down at the computer and start writing.  But as soon as I did I had to stand back up again.  Had to walk back and forth as I struggled to keep the thoughts straight in my head.  At 8 PM I thought if I laid down on my bed for awhile that it would give me a little relaxation from the madness.  Five minutes later I was back up again.  Trying to sit at the keyboard and typing SOMETHING but there was too much clutter in my head.

It only got worse.

I had to be careful, that night.  I couldn't sleep.  Neither could I trust myself to not do something stupid.  I would have probably started running circles around my yard if I let myself out the door, just as I found myself running up and down the dirt road when I was back to living with my parents following the separation.

Driving was out.  I also remember the night I was coming back from Greensboro on US 158.  That long stretch of road near Bethany.  Not another car in sight.  I turned off the headlights and floored the pedal, screaming into the darkness and not caring if I went off the road or whatever.  And then sanity returned and I turned the lights on and slammed on the brakes just short of  hitting a deer.

Being on the computer was fraught with peril.  I'm mindful of the time that I was manic, after having watched The LEGO Movie, and I decided that I wanted to replicate those characters on my desk.  So I went on eBay and bought two hundred-some dollars of LEGO sets.

So there was really nothing more to do than endure it.  Suffocating with mania.  Trying to stay afloat in the flotsam of madness.

The very worst of it was the realization by Saturday afternoon that I had become hyper-sexualized.

Overly enhanced libido is a common feature of mania.  Something that has sent many a manic-depressive sailing over the cliff of sanity.  Books have been written by those who have been driven by mania to satisfy sexual longings with anyone and anything.  The risks are enormous.  And yet these do not matter to many who are manic.  Limitations dissolve.  All that matters is the orgasm.

Sophocles is said to have remarked that the male libido is akin to being chained to a lunatic.  How much more so, then, when reproductive biology becomes saturated with frenzy?

There are ways of dealing with inflammation of sensuality.  None of those are very appealing to me, for a lot of reasons.  I believe that intimacy is something to be shared between one man and one woman in the union of marriage.  It isn't to be indulged in thoughtlessly.  Nor is "self satisfying" a solution.  Also, for reasons which do not need divulging.

I will not deny it: I have as healthy an interest in beautiful women as most other red-blooded American men.  I also have a photographic memory for EVERY beautiful woman I have ever seen.  And when one is overcome with mania the tendency is to mentally replay those images in one's head.

It does not make things any easier.

And so turning into a hyper-sexual had to be endured also.  And I did my best to drown out the lust to be satisfied sexually.  Reading from the works of Tolkien helped (lately I've been re-reading The Silmarillion).  So too did music.  By late evening I had decided to lose myself in Fallout 4.  That lasted half an hour, roughly.

I still hadn't slept.  Still hadn't eaten anything either.  I was too energized to be tired.

At some point I found myself dancing throughout the house.  Then I was scrubbing the bathroom sink.  Then doing laundry at midnight.

I felt unstoppable.  I felt invincible.

I had taken my regular nightly schedule of medication about 6 PM on Saturday.  That had done nothing to quench the madness.  But I am thankful for them.  Without medication, the episode would have been worse.

It was now 2 on Sunday morning and I was finally, at last, beginning to feel some slight measure of exhaustion.  I took a sleep aid and some Benadryl for good measure, and crashed headfirst into bed.

I couldn't tell you what time I woke up the next day.  Still manic, but it was abating.  I still couldn't put two thoughts together enough to write something substantial.  The incensed sex drive was finally diminishing (although some would no doubt consider having that to be a GOOD thing about being bipolar).  I felt tired from all of the moving around that I had done the day before.

The need for food began to creep in.  I ate some slices of pepperoni that had been left over from making a pizza several days earlier.  Chased down with some sweet tea.  Then took a look in the mirror and didn't recognize myself.  I shaved and showered and that got the funk of the previous few days off of me.

By that evening the manic phase had ended in vast part.  My thoughts were beginning to be my own again.  This season of madness had joined the many other episodes I have suffered for nearly a quarter of a century.

And I found myself pondering that it had not been so bad, this time.  Rarely had I been able to exert that degree of self control over my impulses.  I hadn't even bought anything outrageous on Amazon or eBay.

Maybe I am getting better.  The Chris Knight who is writing these words today, has come a long way from the Chris Knight of 2007, when I was riding a manic high and doing anything that could make me feel like a cartoon character.  That's not just "wisdom with age" either.  But I also want to believe that it was more than just medication and counseling.

I don't talk about God nearly as much as I should.  My faith is not what it was, now twenty-six years ago this past week when I first committed my life to serving Him.  Yet my journey as a follower of Christ has been and remains the most defining element of my life.  That in spite of how so many times I have screamed at Him, railed against Him, wanted Him to strike me dead so that there would be no more wretched existence for me.

So far, He hasn't done that (yet).

He has given me strength and grace to endure, though.  He has brought me through ice and fire.  He has been with me in the valleys of depression and the peaks of mania.

