I found myself in a pickle, having written a poem, posted it as a blog, only to start having this negative script running through my head. Piece of shit, it says, you piece of shit. That kind of thing. Where does it come from? Now, on one level, I have had some issues with my medication lately, but that’s another story. I’m actually finding myself rapid-cycling in this moment, but in a relatively minor way, so I’m going to see if I can hold together enough lucidity to put some thoughts on paper. As some point I will get back to talking about music and creative projects, but while here--in the guts of figuring out how to deal with this bipolarism--let’s see if I can recount some experiences, for, who knows, perhaps in some way it might be helpful to somebody.

Okay, let’s do this and try to stay calm and not break things. This post might be a little manic, literally.

Think. Where does it come from? Yes, there is experience from the past that says something like: when you do your best to express yourself, people take advantage of that, make fun of you, and hurt you, emotionally and physically. This took place throughout my young life. So the self-berating is a maladaptive self-defense mechanism. The idea being if this self-berating voice speaks loud enough, then it will snuff out self-expression, and in that there will be safety from the dangers of being hurt.

But this is the past. I step away from the past, I forgive it, and I move into the present.

But perhaps, I suppose, there is this fear: that the past exists still, today.

A fear body that feels that I might still say something embarrassing. No, that’s not right. More that I will say something, whether embarrassing or not, that will be used as a weapon against me, and that I will be harmed by that.  

Something like that.

First, a realization: I have taken responsibility for other people’s actions, you see. I have said unto myself, and internalized, that the reason the people in the past were cruel was not because they made a choice to be a certain way, was not because perhaps they had low self-esteem and made choices reflecting a feeling of inadequacy, but instead I took responsibility, saying that, it must have been something I said, that was terribly offensive, that was terribly inappropriate, why else would someone act so cruelly?

On the subject of saying dumb things: I cannot say that my record is flawless. I have said some idiotic, ignorant, mean, and even (alas) bigoted things, and also some manipulative things just to get my way, in the past. But what I am considering here is those moments where I express myself honestly, from the heart, and then I fault myself and berate myself and say truly harmful and destructive and traumatic things to myself immediately after, for the shame I feel. Is it shame? Or perhaps embarrassment, or more so: fear. I feel embarrassed because I am scared I may have said something that someone might in some way use against me, or that someone might laugh on the inside about.

I am doing my best to be as coherent as I can.

What I believe I am looking at is a paradox. It states: "I fear others using my words to hurt me, and so I want to be sure that anything and everything I say will never, in any way, from now to eternity, offend, upset, discomfort, or in any other way adversely affect anyone, and moreover, that no one will find anything I say anything other than positive, constructive, pleasant, etc." 

The paradox really ought to have a name. Perhaps the Perfection Paradox? Because it extends not only to words and speech, but to behavior and general being-ness as well.

Now, it is one thing to want to have one’s speech be impeccable. For me this is a worthwhile goal: to ensure that my words are honest, that I mean what I say, and that I choose my words carefully and do the best I can to have them have a positive and constructive effect on whomever hears or reads them. Sounds good. Why not? It’s a commitment, the idea being to create a habit. There’s no perfection involved and thus the goals are quite achievable. If you want to try and speak well, then by all means, do it. If you’re having fun, keep doing it. Quite simple.

But what I am describing is different. By placing an imperative not to allow others to find anything I say discomforting, offensive, etc., this creates the impossible situation. Honesty, for example, is sometimes discomforting. Sometimes simply being oneself offends others. People are offended by things not because of rational processes, but because of emotional, and often knee-jerk, biases. Anti-muslim, anti-west, anti-gay, anti-semite, none of these are rational. So, sure, I can do what I can to make my speech impeccable, because it interests me to do so, but requiring myself to make my speech perfect, so that nothing I say would ever cause anyone to be offended or discomforted or want to use these words against me, is where the problems creep in.  

