I have a love hate relationship with my guitar.

I got a cheap electric guitar for Christmas when I was 12 years old. I was instantly in love. Part of the deal was that I took lessons at the same time and I loved those just as much. I played that guitar so much that I bent the neck into unplayable form within a year.

That’s when I took my entire life savings, several years of Christmas and birthday gifts, and a loan from my Dad held against my allowance to buy an Eddie Van Halen Signature Series Peavy guitar. All maple neck and fretboard, alder body painted gold with no pick guard.

It was a thing of beauty and it screamed.

I played that exclusively until junior year of high school when I purchased an Epiphone Les Paul, black with a rosewood fretboard.

In college I bought a reissue of the 1972 Fender Telecaster Thinline, blonde.

And after college I bought a Fender Jazzmaster.

I eventually sold off the Van Halen and the Les Paul and I am currently trying to sell the Telecaster. You simply don’t need as many guitars when you aren’t gigging.

But my prized possession now is my Taylor 410 CE acoustic. It is the greatest guitar I have ever owned. I play it almost exclusively, and I hate that. Most of the music I like is electric and I really only got into acoustic music so I could play around the campfire with my in-laws. Unfortunately, I’m left learning country songs because the real talent that people want to hear play is exclusively a country performer. He deserves the big show, he absolutely does, he might be the second most talented musician I’ve ever jammed with (and no I don’t mean “behind me”). People want to hear him because he is awesome at what he does and the fun he gives off while playing is electric. I hate the music but love to listen to him play it, he is that kind of guy.

It can be fun playing with others but I desperately want to play my own music and have people recognize it or at least enjoy it. It has sapped a lot of my desire out of wanting to play the guitar to the point where I might just quit altogether.

18 years is long enough anyways.

Bipolar Thoughts

It has been a long time since I felt genuinely excited about a new relationship.

And I don’t mean because I’m married. I mean friendships, workmates, even relationships with music, movies, art.

I get excited about specific things in my life. I was excited to write this blog, and to start my upcoming podcast.

But there are always things in the way. Setting up my new website is proving to be too much to handle. Podcasting services are expensive and so is the equipment.

There are always things in the way to take away from my pure enjoyment of the event.

Depression makes things like that. Makes you feel like you can’t do things, even if they are worthwhile, especially if they are worthwhile.

The goal is to push through those feelings, persevere as they say. But it is easier said than done.

The one thing they always say heals everything is time. But that isn’t true with Bipolar disorder. Time can keep things the same, make them worse, or make them better. You just never know. You can learn about your cycles and triggers, how you are during the seasons or what feelings are induced during the holidays. You can plan for what you think will be something to look out for only to be blindsided by something you might’ve been staring right in the face.

Live music and art installations are the most disheartening to me. If you knew me when I was 20, these were the only two topics on my mind. I couldn’t consume enough. Now it just feels like I’m full and a little bloated.

I’m still hoping that one day the excitement I used to have about things, especially new things, will come back to me. Still hoping to get amped up in a discovery of a world I never knew existed. Maybe I have bogged my mind down with too much negativity. Maybe this creative endeavor will break the levees.


My father in law is a good man who loves me very much.

He gave me a job.

He is continually concerned about my health, my well-being, and the welfare of my family.

And for whatever reason he believes that everything that ails me, Bipolar, Anxiety, Obsessions, suicidal thoughts and actions, and Insomnia, all of it, can be healed by exercise and losing weight. Now to be fair, maybe he doesn’t think it will heal me but maybe it is his best idea and he just really wants to help.

Now, he isn’t completely wrong. The best extended periods of feeling good in my life were times when I exercised regularly. And I have some serious weight to lose to be healthy. And I’m sure if none of those things help my mental condition. But the conversations about my weight and exercise are near daily with him and make me feel more like a bloated loser.

It isn’t just with me though. When we are all camping as a family he likes to lead morning workout routines, even if no one joins.

Talk of burpees and pull ups and jumping rope are part of his daily lexicon.

I find it soul crushing, especially when I know I can’t do what he can do and he is twice my age.

I often wonder what makes certain people physical while others are not. I enjoy physical activity, I enjoy the gym and working out, I enjoy sweating, playing sports. I enjoy all of it. But I’m not a physical person. Not in the way my father in law is. And I wonder why. I wonder what it is that separates us. Competitive drive? Desire to live a long time? Complacency? I have no idea.

Sometimes I wish I could be more like him, if only to please him more. We are working on our relationship and it has grown a lot in the past two years. He has taken on a desire to learn about my disease and provide as much help and stability as he can. I think there is still a disconnect there and it may be founded in our physical differences.

Bipolar Thoughts

If I was an alcoholic I wouldn’t be considered “functioning”.

I miss a lot of work due to my Bipolar and Anxiety. I am home right now writing this blog instead of suffering the ride into work, dropping off my baby, dealing with a day at the office, picking up baby, and heading home.

Last night I took five times the prescribed dosage of Klonopin in a desire to end mounting anxiety, and to feel some deep seeded need to get really high. It wasn’t a suicide attempt or anything like that, just wanted to feel what it would be like to be that up on those pills. It didn’t feel good. It was terrifying for a long time, I barely slept comfortably, and I’ve had my coordination taken away from me even through this early afternoon, and I’ve felt hungover. A slight hangover, but one none the less.

I couldn’t drive this morning so I couldn’t go to work. I still couldn’t drive right now if I had to.

Some days I had to stay in bed all day, literally. The depression stings so bad all I can do I cuddle up in bed and pray for it to go away. It is the most debilitating thing I go through, days in bed unable to get out.

I have to take Klonopin at work, almost daily to get through the day.

If my pills were alcohol, I would easily be considered a drunk, and a not very good one at keeping things together. This is a particularly hard time for me, has been for over a year. But I fear that my reliance on medication is turning me into something I don’t want to be. Maybe I would be worse off without the meds, it is hard to say, impossible really. But I certainly have a romantic idea in my head that I’m just fine without medication and that they are tying me down and causing me to be a much worse person and employee than I already am.