I couldn't talk about God much in my capacity as a peer support specialist employed by a state agency.  But I can say now, more than my own desire to recover from having this condition, that God has been at work even more.

That's what I found myself thinking after the episode, anyway.

So here it is, a week later.  On the cusp of a new career.  I am NOT looking forward to being on site ready to start training at 6:15 in the morning though!  But I think it'll be okay.  This is a real hands-on job involving precision work (no, I'm NOT going to be a surgeon).  When I was fighting some of the worst of depression and mania years ago, I discovered that assembling and painting Warhammer 40,000 miniatures provided a distraction from my mind.  I think this new job is going to be a lot like that.  It also won't be "work" that I'll be bringing in my head home with me, as happened at times as a peer specialist.  And like I said earlier, it'll be providing a lot more peace of mind financially, that I'll be able to devote more to my real passion, writing.

Yeah, I got through that episode pretty good.

Here's praying that it will be a LONG time before the next one.

 

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New Substack: Words of dire warning about transsexuality

Just made a new post on my Substack at christopherknight.substack.com.  I don't know who originally wrote this.  But I found it this morning and it resonated greatly with me in regard to some things I've seen firsthand about transsexuality.  It is with a seething rage that I am witnessing what is being done to kids in the name of "gender fluidity".  The youth are being told lies and getting persuaded to do irreparable harm to their bodies and in the process their minds and souls.  By the time they realize what has been done to them it is too late.

Maybe this will come as not only words of warning but also wisdom, to any person considering "transitioning" to a male or female.  Because the long and short of it is, it's not possible to do that and it's madness to try.  Perhaps this will be found by a young man or woman who is being given smooth-sounding words about their "real identity".  I hope this will make them pause and consider what it is that they are contemplating doing to themselves.

From the short essays I came upon:

You will never be a real woman. You have no womb, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You are a homosexual man twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.

Click here for more.
 

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No, I do not "hate" anyone LGBT

Sigh...

I shouldn't have to make this post.  But as it seems how EVERYTHING today is supposed to be qualified, quantified, factionalized and most especially sexualized...

Contrary to what some have claimed, I do not now nor have I ever harbored any kind of hatred toward those who have chosen the homosexual lifestyle.  Or who are bisexual.  Or transsexual.  Or whatever.

As a Christian, I am called to not hate anybody.  I am in fact commanded to hate my own sin and my own fallen carnal nature, before I dare levy hatred toward another.  It is part and parcel to the "dying unto self" that those who follow Christ are told that they must do on a daily basis.

That does not mean however that I can or must acquiesce to any activity that is self-destructive.

And that, is what LGBT behavior is.

I've seen the damage and disease and ultimately death that is wrought by homosexuality.  Have looked at the photos of lacerated anal tissue.  Viewed images of penises wracked with things that no healthy male should have.  I have read the journal articles, about gay men and lesbians being far more prone to cancer than those who are not.  Human papillomavirus is a really nasty thing to subject one's genitalia to.  I have looked into the faces of people who have contracted full-blown AIDS, and those are eyes that I pray I never have to look into ever again.

Homosexuals have, on average, a lifespan twenty years shorter than that of heterosexuals.

Let that sink in.  A gay or lesbian person is likely to have two full decades shaven off their life expectancy, because of the all too physical consequences of homosexual behavior.

These are not things that can be "wished away" for sake of sexual license.  These are stone cold hard facts.  This is reality, that can NOT be escaped from because of one's "feelings" about the matter.

LGBTwhatever is incompatible with human design.  Its myriad of associated diseases and disorders attest to this.

How do I, as a person called by God Himself to love others, reconcile that love with the expectation that I am to celebrate a "lifestyle" that leads so very often to death?

I can not.  I can no more endorse the LGBT community than I can endorse cigarette smoking, or abusing crystal meth.  Because those are self-destructive behaviors also.

I can love homosexuals.  I can love lesbians. I can love bisexual individuals.  I can love transsexuals, though what they do to themselves is especially haunting.

But as a Christian (who fails and falls more often than not), as an objectivist who understands the concreteness of reality, as merely a human being trying to be decent... for those reasons and more, I can not love their kind of behavior.  Because when you scrape away everything else that's Chris Knight, you're left with someone who simply does not want to see anyone die.

No, "love is love" is not true.  There are many kinds of love.  There is philios: love of brothers and sisters.  There is the love of parents to children.  There is logos: the love of God.  And, yes, there is eros: love expressed sexually between man and woman.

What the LGBT community and its supporters demand we accept is not love at all.  It is lust.  And they want said lust to be without the burden of personal responsibility.  And THAT again is a denial of reality.

If you love a person... and I mean really love someone, you will NOT selfishly lead that person to demean themselves for your own desires, at risk of their health and even very life.

I love my friends.  There are men who are as close and dear to me as real brothers.  I love them and I would die for any of them.  But not for an instant have I been tempted to take it to an entirely different and inappropriate level.

