A Most Unreliable Narrator Issue #101.5 Kanye Does Not Represent Bipolar
Welcome to A Most Unreliable Narrator, the slice-of-life newsletter of GenXer around town, Lisa Rabey. I talk about anything and everything with a bit of swears. I’m glad you’re here.
Dear Internet,
An article in WaPo came across my eyeballs recently, We don’t need to talk about Kanye. (I do, though.), that gave made me slightly angry. The author posits Ye is in an extended manic episode and there is no retribution. And he’s right–there won’t be. Ye is a billionaire with handlers who will milk him to the very end. Who cares what he does as long as it makes money! It’s chilling watching Ye breakdown because he can afford to breakdown without any consequence. He pleads and begs at the heart that he is a father being denied the right of his children (which Kim has repeatedly refuted), deigns Pete Davidson, Kim’s new BF, by mimicking his death, and parades a list of Kim look-alikes who are discarded in a breath.
Ye can afford to be dangerous while the most of us who are bipolar cannot. I was talking to someone recently about Ye’s behaviour and my bitterness that I was never allowed to “breakdown.” I had no safety net, no money, and no family who could help me. If I broke down, I would lose everything and would end up homeless. So, I used my episodes to the best of my advantage, hyper aware that this path would not last. I could not afford therapy or psyche meds and I was hyper vigilant on what I put into my mouth. No illicit drugs. Barely any alcohol. I smoked cigarettes and drank coffee, but I was ever so conscious of how much caffeine went into my body. Caffeine can trigger mania and if I was in a manic streak, I could go for days without sleeping, eating, and being the life of the party. So, I abstained as much as I could.
This method more or less worked (nothing is perfect) for me through three college degrees until it didn’t. New stressors from finally graduating from library school, getting married, buying our first home, and getting my first big adult job all within a year would lean hard on my shoulders. What should have been a saving grace, everything has finally come to fruition, turned out to be a terror. I had money to see a therapist and get on psyche meds, but the psyche meds were not working even though I was doped up most of the time and out of control. I was in a worse state than before, so I weaned off and decided that psyche meds that were designed to save me was not the answer.
(I’m medicated now on psyche meds that work and hoo boy, would not recommend to my worst enemy the process of going on/off psyche meds to find out what works and what doesn’t.)
Ye is dangerous as the representation of those with bipolar. Young writes that bipolar is an ugly disorder, not championed as its more accepted cousins of depression and anxiety. Those disorders are not considered violent or dangerous. When you hear about a violent act happening, armchair psychology presents that the person is bipolar (or schizophrenic which also seems to be a favorite). The public image of bipolar is someone who is angry, assertive, and dangerous. We cannot be controlled. We could and will harm you without remorse. Everyone just looks at Ye and says, “Well, there you go. That is what being bipolar is like.”
When I worked as an academic librarian, and at the time I was going through psyche med change, I told my director what was going on. I felt confident in her trust and abilities to not hold this against me. You can only be so much self-aware until you’re not and when you’re not, it’s beyond scary.
Turned out I was wrong.
I’ll cut to the short version of the story but back the 2013-14 academic year, I found out that since the contract between the college’s union and the college was finalized, those of us who were hired in during the talks would not be going forward and any of the time we put in for tenure investment would lose it, which for me would be three years. I didn’t know it at the time but I was starting to ramp up into a slow manic-depressive wave (which would end up lasting almost two years) and I opted to not reapply for my job. TEH and I had plans for me to write for a year now that we were financially stable and well, look how well that turned out.
When the job went up, they had this disclaimer at the bottom of the job description:
Ability to demonstrate the mental health necessary to safely engage in the librarian discipline as determined by professional standards of practice.
It did not, as one would think, go over well with me or with the internet as many took to the streets to get that taken down. (It worked.) You can read the whole story here.
In a perfect world, discussing your mental health in a professional setting and not having to be stigmatized exists. We’re supposed to get accommodations and assurances. My experience with my old director, which goes more than what I’ve said here, about my mental health cemented in me to never talk about it in a professional space where it could come to haunt me. After nearly three years, I felt confident to tell my current director about my brain and she’s, so far, has been beyond supportive. But yet, I still cling to what could possibly happen down the line if she decides to not be supportive. It could happen and that is my fear.
Sometimes, I just get really tired of the shame and defending myself and just basically existing with a disorder, ya know?
Get vaccinated! Vote in the primaries! Boop a dog’s nose!
lisa x
(Fuck fascists and Nazis!)
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