Whenever I wonder why I’m so changeable, I have to remind myself that I am bipolar. Doesn’t bipolar disorder, by definition, imply change?
Floating or flying from one pole to the other?
I am either at peace and happy with myself, or I am unsettled, anxious and paranoid. You can’t have it both ways, and I never do—at the same time. I’d rather swerve wildly from one position to the other, not calling either one my home base.
The scary thing is how such small things can influence these moods. If I sell a painting, which I did today, it makes me happy.
The corollary is that when my art business is slow, I get depressed. And let’s face it, with the economy the way it’s been over the last few years, things are slow.
I have a sister I am very close to, but she is more secure in the relationship than I am. So when I think she is unhappy with me, my mood plummets.
Today she invited me to come stay with her for a whole week. That proves she likes me after all, and makes me happy.
I so yearn for the Buddhist experience of non-attachment.
I am too attached to everything. That’s why my mood hops along like a rabbit, up and down, up and down, until I’m dizzy and nauseous.
My daughter tells me to follow number two of The Four Agreements*: “Don’t take anything personally.” But I take it all personally, as if every unkind word, thought or deed was about me.
Recently I tried watching a few episodes of the HBO series, Enlightened, with Laura Dern. Like me, Amy (aka Laura Dern) tries hard to stay in the moment, at peace, unattached. She tries not to take the wretched things that happen to her personally. She tries to make the world a better place for her uncaring coworkers and her druggy ex-husband.
All of Amy’s efforts are grossly unappreciated.
The mother in the series seems to have found some sort of nirvana in her rose garden, but not in her relationship with her daughter.
The rose garden: I want to love the mother’s roses and to see them as an emblem of possibility in this drama.
In real life, I love roses. But you can tell that these roses have colors that are too intense. These roses are too perfect, and therefore are not an emblem of possibility at all, but a sarcastic comment about the foolishness of such hope.
I watched more episodes than I wanted to—every one was painful—but I kept hoping to find a hint of possible redemption.
Unfortunately, redemption may only happen in the last episode of a television series if it wants to have a long life.
I can’t hang out with Amy that long. Watching her fail episode after episode makes me depressed.
Maybe I need to plant some roses.
*The Four Agreements by don Miguel Ruiz, 1997, Amber-Allen Publishing, Inc.