Once upon a time, not very long ago, most men and women were capable of accepting that.  That love is a many dimension-ed notion and that each kind had its own unique place in the scheme of things.

We were a better people, then.  Not a perfect people.  But we were at least striving against the baser instincts of carnal nature.  And we accomplished great things because of it.

As a historian, I know also where unrestrained sexual pleasure leads a society to.  And that as much as anything else persuades me about the truly insidious nature of the LGBT lifestyle.

I could easily sit here all night, and rattle off a dozen reasons and more why I can not celebrate homosexuality and transgenderism.  Just as easily as I could tick off all the reasons why I must condemn it.

And I hope that my many friends who are LGBT will at last understand where I'm coming from.

Finally, know this: sex is a sacred, holy thing.  It is something that I believe should be celebrated within the boundaries of husband and wife.  In my sincere philosophy ALL sexual sin is equally abhorrent.  I can not disapprove of LGBT behavior any more than I can of sex outside of marriage.  That makes me come across as a prude, I know.  But there it is.  I have plenty of friends who do not agree with this.  And that is fine.  But so far as I know none of them have called me "hate-filled" or "polygamaphobe" because of it.

Sex is not a toy.  It's not something to be engaged in frivolously.  It is meant to be a sanctified act.  "The marriage bed is to be honored by all," scripture tells us.  If that was done more often, maybe we wouldn't have things like children without fathers, venereal disease and shortened lifespans.

That is all.

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BEING BIPOLAR, Part Ten: Anatomy of a Depressive Episode

Being Bipolar is a series that began in the winter of 2011.  It's an occasional attempt to explore aspects of the life of a person with manic-depression, or bipolar disorder if you will.  It's never meant to be a regular feature of The Knight Shift.  It comes along whenever "the time is nigh" for another installment is called for.  In this series I do my best to be as honest and forthcoming about this condition as possible, within reason.  As with anything else of this kind of subject matter, it should be noted that I am not a medical professional.  So don't take anything written here as solid medical advice in the way of drugs etc.  If you need immediate assistance, please go to the emergency rom of the nearest hospital, or call 911 on your phone.  You may also find a great deal of assistance from a local support group, such as those sponsored by National Alliance on Mental Illness (nami.org).

 

For the past three years and nearly four months I have been a peer support specialist employed by a state department of mental health.  That's supposed to mean that as someone "in recovery" from mental illness, that I'm in a unique position to help others who likewise must deal with having emotional and behavioral disorders.

I wish that I could tell you that this means that I have a handle on my own diagnosis.  But over the course of nearly a year now that assumption has been solidly put to rest.  Because I've discovered that in many ways I'm the same way I am now that I was six years ago, when I first left my old hometown of Reidsville, North Carolina and began looking for a new home.  That was supposed to have been a fresh start for me (and my dog Tammy).  And for awhile, when we initially set out, there was that breath of fresh air that comes with expanding one's horizons.  With casting destiny to the winds of the Lord.  And then came a year after setting out, and a situation that triggered my bipolar disorder as it had never had been before and what led to friends having me live with them until I could get my mind situated again. That was five years ago and I'm no less thankful for them and what they did for me.

Maybe it was "the plague" that triggered me this time.  Nothing has been the same since COVID-19 came (and I was hit with it this past December, I'm pretty sure I caught it when some friends and I went to see Spider-Man: No Way Home because they came down with COVID also).  I worked from home for more than six months and it changed me.  Made me consider and reconsider my life.  I got the "vaccine" early on, because my job puts me at the forefront of public health (namely visiting patients at their homes among other things) and in the year and a half since then I've come to wonder if that was such a wise thing to have done (it's not being called the "clot shot" for nothing, but I digress).

Back to being a peer support specialist and being in recovery.  The more I have recovered, the more I have found that I still have a long way to go toward that.  It's a lot like "the Hell Curve" that I first described in 2011: I'm forever getting closer to that Y line of total recovery, but never going to cross it or even touch it.  I realized that even before last September, and the day my neighbors found me dancing in the rain in my sweatsuit and socks and trying to open other people's car doors.  I don't remember that at all.  Neither do I remember the next day and being found lying face-down next to the road beside my house, my face beaten up like hamburger from the fall onto the asphalt.  Eleven months later and I still can't wink my right eye without feeling some residual pain.  None of that, I remember transpiring.  It was all because of a medication reaction between my "current" meds and one that I have since stopped using.

I lost very nearly a solid month of work because of that incident, which encompassed one week spent in a mental health facility while I was detoxing.  It led to some changes of my work: changes I haven't been crazy about (no pun intended, or is it?).

Long story short, this past week and a half or so I've had a depressive episode that wrecked havoc with me in nearly every aspect.  Were it not for taking care of Tammy, my miniature dachshund, there is no telling what I would have been compelled to do during this time.  Depression sucks the vigor and vitality out of a person.  Takes away nearly every interest including the desire for eating (and sometimes not even getting up to use the restroom, which is no problem if you're not ingesting food anyway).

