Its been awhile since I have written something about me on my blog. Not sure why, just seems that there has been no big changes or revelations lately.Which, it seems, is kinda the issue.

Tomorrow is April 1, day for most that is reserved for hijinks and hilarity. For me, April 1 means something different entirely. On April 1, 2006, I decided it was time to be sober. Big decision. Took a lot of mindshare and time. Willpower and focus. Something I am pretty proud of, but ashamed I had to do it in the first place.

On April 1, 2008, I learned I had Bipolar II. Talk about a mixed emotion day. Here I finally figured out the basis for many of my actions; learned it was treatable, and started to take action. (On a side note, I feel so different here a year later. I am calmer, more able to focus, better at getting things done. Its been amazing.)

So with tomorrow being April 1, what will it bring?

The other day, I was on a man date with Jeffrey (we had just seen the bromance movie I Love You, Man, so Im all up on the lingo) where we were discussing speaking at events and other profile raising activities.

“You know,” I said, “I wonder if my persona, theatrics and past scare people off. After all, most people, once they get to know me realize that I am actually a decent dude.”

Jeffrey paused for a moment. “Dude, I was listening to Dr. Drew on Howard Stern this morning, and he said something that reminded me of you.”

Which, as you can imagine, were just the words I have been waiting to hear for my entire life.

“Dr. Drew was talking about how Artie [Lang] always talks about drugs and his wild times while being on them. Dr. Drew said that Artie was addicited to not being addicted. That through shear force of will Artie had stopped doing drugs, but that he had never overcome his addiction, and until he had treated his addiction, he would never really be able to move forward in his life, because he would be working so hard at not doing drugs.”

“Interesting,” I replied, and changed the subject.

But, I didnt stop thinking about it.

It continued to sit in my head and I continued to chew on it. After all, it was something I thought about a lot. That while I had decided to be sober, and that I figured out the biploar thing, I was still feeling that I wasnt being all that I could be. That success was alluding me not because I was not fighting for it or because I was working towards it, but because I was my own worst enemy. Failure was overwhelming me. Failure was no longer a process; it was a rut.

A couple of days later, I had this IM discussion with a friend:

Me: ok, so here is the deal with me
Me: want to hear it?
Him: yes
Me: jeffrey made a comment to me the other day
Me: about how he was listening to dr. drew on howard stern
Me: and dr. drew said the reason artie talks about being a drug addict all the time
Me: is that he overcame doing drugs, but not the addiction
Me: that he is addicted to not being addicted
Me: for some reason that rang really true for me
Me: there has been a block for me since I got sober
Me: and I dont know what it was
Me: I thought it was the bipolar
Me: but thats not it
Me: so dr. drew said that artie should get treatment for his addiction
Me: which I think I am going to do
Me: I think if I stop working so hard to not be addicted, I can spend time on the things that matter to me. that I can stop feeling so overwhelmed all the time
Me: so thats it
Me: now I have to take a shit. brb
Him: i agree with that
Him: a lot
Me: really?
Him: totally
Him: because when i first met you it dove me fucking crazy that you talked about coke all the time
Him: cuz i know both sides
Him: i have been around addiction most of my life
Him: a LOT of my friends are coke heads
Him: so its like.  wtf. i don’t care. i understand.
Him: but i felt like it was a part of you that needed to peak
Him: speak
Him: yea know
Him: and you needed to get it out
Him: i felt almost as an atonement
Me: yeah – it makes total sense to me now

So, that it. The big April 1 thing. I have not fixed the things that made me make bad decisions in the past, I am just avoiding them, and its time to stop. Stop talking about them, stop making self deprecating jokes. Just stop being stuck in the next step.

And with that, I grow a little bit more…

Photo Credit: dearsomeone

I apparently am beginning to really enjoy this video thing. Every time I do it, I learn a bit more about what to do, and not to do. This time I added some light, and some personality. Let me know what you think. And as always, bring on the comments! Good, bad, indifferent, doesnt matter. I want to know what you think about the quality of the video as well as the content. I cant get better unless you tell me how!

Episode 3 of LearnToDuckTV: In episode 3 of LearnToDuckTV, I talk about what its like to live a day with the mood swings of being bipolar, and how I deal with them.

Being Micah Being Bipolar

For those that dont know, here is a very important fact about me.

For about 4 years, I was addicted to drugs. Mostly cocaine, but there wasnt anything I was unwilling to abuse. I did stay away from heroin and LSD, primarily because those two drugs scared me.

