50,000

Dearest Readers,

My blog struck a milestone yesterday evening.

With Rodrigo at my side I checked the number of hits my blog has received since I started writing it back in 2008.

And there it was: 50,000+.

I turned to Rodrigo and smiled broadly.

“It’s at 50,000 isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, Rodrigo, it is, thanks to you?”

“Me,” he asked.

“You’ve inspired me like the others. Without inspiration I couldn’t write.

“And without readers I’d never be read. And that’s a writers lifeblood: readers reading.”

Thanks to each and everyone that collaborated to make this milestone a reality.

On to the next milestone, 75,000!

Loving Men-Hospital

We’re all as delicate as a porcelain tea cup.

About six weeks ago I called 9-1-1 and told the operator that I was manic and was experiencing SI/HI (suicidal ideation and homicidal ideation). They sent a handful of policemen that then escorted me from my hotel and into a police cruiser.

Before I knew it, the police cruiser was heading north to a town called Davidson. It was there in Davidson that I was interred in a psychiatric hospital for fifteen days.

The reason I was manic with SI/HI was because I have Bipolar II disorder. But more importantly, I was unmedicated: I turned my back on Depakote and Abilify and Gabapentin. Instead I flew to Paris where I met Jean-Baptiste. He also knew I was manic.

It was in Paris that I started to self-medicate with beer, whisky, and men’s affections. When I left Paris I brought my self-medication across the Atlantic and into Charlotte.

I have a high tolerance for liquor so I was able to consume a relatively large quantity of whisky. Not on a daily basis mind you, but when I was lacking the affections of men. I’m not an alcoholic, but I am abusive; I am an abuser of alcohol; I drink to excess.

But upon discharge I had my medications straight; I’d dried out (and stayed sober); I’d understood that patience is a conscious pursuit.

Fifteen days in a psychiatric hospital might seem to some as a mark of weakness. But I can assure you it is not. It is a sign of strength; of humility; of character; and fortitude.

I am now a medicated and sober man that has Bipolar II disorder. I am stronger and wiser and calmer. I have been blessed with patience. I have found great friends in both Robyn and Mike.

I think that our weakness is often the gateway to our strength.