dueling writers, bi-polar, and slightly damaged....

King Arthur wrote:

So, I'm bi polar. What does that mean to me? It means I am piloting a vehicle that can go from still to fucking mach 3 in less time than it probably took you to ask yourself "what the fuck does bi polar mean?"

I have been given a tuned-up, badass machine to cruise in and although at times I may seem like I am going to careen out of control at any moment, my machinehead is cruisin' beyond your sight and leavin' your narrow-minded, clouded, blinded, ignorant ass in the wake of my fucking foresight!

Now, with that said...what does being bi polar mean to you?

Bi-polar reporter wrote:

Well, King Arthur, the bi-polar majesty, I'll tell you what it means to me...the bi-polar reporter.

Today, we have a dualing blog of bi-polar energy. Arthur is a wiley lad and I am an old manic from way back.

What I know is that I have the power to break through walls that make others claustrophobic, and when I'm not doing that, I'm aching for the freedom to fully emit me to the world.

It took years and years to really accept that I am bi-polar and not just a really emotional writer.

Here in the Kern River Valley, a lake surrounded by a few small towns, cloistered together in sometimes peace, but a lot of times strange oddities.

When I was 20, I was quite the devil, and quite the misunderstood. I believed very much in principles and morals, and was always willing to fight for what I believed in.

What gave me this power was the chemical make up of my mind. Where as others give up when things are at there worst, I wake up and create a way to spin the situation.

I believe in god or as I like to call the creator, "Scooter," and it gave me the strength to carry on each fluxuating day of my life.

My good friend and co-writer, King Arthur, and I have been on a journey together for the last year, and he has found something in himself, he never believed was there (we will have him explain that to you now)...

King Arthur wrote:

Yes...indeed good points made and good form. We are not evil brethren, that should be shunned upon and otherwise taken for a small and lowly progeny in the back of society's mind but rather prevalent and substantial contributors to the common folk; the Robin Hoods of mental disorders that cannot and will not choose to comform to statistical normalcy! Fuck that! I am what I am and whoever disagrees with this can FUCK OFF!

Now, getting to what has truly enlightened me...I have found that in order for you to fully discover and develop your strengths you must first have everything taken from you. I'm talking dignity, respect, fucking EVERYTHING.

And when your ashes fall away and you rise up against everything that has torn you down to look those motherfuckers in the face with fire in your eyes and a burning passion in your soul, you will see what I fucking mean! No words here can prepare you for the struggle you must ensue nor the strength you shall gain but do know it is a journey worth taking, one of heart, mind and soul that will leave you forever changed. Try and stop me now, naysayers! You can't! You forged me in the fires of your malice and ignorance and now you have to fucking deal with me!!

Bi-polar reporter wrote:

Dammit, I had a whole blog figured for "you forged me in your fires."
But that's allright, I can handle it.
Yes, I have been the gadfly, the daredevil, who has been barraging the Kern Valley Healthcare District and the government, with correspondence and criticism, but that is what I do best.
I was hurt badly in 2007 by many people whom I trusted and tried to protect, it was a painful year.
But what seems to be bad can often turn out to be good.
The learning process seems arduous and sometimes doesn't feel like it is ever going to pay off: but then I realized not at all.
I have learned so much about life, love, trust, faith, that I will say to you now it was all worth it.
If I had not gone through the trials by fire, I would not be the same person I am today. And I'm a much happier person now that I realize that I can survive all of it and find the prize at the bottom of the box.
Life shot me down in mid-air, set me aflame, and laughed while I writhed in its agony. Moments went by where I assumed I would die from all of it. The physical and emotional pain were so overwhelming my survival mechanism, faltered. There seemed to be nothing to live for.
Funny enough, there was much to live for. Many people came to my aid and lifted me out of the grave being dug, and pounded on my chest, until I gasped life again.
Honestly, I didn't care whether I lived or died, but other people did.
I think of their faces right now, looking at me, praying for me, hoping I would not leave them.
The trials didn't stop though, and one after the other, I had to endure. I couldn't honestly tell anyone of the people who love me, that I could carry on. I really didn't think I could.
In an effort to help my mother, who is bi-polar as well as chronically dememted, I found myself in a very serious situation.
She was unable to formulate anything reasonable, and had people around her who were just as scrambled as she was.
Unfortunately, I ended up fighting one of them.
At 90 pounds of bone and shriveling muscle, I found myself face to face with an attacker.
This attacker was unexpected as my mother had sent him my way. I didn't know what was going to happen.
Five hours of fighting and psychological warfare was what it took to drive off this psychotic person: but unfortunately it was seemingly all I had left.
I drank and I popped pills and I screamed at the top of my lungs at my mother as she drove me to the apartment where this scoundrel lived.
He was fortunate I did not find him that day. It would have been the day he died.
However, I now no longer felt like living. Yes, that bi-polar can drag you down to the bottom of the ocean, and make you believe that there are no other options.
My mother, who does not believe she is bi-polar or to this day, that there is anything wrong with her thinking, was a menace to society and to me.
Helping her brought me to the ground, and only fate would choose what would happen next.
After a call to the police and a lot of yelling, my mother, cast me out of her house and into the cold windy night.
I had a bottle of wine with me and my father picked me up off the side of the road, drunk and angry.
He didn't know what to do. He wanted to kill the guy.
But, I am the kind of person who would talk her father out of such a notion, so that he could sleept that night.
I told him, "I'm good, go home, and call me tomorrow, I love you."
My father left me rolling around on the floor in serious pain. I had been thrown against the dresser, my head swollen from the serious injury.
Now it was time to kill me off for good.
I don't remember much of what happened, just that I had booze and pills and a mind bent to kill who I though was responsible: me.
But apparently, I called my sister and she called my brother.
My brother just told me that he got a call from my sister, and she thought I was on my way out. And they were right.
They drove all morning and afternoon from California to Arizona, and arrived at my house that evening.
My sister, had a big brick she was ready to throw through the window to get in. But my brother told her to wait.
He knocked three times and yelled at me, "we love you, please come to the door."
Somehow, half unconscious, I came to the door. I fell into his arms and they took me to the hospital, where they pumped my stomach and revived me.
The police were there taking pictures of my shrunken, beaten body. I remember I couldn't say anything, I just looked at them.
That night my sister, brother and I slept in my bed, them talking to me keeping me going. We smoked, talked and the next morning went to the police station for examination.
I didn't want to do it, really. My sister told me I had to do this the right way. I just wanted to kill the guy and my mother.
Instead, I got the full report.
They took me back to California, beaten and broken and scared. I stayed with my brother, who had just lost his father and his girlfriend, and watched as I tried to recover.
Then, I woke up to go to the bathroom, headed fast into the dark room, hit the switch and realized the switch was going sideways, while I was pushing up.
The sound was so loud as my face hit the side of the tub. The molecules of my body were dissapating, breaking apart. All I heard was the word, "death."
It was quiet and comfortable whereever I had went. But I was not long for the afterlife, as my brother in terror, yelled, "don't die."

I woke up, blood everywhere, and began a whole new life. Welcome to my world. More soon.

We will be back with the rest of the story...