On April 1, 2006, I stopped being the fool. That was the day I stopped doing drugs. A few months later, I stopped drinking.

So, lets start with that.

Today, 905 days later, I am sitting in the MGM Signature hotel in Las Vegas. I have been here for about two days, and I have gone to a couple clubs; I have stayed out way too late; and I have hung out with my friends while they have gotten wasted.

And, its killing me.

All my memories (at least those I still have) of Las Vegas are fantastic. They are memories that build stories; memories that many people dont believe; and memories that are indicative of a life lead that was both amazing and self-destructive.

Whats is killing me, is how much I wish I could join in the partying. I wish I didnt have that gene or defect or whatever in my head that doesnt allow me to be moderate. That forces me to be That Guy.

Its 3am. I am back in my hotel early (by Vegas time), and I am writing this blog post. I know that the comments both personal and on this post (of course, when you talk about comments, they tend to never materialize) are going to be positive and congratulatory. Thats not my aim.

I simply want to let people know, that if I appear to be slightly uptight, I am. If I appear pining for something I used to have. I am.

Normalcy includes the ability to come to Las Vegas and act a bit the fool.

905 days ago, I realized that I am not normal.

And I would be a fool if I didnt say, that sometimes, that sucks.

Today an interesting conversation on twitter broke out among men and women about dating and relationships. Its an topic that has been bouncing around in my brain for some time recently.

Why?

Well, I am 36 years old and single. In Jew years, 36 is the point where I am either on my second marriage, or have kicked out 3 or so kids. Not single. In Jew years, I am the family member that people whisper “Yeah, Micah is not married yet. But look how successful he is! Whats that? No, we are pretty sure he is not gay.”

Some could argue that my pets are like my children. I do have 5 animals, two dogs and three cats.

But I will never beat up Billie‘s first boyfriend because he looked at her the wrong way.

I wont get a chance to remind Taylor that even though she is an athlete, boys will still like her.

I wont be able to bail Winston out of jail for joy riding with his friends.

I cant take Calin to get her first bra or buy birth control.

And, I will never be able to show how much I accept Max‘s life style or his new boyfriend (I am pretty sure my cat is gay) or see the shock in my grandmother’s face when they visit for the first time.

Most importantly, I continue to get the questions from my mom and grandmother. “Have you met any nice Jewish girls?”

“Yes, mom and grandmom,” I usually reply, “but they just havent met me yet. Right, its called the internet…”

The question that so many people have asked me, is, “why.”

“Why, Micah, I know plenty of women that are interested in you. I know plenty that have asked about you. Have you never had a serious girlfriend? Do you not date? Is there something wrong with you?”

Frankly, yes. Its called a brain defect.

You see, for most of my life, I have existed in one of two states. Manic or Depressed. When Manic, I loved it, but its a self-centered state of motion. You are constantly doing, talking, moving, creating, thinking….

Leaves little room for listening, accepting and all the other things that a relationship needs.

Or Depressed. For me, depression means: irritability, paranoia and lethargy.

Really great qualities for a relationship.

So early on, I gave up on the possibility of a relationship. Stopped trying, avoided situations and made myself completely unavailable.

That is until 6 months ago or so. Finally after years of self-medication, sobriety and therapy, I conceded to go to a shrink. I was finally ok with admitting that there was something physical wrong with me.

That I was not normal.

That I was broken.

That I was finally tired of trying on my own.

That if there was a pill or series of pills I could take to stop the mood cycles, I would do it.

So I went to a shrink. He spent an hour asking me questions, and at the end of the conversation. He said, “You have all the symptoms and signs of classic bi-polar II, or soft bi-polar.”

He spent another 30 minutes or so explaining what that meant. And he handing me a prescription.

I left his office and called my mom. I told her what the doctor said. And I cried.

The weight of 36 years of personal control of my feelings and moods slowly lifted, and it was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I knew, just knew, that the doctor was right, and there was a light at the end of my tunnel.

Over the next six months, I continued to visit the shrink every couple of weeks, and a therapist weekly. I learned more about my disease, read a book called Why Am I Still Depressed? By Jim Phelps, which was like watching a film of my life and behaviors.

Each time I learned something new, I felt the need to be in complete control lift just a bit.

Then in about April or so, I decided I was ready to be open to others.

And while I am not married, or even seriously dating anyone, I am learning a ton. My sister said to me the other day, “Micah, its like you are smashing 36 years of emotional growth into 6 months. You are learning quickly, but its still about experiences.”

