Bipolar Thoughts

I have a series of little scars on my chest and rib cage, on the left side.

They aren’t terribly visible anymore, but I notice them every morning when I take off my shirt before I get in the shower. They fill me with embarrassment every time I see them. They will be with me for the foreseeable future, so I don’t really know what to do about it.

How the scars got there is not a very interesting story. The short version goes as follows: One day I am home from work on my medical leave from my mental breakdown a couple years ago. I get drunk in the early afternoon and decide to find out just how sharp our kitchen knives are.


When I was a kid, and even through college, I would get very excited about practically everything.

I went to a lot of concerts, I played my own. I went to a party every weekend. I had a ton of friends that always had a bunch going on. I was constantly reading new stuff, learning. I was always learning to play new songs on my guitar. I went to see a lot of movies, and some plays or other shows. In college I went to a ton of lectures, practically every lecture I could find. I couldn’t wait for new music to be released and I would pour over the release dates and even mark them on my calendar. I would spend hours and hours digging back through the history of jazz or blues. I would go to art exhibits, installations, or street art murals as often as I could.

All of those things made me extremely excited.