Bipolar Artists

Bridges. I have burnt every bridge I have crossed all my life. I have set fire to and burnt every relationship I have ever had. Family, friends, co-workers, bosses, my first wife and child. Being bipolar doesn’t mix well socially. People that love you become confused. They don’t know from day to day whether they will be loved or despised. Enter alcohol and drugs and it becomes a disaster waiting to blow up in the faces of the one’s you loved yesterday but hate today. I had no intention of going through life as a loner but that’s what happened until I met Deborah and married her. Her insight and sympathy and love run deeper than anyone I’ve ever met and that is why she is successful at managing people. Not to mean she has no backbone she has tremendous strength and fortitude. If it wasn’t for her I would have rode the long dead train way before now. We’ve been together since 1983. She likes me when I am sober and is not fond of me when I’m drugged and drinking, (an understatement). Am I guilty of the crime being an arsonist, burning love and affection. No. Is it my fault. No. Are we responsible for being ill? Or being a addict? No. We were born with genetic defects. Do we have a choice to try to get well, find help and support and take medication that will help us? Yes, we have a choice, don’t we? I was told we do, but do we really? My behavior doesn’t make Deborah feel comfortable. She fears that I will die of a heart attack, stroke, liver failure or overdose or suicide. And she is right to fear these things. All I can do is try to love her while we’re both alive. As regards friends I don’t have any. All my friends were junkies and alcoholics and they have all went their own ways as the years have past. All my friends are in cyberspace now liking or disliking each other through our thoughtfulness and words and ideas. Bridges.