Manic Optimism (why it's better, and why I choose it even though it sometimes is hard)

Hi everybody,

Back at Bates College, I had a disheartening first few weeks.  I tried out for the Deansmen, the most prestigious group on campus, and they didn't let me in.  I noticed that several other guys hadn't gotten in either, and I decided that we should sing anyway.  I had been in the All Eastern Choir, All State, and a bunch of other things in high school, and who were these guys anyway to tell me that I couldn't be in their group?  So, myself, Chal, Arthur, Mark S., and some others began thinking about what to do and what to call it.  We settled on the Manic Optimists, since we arrived at our decision to start a group with mostly the rejects from other groups (Deansmen and Crosstones, respectively).  Thus began my Bates legacy - the Manic Optimists, or manops for short.

Had I given up right after the Deansmen audition, I would have never founded this other group, it would not be flourishing today, and I would have not gained entrance into the Deansmen the next year.  Thus, my manic optimism (or hypomania, for you psychology buffs) is adaptive.  It comes with its price, but I think the price (the pain suffered in my bouts with slight depression, and the shame that accompanies my realization of what has been done in my manic moments) is worth it.  If I can sometimes bring light into the darkness, I can brave my own darkness for a time.  Everything ends, and though my depression makes me fat, flat, and grumpy (I hibernate like a bear) it also means I feel more deeply than most humans.  It makes me a better teacher, able to empathize with those who suffer, to quote Shakespeare, the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."  It makes me a better man, because before I act I usually try to see what effect my actions will have on others.

In short, this blog is about my type II bipolar disorder.  It's also about how I wouldn't trade that "malady" in for anything else.  Without it, I wouldn't be a manic optimist.  B+ wouldn't be my attitude and my blood type.  I wouldn't be me.

Though right now I am suffering (I can't work because I'm busy dealing with my head) I'd imagine that most of my students, through most of my years as an educator (12) would agree that my low spots are negated by my high spots.  My creativity, my lust for knowledge, my genuine interest in my students - all of these are more important than the few times I've been too low to get to class, or too high to be concrete sequential.  My blessing is my curse.  But through suffering with it, I hope I can show students (and the world) that it's better to be flawed and trying than to stop trying.  That it's better to be unique than run of the mill.  That though I'm sure I've burned a few bridges, I've constructed better ones.

Thanks for listening - I appreciate your time.  I really do.  Writing this helps me to find catharsis, and maybe it helps a few others out there that struggle.

Have a great day,

~Mark (@gr8fullyfeclub)