Today is World Bipolar Day. Sixty million people worldwide live with bipolar disorder, and each and every one of them is unique and passionate. In fact, passion is the theme of the day this year.
Bipolar individuals are special. As I’ve said here before: Because we are such passionate people, we the manic-depressed can create art with ease. Whether it’s music, performance, paintings and sketches, books, poetry, or blog posts, our collective creative streak is endless. We strive to be clever every day. We thrive on it. Historically, some of us are geniuses.
So what is your passion? Share it for the world to see. You can help get World Bipolar Day trending on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram by taking a selfie and using the hashtags #WorldBipolarDay and #MyBipolarFuelsMyPassion4 [place your passion here — remember to leave a space after the hashtag].
As for me,
#MyBipolarFuelsMyPassion4 Music
Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve been passionate about music. As the great Jimi Hendrix said in his song “Manic Depression,” “Music, sweet music, I wish I could caress and kiss.” Me too. Good music has always given me chills. My very first memory is from 1984, when I was four years old. I was attempting to breakdance with my sister in my parents’ basement listening to Michael Jackson’s landmark Thriller album.
Since then, I have had mountains of music memories. I picked up a guitar at age 14. While I am by far no virtuoso, I enjoy playing The Beatles, Smashing Pumpkins, and Nirvana on my black Fender Stratocaster, even if it’s only once in a blue moon.
But experiencing live music is where my mood really thrives. Going to concerts is like being manic (in a good way) for two hours. I count my concerts like conquests. They are feathers in my cap.
The Flaming Lips headline Riot Fest 2016 in Chicago. Photo by Conor Bezane.
Looking back on these musical conquests, I feel like a pirate admiring his loot. The biggest, most impressive gems in my treasure chest are when I saw the still-new Weezer in a small venue in 1994, when their blue album was just breaking. On New Year’s Eve 1999, I scored tickets to see The Flaming Lips in a small club. They’ve gone on to headline Riot Fest. Some of my prize trophies are Paul McCartney’s performance at Lollapalooza 2015, last summer’s Guns ‘N Roses reunion on the Not in This Lifetime tour, and the 30-years-in-the-making return of seminal horror punks the Misfits, last year at Riot Fest. While the memories don’t bring me the level of elation as being there did, I still feel an upsurge in spirits recalling The Flaming Lips’ confetti cannons and being in the presence of a real live Beatle.
These concerts are etched into my soul like a patchwork quilt of colorful sleeve tattoos. They were peak experiences I’ll take with me to the grave.
To say that concerts lift my spirits is an understatement. They have powerful, healing qualities that move me to be a better, happier person. Which is why I have a heavy roster of upcoming shows planned: Metallica, The New Pornographers, Belle & Sebastian, Arcade Fire and many more.
I also owe my sobriety to music. I am addicted to it — a healthy addiction, as opposed to alcohol and other drugs. It helps me get through the roughest of times. When I listen to music, my anxiety and depression fade. It’s the one true escape I have in my toolbox.
I think I wouldn’t be as passionate about music if I weren’t bipolar.
Indeed, being bipolar is something to celebrate. It’s a blessing in disguise. It’s what makes us fascinating, unique, colorful, and empathetic. And I wouldn’t change my diagnosis if I could.