I think thats right. Education is not just thinking and learning, but its experiencing. Im working on that part where I can (its not like I can grab women off the street, exclaim “date me! I need the experience!” Although, sometimes that would make it easier….)

Instead, I ask lots of questions. (It seems to be safer, and less likely to bring restraining orders and police.)

Instead, I put myself out there.

Instead, I am allowing myself to be open to the possibilities, to accept hope and be vulnerable to the pain.

Instead, I refuse to go back to the comfortable life of throwing myself into my work, and allowing people to be superficially friends with me.

Instead, I write this blog, and tell the world, “this is me.”

And, I kinda like me.

Now I am accepting hope. The hope that one day, my mom will no longer be asking me if I have met any nice women, but rather will just telling me about how worried she is about my weight.

Oh, that will be a nice day.

Preface: I wrote this a few days ago, when my brain was definitely was in a “depressed” state. What that means that the chemicals in each cell were not firing at a much slower or erratic rate than normal. (The opposite is an “active” state, which is when the chemicals in each cell are over firing. Interestingly, it is very similar to epilepsy, where the electrical impulses are firing at an erratic rate (which causes seizures).

I wrote it, and then saved it as a draft, because it was very raw, and I wasnt sure if it would be read as what it is, my thoughts and feelings at a moment in time. As a reference point, I dont feel like that today. I feel pretty normal actually.

But, one of my tenets is being open and honest about this birth defect that I am trying to determine the correct course of medication and behavior to control. So, right or wrong, I think its better to put it out there than to not.

Read at your own risk. Its not a very pretty piece, and frankly, something I probably would have rather just deleted. I hope it helps people understand me, and perhaps if they see themselves in it, they can begin to understand why these feelings exist.

And, I almost want to close the comments, but I wont. Please understand that unlike anything else I have written, there is no humor here. If you want to comment, be honest in your comment. Dont worry about my feelings, but do be respectful of your words.

—–

I have spent my entire life with the inability to properly regulate chemicals at the cellular level in my brain. For my entire life, this defect within my brain cells has fueled days of great energy and motivation. Days of great accomplishment and success. And days of great sadness and loneliness. Days of self destruction and introspection.

This brain defect, this physical limitation within the very cells of the organ that drives thought and emotion (along with the basic functions of life), has created a most interesting life for me. I would have had it any other way.

But now I am tired.

Tired of waking up in a funk so deep that the thought of moving seems to be outside the spectrum of reality. Tired of bouncing off the walls thinking a hundred different thoughts at the same time, not even being able to breath because I have so much to say, to do, to ponder.

I dont want this any more. I just want the consistency of a normal life. I dont want to feel that I have to continually protect the people around me from me. I dont want to feel that if I dont keep everything in complete control, that I will end up hurting the very people that I love.

I am just tired.

I am tired of waking up and laying in bed waiting to see what direction my brain is taking today. Does Taylor’s whine make me smile or does it build anger? Does Calin’s meowing make me cringe or excited?

Every day it seems to be different. I can be just fine for weeks, then have a couple of days of wonkiness.

If I dont know what the day is going to bring me, how can anyone else?

So, I protect the world from me. I keep myself inside and protected. I stand alone and strong.

And it makes me tired.

So I see doctors. Currently I see 3. Each is hopeful that things will change. I take medication. It seems to be working, I guess, but the edges of mental states are more acute and sharp now. They happen less, but when they do, its like 3x of what it was, which just kinda sucks.

And I am scared.

What if I am doomed to live this life of inconsistency? What if no matter how hard I try, I will be alone, because no one wants to have to deal with a lack of reliability. What if I am unlovable, because I am not reliable or consistent.

And I am angry.

I am angry at my father for being a drug addict, and probably being bipolar himself. I am angry that I can just fix this, like I fix so many other things.

Which just makes me sad.

I know that I will come out on the other side of this one day. But I wonder what the trail of destruction I leave behind as I “work it out,” will look like, and will that other side look like this, but just with a consistency that I have never achieved? I have begun to learn how to accept hope, and that has been wonderful.

And, so now, I am hopeful.

Every night, before bed, I take Seroquel, which does the wondrous task of shutting my brain defect (yes, I named my brain defect Andrew) up.

You see, normally, Andrew would not shut up. All night it was “Hey! Micah! Let me tell you somethin’!” or “Hey! Micah! Guess What? Seriously, Guess?”

So, Seroquel was step one on killing Andrew.