Today the episode finally began to abate.  I must thank many friends on Facebook who I reached out to, who have been lifting me up in their prayers.  I hope that I can be just as much there for them when they need my own prayers.  I have pretty much wasted an entire weekend except for this afternoon.  So I thought, maybe since it's fresh in mind I could do another Being Bipolar installment (it's only been THREE YEARS since the last one!).

This depressive episode crept up on me.  In hindsight I can see that it was bedeviling me for almost the past two weeks.  It's been so severe, and I was so subconsciously holding it at bay, that I didn't realize it was happening until two days ago.  During this episode I was robbed of any interest apart from the meanest of caring for myself and my dog.  I was eating candy bars for breakfast and nothing else for lunch or dinner.  I fed and watered Tammy but I didn't feel like playing with her.  She "gets" me when I'm like this.  When I curl up on the sofa, unable to move, she curls right up next to me.  Tammy understands me even if no one else does.  I'm pretty sure that I lost some weight during this time.  When I went to see a doctor this past week I had lost seven pounds since the previous visit about two months ago.

My hygiene has suffered.  I went two days without showering for work.  It didn't seem to matter.  I just didn't care.  I brushed my teeth, but that's mostly out of dire habit.  Something ground into me about seven years ago when I realized what depression was doing to my dental care.  I haven't lost any teeth and I don't intend to.  So whenever I eat or drink something I'm inclined to brush immediately afterward or at least as soon as possible (which has become a religious ritual after getting home from work, before I even take Tammy outside).

I have been trying to cook better for myself (thanks in no small part to the encouragement of a good friend, hello Heather!).  A week and a half ago I visited the nearby grocery store and pharmacy to pick up two prescriptions and I had no other interest in shopping for anything else.  Well, I take that back.  I did purchase a box of Froot Loops, and that was "dinner" for a few days.  But again, my overall desire for a good meal had evaporated.

Interest in fun things and activities crashes and burns.  All that's left are the ashen remnants of something that once moved you.  I've been stoked about the current season of Stranger Things lately.  Especially the music.  I had been listening to the soundtrack and reveling in the return of "my kind" of music.  But interest in any music has gone away during this episode.  I've tried to make myself watch stuff like The LEGO Movie, a film that I usually adore, but that failed to move me too.

Depression has caused me to lose interest in my work.  Has led me to seeing it as all a vain effort.  I haven't been able to help others, in the way that I usually can and have loved doing.  I drove a patient to a physician's appointment this past week and I was barely talking at all, when usually we are readily engaged in conversation.  He could sense that there was something wrong, and he told me as much.  It has caused me to forget tasks, has made me indifferent during phone calls to patients.  It's ironic, that I work in a mental health office and my own mental health has caused that work to suffer.  But then again, my life has been filled with a lot of cruel irony.

This coming Wednesday would have been the twentieth anniversary of my getting married.  A marriage that was destroyed in vast part by my bipolar disorder.  I still can't make sense of that.  It was something I was committed to as much as anyone could commit to something.  And it wasn't enough.  Why did God let me have something that was going to wreck such havoc on an institution that He Himself created?  That has been a thought that has run rampant through my mind during this time.  I suppose that no matter how happy I might be, I'm going to forever be running that through my mind.  It hasn't been made any easier because of this latest episode.  And the proximity to the date has only made it worse.

Strangely, my faith in God this time is something I'm not doubting.  A quality that I must ascribe to not only my friends' prayers, but to all the other times I've had depression.  In its lesser moments I can find myself able to pray, and to solicit prayer.  I don't doubt God, even when it seems the depression is something cruel He lets happen.  I have to remind myself that being a Christian does not mean an escape from pain: something I wish I had known during the first few decades as a believer.

I would be remiss if I did not mention, that there have been moments during this latest episode when I have not wanted to be here any more.  When I've actually prayed to God to please let me die.  But that's a different thing from having full-fledged suicidal ideation.  Something I've come to learn increasingly during my work with those with mental illness.  It's almost okay, maybe perfectly "normal", to have thoughts about not wanting to be alive any more.  It becomes something else entirely though, when those thoughts turn toward contemplating getting a knife to open one's veins, or ingest a whole bunch of drugs and hope that they will lull one into an eternal slumber.  I will admit, that I have tried the latter at least twice.  Both times failed, thankfully.

Also thankfully, the episode seems to finally be abating, and maybe writing these words out is aiding toward that.  More irony: I've lamented in the past week or so that I haven't been able to write anymore, and here I am, composing a new blog post.  Not just blogging but really pouring my heart and soul into this new installment of Being Bipolar.  Maybe if I can write this, perhaps other things that I've thought I'd lost will come back.  Writing is a gift that I first realized I had when Mrs. Rutledge in my freshman year of high school told me I had.  I've been trying to use, develop and hone that gift ever since.  Manic depression over the past two decades and more took a LOT out of me toward that.  Maybe writing this post means I still have it.  Maybe I can write more.  Perhaps even work anew on that book that Dad wanted me to write.  Dad was proud of me.  I was very fortunate to have had him in my life.  I want to finish writing that book, and dedicate it to his memory.

