Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. What should we do with Charlie – he of “Adonis DNA” and “tiger blood”?

Nothing. It’s his bottom. Not mine. Not yours. Not Dr. Drew’s or E! Television’s. It’s Charlie’s bottom. Anyone who has watched a loved one crash knows how excruciating and embarrassing it is. As much as you would love to break the fall, you can’t.

What’s the deal with Charlie? Dr. Drew recently surmised that in addition to Charlie’s obvious addiction/alcoholism, Charlie may have a Bipolar Disorder. I have alcoholism and hypomania, also known as Bipolar Disorder II.

I heard one of the saddest and most profound descriptions of rapid cycling  over the weekend.

“I was afraid to be happy because I knew what happened after happy.”

Can you imagine living like that? That is what it is like when you know your illness so well – you have lived it for so very, very long – that you know when the roller coaster gets to the top it will come down, fast and hard.

I didn’t rapid cycle like that. Thank God. But I know people who do. I have seen them when they are on the way up, fast and furious. When they are down they are gone from sight. Holed up somewhere, smothered in depression.

Afraid to be happy. I can’t stop thinking about what that must feel like. Afraid to be happy.

Say a prayer for those who rapid cycle today.

Photo by Kevin McManus, available under a Creative Commons attribution license.

There are not many parties and social functions I attend that I can stand around and talk about having alcoholism and bipolar II and not have people politely excuse themselves to use the restroom, get another drink, call their kids, eat or walk the dog.

Especially in Palm Beach, where cracking one’s own finely polished and cosmetically altered reputation is verboten. Especially at a charity fundraiser at a swank restaurant in Palm Beach attended by some of the island’s most distinguished residents.

But I recently did that without anyone politely excusing themselves to use the restroom, get another drink, call their kids, eat or walk the dog. I was able to do this because Dusty and Joyce Sang decided – while at the cemetery burying their only child – that something needed to be done about early onset bipolar disorder.

It’s like this: If one person calls you a jackass, you slough it off. If two, three or sixteen people call you a jackass, it’s time to turn around and see if you’ve sprouted a tail.

That’s how it is with my mania. I am so freakin’ brilliant and beautiful when I am manic that there is no way I could be a jackass.  Life is great. Life is grand. Life is so wonderful. Or, I am obsessed. I cannot stop working. I cannot stop my brain. The ideas keep coming and coming and coming.

I need to exercise. No, scratch that. I need extreme physical exertion. I am reckless. I am daring. I am going to kick your ass. I am living the X Games and dang, I feel good.

Of course, I’m sick and getting sicker when this kind of mania hits. And without a bunch of people telling me I’m out of control, I wouldn’t see myself sprouting a tail. I can think of no other disease that tells you are not sick. The sicker you get, the better you feel. It’s not like that with cancer or depression. You know you are sick when your cancer or depression worsens. No doubt about it.

As of this minute, the U.S. Census estimates the population at 310,477,719.

Researchers believe that in any given year, ten percent of the population will suffer from a major depression. That’s 31,047,771 million suffering Americans.

Researchers also estimate that about 12 percent of the population has alcoholism. That’s 37,257,326 Americans with alcoholism.

Combined, that is 68,305,097 American with alcoholism or in a major depression.

For every person with a mental illness there will be at least three others profoundly affected by the illness. A parent or guardian (another 68,305,097); A spouse/partner/boyfriend/girlfriend (another 68,305,097); A sibling/child/co-worker/friend (another 68,305,097).

There was an article about me in the New York Times yesterday. It’s on the front page of the Business section: Just Manic Enough: Seeking the Perfect Entrepreneur.

I am not actually mentioned in the article. It’s about a brilliant young entrepreneur named Seth Priesbatsch. But it might as well be about me and my hypomania.

” “Elevated” hardly describes this guy. To keep the pace of his thoughts and conversations at manageable levels, he runs on a track every morning until he literally collapses. He can work 96 hours in a row. He plans to live in his office…He does not socialize. He no longer reads books, nor does he watch TV or movies. He works from 8 am until 10 pm, seven days a week.”

Seth, I love you, man!

It’s Wednesday. Time to fill my weekly pill dispenser. I open a drawer that holds three brown prescription bottles filled with three months worth of my medications.

1-2-3-4-5-6-7

I drop pills into each compartment and then snap them shut. I tuck my hot-pink pill dispenser beside the coffee maker on my kitchen counter – out of plain sight but not to be missed when I pour the day’s first cup of coffee.

Vincent van Gogh’s last self-portrait is on exhibit at our local art museum until February. It is on loan from the National Gallery in Washington – swapped for Gaugin’s self-portrait in Gesthemane, which he painted shortly after his friend Vincent killed himself.

One of my editors invited me to write an article on van Gogh’s mental illnesses, which is like inviting me to shop at Nordstrom’s with your credit card. Of course I will write an article on van Gogh.

Other recovered alcoholics take little jabs at us.

“I never chewed my beer.”

“I have managed to stay sober without the big bottle or little bottle.”

“…and I have not taken any mood altering substances in my xx years of sobriety.”

My response: “Well, good for you.”  But in my head I am thinking, “Maybe you should have.”

There persists – despite decades of peer-reviewed research, anecdotal proof and the admission of LSD use by AA founder Bill Wilson – ignorance in the recovery community about the use of antidepressants and mood stabilizers. They backhand us with their belief that we are not clean and sober because we take psychotropic medications for other mental illnesses.