On Monday, my doctor prescribed step two: Trileptal (also known as Oxcarbazepine). Interestingly, its an antiepileptic drug. Apparently, my brain cells are in a constantly active state or in a completely depressed state. The chemicals that regulate brain function (not breathing – those functions are always on; but the higher functions surrounding thought and emotion) dont do a good job. Rather they are in constant disarray.

This medication is supposed to, over time, settle my brain chemistry to operate in a more regulated fashion.

How is that manifested? Well, the hypomania (where I am bouncing off the walls) and the depressed state (paranoia, irratability and lethargy) will disappate. I will be in a more normal state consistently.

This drug takes about three weeks to kick in. And the doctor explained that at best, there is a 60% chance that a drug treatment will work.

So, Andrew, you have a 60% chance of being dead in three weeks. Live it up while you can, sucker.

As I work through finding the right medication to battle Andrew, the one thing my doctor keeps telling me that one of the most important things is consistent sleep.

Seriously? I have lived on 4 hours sleep a night for years. I like not sleeping. I get more done. But, trying to get to a solution, I tried it. He gave a medication called Seroquel that at low doses helps me sleep properly (among other things). So, for the past week, I have gone to bed by 11pm, and have taken a pill each night.

The first night it was like someone hit me with a bat. I slept soundly and through the night. Got a full 8 hours. Each night after that, I got a solid nights sleep, but each morning woke up a little bit cloudy (which must be what normal people refer to when they say “I need my coffee this morning”). Over time the cloudiness disappeared, and I felt great (other than the depressed state my brain was in).

So, last night, I got to talking to friends online, by the time it was done, it was 2am. Thats kinda when I normally used to fall asleep. Since 8 hours was 10am, I decided to skip the Seroquel and go to sleep like I used to.

Holy crap! I forgot how bad I used to sleep. It took me 2.5 hours to fall asleep. Yes, I didnt actually fall asleep until 4:30am. Then I woke up at 5am, 5:45am, 6am, 6:15am, 6:45am, and finally got out of bed at 7:00am.

I am so sleeping on the plane.

I am going to kill Andrew.

Well, kill might be overstating it. I am not sure one can actually kill a brain defect, perhaps I can only hope to contain him.

I am going to contain Andrew.

Doesnt have the same…flair, but it does smack a bit more of reality.

Now, lets be clear. If there was an operation, where, with a laser or some cool medical toy, I could fix the part of my brain that was damaged before birth I would. My guess as to the origin of the defect? Well, the fact that my biological father was a bit of an imbiber–which is code for never saw a mind altering substance he didnt imbibe–led to the birth of me and my little friend, Andrew. I would sign up in a heart beat and let the sand blasting of my grey matter commence.

But, I cant. So, the only path to correcting the problem is medication. Thats right folks, drugs. A drug addict will have to take drugs for the rest of his life to be normal.

Read that again.

Perhaps there is an ironic t-shirt in there somewhere.

Or not.

So, after years of trying different things, both with (and without) medical advice, I have finally started down the correct path to killing Andrew.

(Yes, I know I cant kill a brain defect. Ever hear of dramatic license?)

On Monday, I was prescribed Seroquel which I was told that at high doses is used to treat schizophrenia, and at moderate doses to treat bipolar disorder, and there were two ways to use it. One, which is how I am using it, is at very low doses, it operates as a mild mood stabilizer and sleep agent. Basically, it makes sure I get a real 8 hours of sleep.

I have never slept for 8 hours in my life. I usually sleep four, and sleep is pretty much an overstatement.

Before I get into how I feel over the past 2 days, here is some more interesting info.

My issue is this: My brain is like an engine with the throttle stuck on. Means I am always revving, and always with a brain full of thoughts. So, my lack of focus isnt because of a lack of thoughts (ADD), but because of too many. So, even in sleep, I always have running thoughts. My dreams are intense, and I dont really ever sleep/relax (toss and turn, wake up frequently, etc.).

The brain uses nothing but sugar to fuel it. So, I often crave sugar and simple carbs because I need to fuel this engine with a stuck throttle. Hence the additional weight I carry and inability to lose. The by product of this is increased insulin in my system, which requires more sugar to regulate. I am almost like a diabetic without diabetes.

Those two facts answer so many of the issues I have faced my whole life. Its almost comforting to know them.

What about killing Andrew?

Right, so this Seroquel is taken at night, prior to sleep. It helps me sleep soundly for 8 hours and calms my brain. I dont toss and turn when I sleep. Monday night I took 25mg (a very small dose indeed). Thirty minutes later, I was sound asleep. Eight hours later, I woke up with extremely sore muscles (apparently lactic acid builds up in them if I dont move while sleeping), and a huge red spot on my forehead. I suppose it was from sleeping in the same position for an extended time.