And, that's all that I know to write about this latest bout with bipolar depression.  It is my "dark fountain": a term I have been it from the very beginning, when it first erupted in the spring of 2000.  Its black waters trying to swallow and drown me, and I doing everything that can be done to keep my head above its currents.  Maybe writing about it this time will help to stop the fountain, if only for a little while.

Maybe doing this will help others also, who are going through their own times of depression.

If so, please know: you are not alone.  There IS help.  Your local mental health department is one resource.  So are groups like National Alliance on Mental Illness, or NAMI (nami.org).  If you are in a severe crisis, you can call 911.  It's okay, it really IS an emergency.  And as of yesterday there is a simple three digit number - 988 - that you can call to get help from a national suicide help line.

And if you need a friend to talk to, I'll do my best to be here for you.  My e-mail is theknightshift@gmail.com.  I've communicated with quite a few people over the years that Being Bipolar has been a feature on this blog.  I'll do what I can to be here for you, too.

 

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EMDR

This blog has been operational for sixteen(!) years now, and it's covered a lot of territory.  Everything from pop culture to weird news to chronicling my run for political office and anything in between.  It's shown readers the inside of a nuclear power plant, to the ancient sanctity of Orthodox Christianity.

But it hasn't depicted everything about my life.  Though there have been times that I've shared glimpses of personal frustration and tragedy, most of what happens on this side of the screen has been shrouded from my audience.  It's been a common lament of mine: how it seems that everyone I know gets to display their blessings and joy over Facebook while I've come up empty in those regards.  And then I'm reminded that people only show the good things on social media, not the bad.  So if that's a crime, then I suppose I'm just as guilty.

However, there are exceptions.  The Being Bipolar series is no doubt the biggest of them.  Hard to believe it'll be ten years later next winter that I began that series, and there is still much more to write about it.  I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder (or manic depression) early in 2004.  By 2009 it had destroyed much of my personal life, including a marriage.  Being Bipolar began as an attempt to take it back.  On that note, it failed.  But I still ended up satisfied that it's documented my thoughts and experiences with a mental illness.

But it's not my only mental illness.

Early in 2018 came another diagnosis.  I now understand that I have Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  The result of numerous horrible experiences across the span of my life, and especially things that happened during my childhood.  That's never really been written about on this blog.  My best friends and circle of close associates though have seen it only too often.  The times when I regress, and have flashbacks and am immobilized by the weight of memories that cannot and will not leave.  My therapists have helped me find a few strategies for dealing with episodes of PTSD: helping me get back into the moment instead of staying thrust toward the past.  And in vast part they do work.

But that's only addressing the symptoms, not the condition itself.

Yesterday I began what we are hoping may be an endeavor to stem the PTSD itself once and for all.  I had the initial appointment of what will be a series of sessions involving a fairly new therapy called Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing... or EMDR for short.  It came about during the Nineties as a result of investigations by psychologist Francine Shapiro.  It essentially means that via visual manipulation and use of other stimuli (including the use of a gimmick that I've dubbed "the Walkman") my brain is going to rewire itself to route around the parts of it that the PTSD chiefly operates in.  Or something like that.

Not really EMDR since Alex
can't move his eyeballs around

Yesterday's session was an orientation/familiarization with the technique.  And I'm already very much looking forward to beginning it proper.  EMDR has enjoyed great success in helping others address their own PTSD and we think it holds a lot of promise for my own case.

This was already an exceptional week in regard to my recovery.  I cannot discuss much of what transpired, however.  Maybe someday that will be possible.  Maybe, not ever.  The EMDR though, I can and will be talking about that as the treatment progresses.  So, stay tuned!

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The shortest scientific journal paper published... ever

"The Unsuccessful Self-Treatment of a Case of 'Writer's Block'" is the title of one Dennis Upper's article, published in Journal of Applied Behavior Analysis in the fall of 1974.  In terms of structure and syntax it is in every way a well-researched, thoroughly annotated and concisely presented scientific paper.

It is also the shortest such paper ever published by a journal.

I don't dare excerpt it here.  You'll have to visit the article that Science Alert has about it.  Much thanks to great friend of this blog Dewana Hemric for passing it along!

EDIT:  Real Clear Science has compiled a few other brilliantly terse published science articles.  I like this one especially, a fairly recent article investigating neutrinos traveling faster than light...

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BEING BIPOLAR: Video Log 9 - Lonely

Making a new video supplement wasn't something that I'd had in mind to do late last night, but... just had some things on my mind that I felt led to share.

