getting better.

I have seen a lot of different therapists over the past year. Every time things get bad, or I feel down I realize that I need to talk to a professional. But in one year I have never stayed with a therapist for more than a month. I've been doing this all wrong. I realized today (thanks to an episode of greys anatomy...don't judge me) that going to a therapist isn't about getting better. Its not about finding happiness. Its about learning to deal with my circumstances, and that process is longer than four weeks. I stopped taking medication and I stopped seeing a therapist because things started going well for me. All of the sudden I didn't need help anymore because I was happy. Sometimes I guess I forget that I'm bipolar because the high never lasts for more than a week or two. I'm realizing that I'm really never going to GET BETTER. Thats all I've wanted for the past year. Somehow I had it in my head that I would find a pill that made me feel normal, or talked things out with a therapist and suddenly something would click and I could be just like everyone else. Well no I'm pleased to say that my search for a cure is over.

I need medication so that my best friend doesn't have to call me three times every morning to get me out of bed. I need medication so that my friends don't have to dread the weeks of depression and pray that I wake up manic so that they can laugh and enjoy life with me. I need medication so that when I'm manic I don't sleep in a graveyard or make friends with homeless people just to do something crazy. I don't need a cure for my problems. There is no such thing. But I do need medicine so that I can get my education and have friends, and family, and hopefully some day a meaningful relationship.

I need therapy to talk about my attatchment issues. I need a therapist so my poor mother doesn't have to worry that I don't have someone to help me when I need it. I need a therapist to help me learn to let go of my past. I need a therapist so that my friends don't have to be therapists.

This past weekend I auditioned for the Boston Conservatory. I was accpeted last year but couldn't afford to go so I auditioned again hoping that something will work out this time. Its been my dream since I was in 8th grade to go there. Being accepted last year was one of the happiest days of my life. And being there for the past few days was an incredible experience. I met amazingly talented and beautiful people. If I am accepted to that school I have to be ready to handle the experience of being accross the country from my family... and my mommy. I have to be ready to deal with a very heavy class/stress load. I have to be ready to be a professional. And even if I stay in salt lake for the next few years I still need help to be ready for life in the real world.

Its hard for me to admit things like this. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I love being in control. Strong. Indipendent. The only reason I went to therapy before was so I could OVERCOME something. To beat my illness and be a winner. This time I'm getting help for real. I am putting my pride aside because I deserve better. My family deserves better. My friends deserve better. I won't be cured from my illness...but I will be better.

i like to play in the dirt sometimes

Tonight I drove to the top of the Avenues. I parked my car on the side of a hill, walked out into the dirt and looked out at the glowing lights of the city. Its one of the most beautiful places that I have found in the whole valley. As I stood there I kept trying to force myself to come up with some profoud thought as to how looking out at the city made me feel so small...yet at peace... or something. But nothing was coming. All I could think about was "its cold, my expensive shoes are muddy, I can't sit down because these are nice jeans and i wanted to wear them tomorrow, and this hot chocolate I bought isn't very good." I started driving back downt the hill toward home....And then it hit me. When did I become this person? When did I become the guy that is too wrapped up in his own life to notice the beauty around him? When I was a kid it was a good day when I came home with grass stains on my jeans. I would be outside for as long as possible and cry when I had to come inside and take a shower. I would literally take my dinner and eat it outside by myself just so I wouldn't have to be cooped up in the house. And now I spend more time in practice rooms than I do outside. I didn't leave my apartment until 10:00 at night by choice. So I turned around. I went back out into the muddy field and sat on a mound of dirt. I sat and just looked. I didn't look for meaning, or for a metaphore, I just looked at the pretty lights. But I still wasn't satisfied. So I found a park nearby and sat on the swings. I went as high as I could and jumped off. Then I ran up a hill near the top of the park just to see what the view was like from the top, and then ran back down.

Some people might call this a "manic episode" but I call it an awakening. I have talked myself into beleiving that I care more about expensive clothes and fancy resturants than experiencing life. I don't really know when it happened. But somewhere along the way I changed to fit in to my stereotype better. The truth is I love camping. I love walking outside. I love swimming. I am not afraid of cold water. I like the smell of the inside of a tent. I love waking up to the sun rather than an alarm clock. I think food tastes better in the woods than in a resturant.I convinced myself that these things weren't true in an effort to seperate myself from other men and fit in with the girls better. But my new goal is to allow myself to experience the things I love without holding myself back. I want to remember what it feels like to not care if I have a grass stain on my jeans. I want to remember why I loved to take my dinner out and sit in the yard alone.

Don't get me wrong.....I still like expensive clothes. I still love fancy food. I really do love to stay in with a wine glass full of milk and watch sex in the city. I just don't want to be limited to that anymore. I want to experience more. And anyone who knows me knows that I get what I want. so dont worry... it will happen :)

Getting out of my box.

"Whats in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

We as human beings are lable makers. We are taught from a young age to categorize and lable. Laundry: whites and darks. Food: breakfast lunch dinner. People: strangers, friends. Friends: best friend, other friends. And as we grow we expound on this. High School: Jocks, Nerds, preps, cheerleaders, goths, drama geeks, band kids, officers, smart kids, debate kids, cowboy kids. People: rich, poor, fat, thin, pretty, ugly, nice, mean...etc. We put lables on things. And its pretty clear which ones are right and which ones are wrong. We know classifying someone as a "nerd" is not correct, we do it anyway, but its not right none the less. But what about the lables we create for ourselves? What about the boxes we put ourselves in? The lines we draw in the sand for ourselves that we never cross?

I have been realizing for the past little while that I created boundaries for myself without realizing it. I classified myself so specifically that there was not possible way for escape. I boxed myself in with lables. Bipolar. Homosexual. Singer. Actor. Dancer. Obsesser. Sassy bitch. Etc. Never in a million years did I think these things would trap me... but lately... i've felt trapped. I feel like its imposible for me to change or grow because I have me pinned as "the guy with a mental disorder" or "that singer guy" or "sassy gay friend." So from today I am finished trying to define who I am. Because once I define it I slap a big lable on my forhead and put myself in a box. Maybe someday I'll fall in love with a woman... not likely but you never know. Maybe someday I won't have to worry about being mildly bipolar. Maybe someday I'll get in an accident and lose my ablilty to perform. All those things are possible for me because I am ripping off my lables.

I understand that other people are going to lable me. I'm ok with that. Those lables don't restrict me. Its the ones I put on myself that keep me from reaching my full potential as a human being. So what am I? I'm a person. I love singing, acting, dancing. But I'm not A PERFORMER.  I like boys. I'm not a HOMO. I am a good listener, I'm not A THERAPIST. I like to sit at home and watch sex in the city with a bucket of chicken on occasion, but im' not A SLOB.

Why is this important? Because now my possibilities are endless. I can move in any direction. I can truly live in the moment. I can take advantage of LIFE. So really, what IS in a name? For me, its a little trap that holds me back. Keeps me from moving forward and making new discoveries.

In William Shakespeares classic "Romeo and Juliet" the thing that keeps the "star crossed lovers" from happiness is a name. A lable. "Tis but thy name that is mine enemy." Were it not for a simple lable they could have lived full and happy lives. And I let this happen to me. For example, I let my lable of "gay performer" keep me from trying new things. Who knows if I really hate all sports!? I never really tried them all because I let a lable define what I liked. I let my lable of "bipolar" give me an excuse to hide from the world and ignore friends when I felt depressed. And that is NOT acceptable to me.

So my new goal is to not let my name be my enemy. I am going to stop searching for things that DEFINE me and start experencing things without holding back.