I felt really refreshed, but my brain was cloudy. It took a while to clear my head and be able to think coherently. And, for most of the day, I felt very calm with little bothering me.

Now, the doctor told me that like a engine with a stuck throttle, when one unsticks the throttle, the engine begins to idle correctly, but its still overheated for a time. For me, that means my “Active” state (lots of random thinking, talking, etc.) would be reduced significantly, but my “Depressed” state (irritability, headaches, paranoia, xenophobia) would continue for some time. That, in fact, I would think I was depressed, when I really wasnt.

Trust me, intellectually, that sounds workable.

So Monday, everything was cool, and a popped another pill Tuesday night. Again, slept well, woke up with muscle soreness and mind cloudiness (which, by the way normal people, is that how you wake up every day? Man, that must suck.) and as the day progressed, I began to feel more and more under the weather. I headed home early, head hurting, nose runny.

But as the afternoon progressed, I realized that the calm feeling from the previous day continued, that the rapid thoughts were held at bay, but the depressed state had hit like a ton of bricks. So, I did what I always do, I retreated to a dark room after having to run some errands, and slept.

And while I felt like I had won day one, Andrew kicked my ass on day two.

But, I was told to expect this, and therefore, I will continue on.

And Andrew, you will die. Oh you will.

When I tweeted that a couple of days ago, it made me smile. Partly because it was funny to have named a brain defect, partly because a brain defect likes coffee, partly because I named my brain defect after my friend Andrew Hyde, who often makes me crazy (like my brain defect), but mostly because I think I finally figured it out.

If you really read that sentence, you will see what I mean. Its all over the place. Its completely without emotion. It meanders until it makes a point.

Welcome to my brain.

I wrote about how April 1 is a special day for me in that its the anniversary of my decision to be sober. This April 1, I added another reason to love that day. I was diagnosed with bipolar II disease.

And, for the first time ever, I knew this was the correct diagnosis. I mean, I have been diagnosed as ADD, as “too smart for my own good,” as “easily bored,” or “under stimulated.” I have been put in special classes, advanced classes, detention, throw out of places. I quit two masters programs 1/2 through, I have never held a job longer than 2 years (except my own company), moved every couple of years (because I knew that the next move would make my life better) and kept away from most people, because most people made my head hurt.

Sure, I had some success. Of course I have friends. But, I have always known that there was something wrong with my physically. I just knew it.

So now I know. I have a brain defect. More specifically, bipolar II, which is a psychological disorder that involves mood swings from depressed to hypomanic states.

Here is the basic idea: I have an enormous amount of thoughts running through my brain all the time. My brain never shuts off. This hyper-stimulated state creates in me talkativeness, short sleep cycles, “over-thinking,” unpredictable reactions, lack of focus, often a rapid cycling of happy/depression, and an intense need to be by myself to reduce stimulation.

Attention DEFICIT Disorder is having too few thoughts. Not paying attention to things because you have the inability to focus. I am the opposite. I am focusing on so many things, that stuff slips through regardless of how much I want to remember to do it.

Here is an example. For the past year every morning when I leave the house, I say to myself, “Dont forget to mail a check to the IRS,” and every night before I go to sleep, I say to myself “Fuck! I forgot to wwrite that check to the IRS.” For a year.

What my shrink told me, which makes perfect sense now, is that I spend the majority of my energy on “keeping myself together.” Which doesnt leave a lot of time for other things. Make sense to me.

And its all because of Andrew, my brain defect. Something I have had since birth, and something that I have spent a lot of time on creating work arounds for. Those work arounds have lead me to where I am today, but have been ineffective at allowing me to accomplish everything I could.

This week I get blood drawn, and on Monday will go back to the shrink to start treatment (the nice way of saying drug trials). I cant wait. I do think its funny that to be normal, a drug addict will have to take drugs for the rest of his life.

My good friend, Meg Fowler, who is an amazing writer, told me that my writing is structurally sound (most of the time), but it always comes with a conclusion. She suggested that I try to write about process, and allow others to help lead me to the conclusion. I told her then, I was relatively uncomfortable doing that. Now I understand why. Its because I have to always be in control, and process is not about control – conclusions are. So, lets see what happens. I will try and consistently write about the process of bringing this issue under control. Bare with me, it might not be clear, clean or linear.

Hello Andrew. Its time to take control away from you, and provide you a strict set of rules with which to live.

First rule: no more coffee.