This is the first Being Bipolar video that I've made with my iPad. Still playing around with figuring everything out, but that's why the aspect ratio is more vertical than horizontal with this segment. Next time I'll know better :-)

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BEING BIPOLAR: Video Log 7 - God, Happiness, Yoda, ATLAS SHRUGGED, Weird Al, and Charlie Sheen

And I hope to have Part 6 of Being Bipolar up by the weekend :-)

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BEING BIPOLAR: Video Log 5: Hyper-Manic Episode #1b

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BEING BIPOLAR: Video Log 4: Hyper-Manic Episode #1a

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BEING BIPOLAR: Video Log 3

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

-- Maya Angelou

Edit 02/14/2011 2:18 pm EST: A friend let me borrow a book not long ago. It's called When God Winks At You. It's filled with stories of many people - including a number of celebrities - who experienced extraordinary coincidences and twists of fate that made them realize something: that God is watching over us. It's a very good book, and it written in a style that reads pretty quickly.

Ever since reading it, I have been praying that God might wink at me, too. And give me that personal assurance that "Chris, I know you are going through a very dark and difficult time. But I love you! I won't quit on you or abandon you. You are My child and I love you more than you could ever know and I will bring you through this."

I wish God would wink at me, and let me know that He didn't allow me to have this condition for naught, when it did lead to me hurting too many people.

Today, I am feeling... like damaged goods. Alone. Abandoned. Rejected.

I was a good person. I'm still a good person. I didn't ask for my condition or do anything to invite it to happen.

Mental illnesses such as bipolar disorder are diseases of the mind. Not the soul.

There was someone who was very precious to me, and I wanted nothing more in this world than to spend the rest of my life cherishing her, serving her, loving her... and having a relationship with her that put Christ at the center of it all. That's what I prayed for, for the longest time. God had to know that, wouldn't He?

But now, there is nothing. Because of a condition that hurt so many who were near and dear to my heart.

Is God punishing me for something? Is there something I missed in my pursuit of Christ and the life He would have me live?

This is the worst part of bipolar: that you are hurting and that you hurt others. You never mean to, but you do.

I have to be reminded that there was nothing that I could have done to have prevented this from happening to others and myself. But even on my best days, I harbor heart-wrenching regret for the pain that I caused.

That is something that I will never forgive myself for. And especially, I can never forgive myself for hurting her.

So I keep asking God to wink at me.

Maybe someday He will...

Edit 02/14/2011 4:45 p.m. EST: One person who has seen the video wrote this to me...

Chris, some of us have been on the other side of bipolar and other illness and apparently you don't know what that is like. You have hurt people, there is no denying that, and you need to stop putting the blame on God for 'letting you have the disease'.

I tend to not post when you say things like this because I believe you mean well. However, I do not agree with about 95% of what you say on the subject. I definitely agree that it is a struggle and that you will slip, heck we all do, but I don't agree that the blame should be on anything other than yourself. Now, with that said, once you realize it IS your fault then forgive yourself and move on with life. We all make mistakes.

Yes, we do. I do, especially. I'm not perfect and have never claimed to be perfect. I can only follow Christ, the only One who is perfect. The One who I must cling to and rely on to carry me and my heavy burdens. Burdens that I would not want any person to have to feel crushed beneath.

But here is the problem with what this person is saying...

Suppose that I had been drinking heavily. And I get into my car while intoxicated and drive off and then I hit another car because of my condition and the other driver is killed as a result.

Would that have been my fault? Absolutely. The condition was my own. I would have been the only party that could possibly be blamed. The bottle of liquor did not grab hold of my mouth and make me drink it. That would have been my choice... and I would have to suffer the due consequences and gone to prison. Because it would have been my fault.

However much cheap booze can rob a person of his or her faculties, judgment and sound mind, mental illness such as bipolar disorder do much, MUCH worse.

And there is no choice. It's in the cards that a person is dealt from the moment their chromosomes come together in a mother's womb.

I didn't have to get drunk. As a matter of fact, I've never been drunk in my entire life. Neither have I done illegal drugs. A person isn't born with the desire for drugs and alcohol.

I was born with this. I will die with this. I am trying as best God will let me, to make the moments between now and the time I leave this world mean something.

I do hurt and feel guilty about the things that I did when my bipolar was unable to be managed. I wish people would see that and understand it and not see me as some kind of a freak, or a pariah.

You wanna know something? I'm not suicidal, even though I know what it's like to be suicidal. But all the same: I can't fear death anymore like I used to. And you wanna know why?

Because Heaven is the place where nobody says "goodbye" to you, ever again. And it's the place where the people that you love do know that you really did love them and would have done anything for them and that you didn't mean to hurt them.

I don't know if I'll ever again in this life see the girl who I do still love as my wife. Knowing that I will get to see her again someday, in the presence of God, is the most precious bit of hope that I have.

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BEING BIPOLAR: Video Log 2: Depressive Episode #1, "I Want To Live"

I was wondering over the weekend if this might happen. And unfortunately, it has now. I am writing and posting this video during a bipolar depressive episode.

I need to reiterate something: managing bipolar disorder doesn't mean that I'm going to be totally free of its effects. There will be times when I go through episodes of severe bipolar. But I am thankful that it doesn't have to ruin my life as it has before.

I said last week in the first Being Bipolar video supplement that I intended to document a bipolar episode if and when it happened. This is the first bipolar depressive episode that I have been able to record. I don't think there's anything in this clip that most people would at all consider "disturbing" but, I wanted to give a heads-up about all the same...

And Part 4 of Being Bipolar should be up later this week! :-)

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Bipolar as experienced by Kay Redfield Jamison

The series that I have recently begun, "Being Bipolar", is picking up some intense interest. I posted Part 2: "Sketching Uniquet" late last week. Meanwhile Part 1: "The Tale of the Two Chris Knights" has become the most-visited page on the blog over the past several days.

During the weekend I made the decision that for the next few installments of the series at least, I am going to refrain from reading any other scholarly material about bipolar disorder. Why? Because I'm trying to honestly and accurately portray and convey my own struggle with bipolar disorder. And well, guess you could say that I'm afraid that I might "cross contaminate" my experiences with those of others. But no doubt I'll be delving into the research sooner than later.

The first thing that I plan to read is An Uniquet Mind, the memoir of someone whose name has come up consistently during the investigation of my condition: Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison, Professor of Psychiatry at the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine. Dr. Jamison is widely considered to be one of the foremost authorities on bipolar disorder... in large part because she herself has had to live with it for most of her life. In addition to her books (the list of which also includes Night Falls Fast, a study of suicide) she has made numerous appearances on The Oprah Winfrey Show, Charlie Rose and other television outlets, and she enjoys considerable demand as a public speaker.

I'm looking forward to reading An Unquiet Mind. But in the meantime, I feel more than a little led to share with my readers a link to this page of quotes by Kay Redfield Jamison about her own ordeal with bipolar disorder and what she has gained and learned from her experiences. I found that what she has written about bipolar very much parallels what I have been trying to share in my own words about the condition.

And she's a professional! I'm just a dude with a blog. That makes Dr. Jamison's word on the subject all the more worth checking out! :-)

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Psychologists determine Darth Vader suffered from mental illness

Anakin Skywalker, also known as the Dark Lord of the Sith Darth Vader, has a "borderline personality" described as "a prolonged disturbance of personality function in a person (generally over the age of eighteen years, although it is also found in adolescents), characterized by depth and variability of moods." So sayeth a group of French psychologists who studied the Star Wars villain and found that he suffered from severe mental illness.

According to the study which will soon be published in the journal Psychiatry Research, Darth Vader was examined per the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition (DSMV IV). Of the nine borderline personality disorder criteria, Anakin/Vader fulfilled six of them. Five are required by the DSMV IV to be diagnosed as suffering from the disorder.

From the article...

For instance, the future Darth Vader showed both impulsivity and anger management issues as an overexcited, lovelorn Jedi. He went back and forth between idealizing and devaluing Jedi mentors, such as a humorless young Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Abandonment issues also surfaced. Skywalker had a permanent fear of losing his wife, Padme Amidala, and he went so far as to betray his Jedi mentors and companions to try to prevent her death.

Two displays of dissociative episodes took place when Skywalker tried to distance himself from stressful events. The first episode took place after he slaughtered a local tribe of Tuskens responsible for his mother's death. A second episode occurred following his murderous rampage among young Jedi trainees, as he voiced paranoid thoughts about Obi-Wan Kenobi and his wife.

Lastly, any "Star Wars" fan would recognize Skywalker's identity issues and uncertainty about who he was. His fateful turn to the dark side and change of name to Darth Vader could represent the ultimate sign of such identity disturbance, the researchers said.

So Darth Vader has issues. Geez... ya think?!? I thought that was pretty obvious, personally.

It's prolly just a matter of time before some enterprising psychology student hits the federal government up for a $100,000 grant to go to Gotham City and study the criminal insanity of the Joker :-P

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New Coke: 25 years since big biz's biggest bomb

I'm still not entirely persuaded that this wasn't a planned stunt. Like last week's to-do about the 4G-equipped iPhone that some Apple engineer, ahem, "drunkenly" left in a bar. Sure got the Intertubes abuzz about it, aye? So yeah, mark me down as being in the "planned marketing conspiracy" column on that one.

Nearly a full quarter-century earlier, something similar happened to another American mega corporation. That time it was The Coca-Cola Company. On April 23rd 1985, executives announced that the original, world-famous Coca-Cola formula was being retired. Seems that the "old Coke" wasn't cutting it anymore in the "cola wars" between Coca-Cola and Pepsi. So the time-honored Coca Cola was to be put to pasture. In its place we would be getting something called "New Coke".

Witness anew what is arguably the lowest point of the illustrious career of Bill Cosby...

"Better than ever"?? I still remember the one time that I tried to drink New Coke. It tasted like crap! What were you thinking, Bill?! We trusted you! And Coca-Cola betrayed us! No Jell-O Pudding for you.

With a wrathful vehemence not seen since the Cabbage Patch Kid riots of '83, Coca-Cola found itself besieged with angry phone calls, letters and organized protests. Three months later then-CEO Roberto Goizueta announced - via a televised spot with all the gravitas of an Oval Office address - that the crisis was ending: the old Coca-Cola was coming back as "Coca-Cola Classic".

And within days of hitting shelves again for the first time, sales of original Coca-Cola soared. Coca-Cola Classic fast eclipsed sales of Pepsi. To this day, Coca-Cola remains the best-selling soft drink in the world.

How could it not have? By that point in the summer of 1985 Coca-Cola dominated much of the pop cultural discussion, both here and abroad. People were talking about Coke like they had never talked about it before.

New Coke by itself was a business failure... but New Coke did make people want the original Coke like never before. New Coke pulled off what had never been done on this large a scale before: it created genuine demand for something that was already so successful it didn't need demand.

I don't care what the "official" documents say: I'm fairly convinced that the New Coke fiasco in my book was brilliant and quite intentional psychological marketing. Not completely convinced though. Wanna know why? Because it does bother me, that the mass of people can be manipulated by something so simple. And so part of my mind doesn't want to acknowledge a great fear that history and human nature have perhaps confirmed too many times already. But anyhoo...

If you want to know more about New Coke, which we got ambushed with twenty-five years ago this week, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution has a good write-up about it, including how Coca-Cola is now chronicling the New Coke episode at the World of Coca-Cola.

(If nothing else, it has to be said that New Coke was a product so bad that it made Billy Beer taste good.)

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Awright, new terminology...

I don't like the term "insane". I prefer "mentally hilarious".

(Shamelessly stolen from Bryan and Kathy Shepley :-)

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Would YOU notice a clown on a unicycle?

The New York Times has an eye-opening article about how merely walking with a cellphone can become a huge distraction from one's surrounding environment. Cited in the write-up is a rather hilarious study at Western Washington University in Bellingham, Washington involving a unicycling student and a psychology professor who owns a clown suit, researching what is being called "inattentional blindness"...

"I was trying to think about what kind of distraction we could put out there, and I talked to this student who had a unicycle," said Ira E. Hyman Jr., a professor in the university's psychology department. "He said, 'What's more, I own a clown suit.' You don’t have a student who unicycles in a clown suit every day, so you have to take advantage of these things."

The result is a fascinating study that suggests pedestrians who talk on cellphones are oblivious to the events around them.

In two studies, Dr. Hyman and his students monitored pedestrian traffic across a popular campus square. They tracked a total of 347 pedestrians, noting whether they were walking without distraction, listening to music, talking with a friend or talking on the phone. In the first study, they noticed that people talking on the cellphone walked more slowly, changed directions more frequently and were often weaving off course. They were also less likely to acknowledge other people with a head nod or a wave.

Now, enter the unicycling clown. The student, Dustin Randall, donned a purple-and-yellow clown costume with polka dot sleeves, red shoes and bulbous red nose. And then Mr. Randall hopped on a unicycle and began pedaling around the square for an hour.

After pedestrians crossed the square, the researchers stopped the walkers and asked, "Did you see anything unusual?"

Among pedestrians who were listening to music or walking alone, one in three mentioned that they had just seen a clown on a unicycle. Nearly 60 percent of people who were walking with a friend mentioned the clown. But among people who had been talking on the cellphone, only 8 percent spontaneously remembered the clown.

Then the researchers followed up with a second question: "Did you see the unicycling clown?" With prompting, 71 percent of the people walking with a friend remembered the clown. The numbers were also higher for people listening to music (61 percent) and those who were walking alone (51 percent).

But among those who had been talking on a cellphone, the ability to recall seeing the clown still was startlingly low. Only 25 percent of cellphone talkers remembered seeing a clown on a unicycle, according to the report in the journal Applied Cognitive Psychology. (emphasis mine)

"It's a huge dropoff of awareness of the environment around them," Dr. Hyman said. "It shows that even during as simple a task as walking, performance drops off when talking on the cellphone. They're slower, less aware of their surroundings and weaving around more. It shows how much worse it would be if they were driving a car, which is a more complex task to manage."

That does it: I'm never taking my cellphone to the circus again! :-)

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Study finds men lose minds around beautiful women

Maybe this should be filed in D for "Duh!": a new scientific study has confirmed that the mental capabilities of men drop precipitously in the presence of a pretty woman.

The research shows men who spend even a few minutes in the company of an attractive woman perform less well in tests designed to measure brain function than those who chat to someone they do not find attractive.

Researchers who carried out the study, published in the Journal of Experimental and Social Psychology, think the reason may be that men use up so much of their brain function or 'cognitive resources' trying to impress beautiful women, they have little left for other tasks.

The findings have implications for the performance of men who flirt with women in the workplace, or even exam results in mixed-sex schools.

Women, however, were not affected by chatting to a handsome man.

This may be simply because men are programmed by evolution to think more about mating opportunities.

I think there might be something to this. F'rinstance, if I were to post a photo of Rita Hayworth...

...then the odds are high that useful work among most males looking at this blog at this moment would probably drop by 50% if not more :-P

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