And, besides, the whole thing is incredibly counterproductive. Because I can hear them now, the repeating negative mantras I hear when I violate this ridiculous requirement. You are a piece of shit Adam... you deserve to die... These are the sorts of things that run through my head if I find myself in such a place, sometimes all because, for example, I wrote the words “Best regards” in my email, as opposed to “Very best”. Oh, you stupid piece of shit! What the fuck was that?! Who the fuck ever says “Best regards”!!! You piece of shit! Someone will use this against you! They’re going to judge and mock you! You just wait! You should just kill yourself! You can’t do anything right!

So, as we can see, counterproductive. What I recounted is a true experience, no joke, and probably an extreme version of what I imagine many others experience, in a more mild state, all the time. Our shared suffering may be part of our shared humanity: this sense of shame at saying what we mean; the second guessing it endlessly along the perfection paradox; the fear of reprisal for our honest expression. There is something fundamental about this, and herein lies an area that, at least for me, within myself, I not only intend to alter, but believe I have the power to, despite the fear I feel even right now.

Perhaps one key is to establish and/or clarify, internally, a sense of something I’ve mentioned before: meaning what we are. This is sort of my chief goal in my life right now: to mean what I am. I know I have not attained this. Perhaps it is a lifetimes-long journey. But what I find I can do is commit to it, which is what I have done. I have committed to meaning what I am and meaning what I say. This doesn’t mean that I am constantly vigilant; I have days when I am tired and things will slip out that I didn’t exactly intend, and I have to correct myself, and it’s not a big deal, it happens. Currently for me, there are worse days, when my medication gives out, and I am in the deep vortex of rapid-cycling, and truly truly hurtful things come out. Yes, sometimes it’s stuff that needed to be said, maybe, but rarely if ever in the way it comes out. Anyone who thinks my wife is a softy hasn’t a fucking clue what they’re talking about.

So anyway, again, perfection must go. We all know this. But back to this specific instance. The intention: to mean who I am, and, specifically in this case, what I say. When this is applied, one key component of the perfection paradox, and more importantly, its negative-script aftermath, is significantly reduced if not eliminated: second guessing. I find, if I can somehow remember and say to myself, Hey, it’s all good, you said what you felt honestly, you expressed yourself and meant what you said, then I can rest a little easier knowing that even if what I said was completely asinine, at least it was authentically so.

But really how is this comforting? So great, I’m an authentic moron and everyone knows it. But here’s the catch, and perhaps why I’m writing this at this time. Trust and compassion. These are words I hear a lot and sometimes I love them and sometimes they piss me off. Right now, it’s a bit of both. Because, wtf, once again all you have to do is throw trust and compassion and you’ll “be fine”. Sometimes it starts to feel a little like chicken and cheese and a Rachael Ray cooking show... sure, you know that delicious meal; it’s only thirty minutes away, but really, a cheesy chicken dish again?

But go with me here. I’m not saying this is right for everyone. Heck, I’m not even saying this is correct at all. But I’m just wondering. Maybe that’s what I’m looking for. Somehow to find a way to be okay with what I say, to be alright with who I am. To alter not only my chemistry, but perhaps even genetics, so that the harmonic underpinning of my soul going through the universe goes from blame and shame to trust and compassion. So perhaps it’s not about just throwing trust and compassion at it. It wouldn’t make sense. I’m not merely looking to use trust and compassion; I’m looking to Be trust and compassion.

But it’s that acceptance, that being alright with yourself, with what you mean to be and say, that first, tiny step along the road of compassion, that eliminates what to me is the biggest component of what makes the perfection paradox so pernicious: the fear element. The fear that someone will judge. The fear that someone will mock you. That someone will hurt you with something you said. If I am truly, honestly, okay with who I am, you cannot mock me. Judgment is irrelevant, as I do not grant you or anyone else such authority. You cannot use my words against me. And not because of any status I possess or extrinstic quality, but because I am alright, truly, with who I am, within. You can call me a stupid fuckwad. You can call me hopeless. You can call me a brown-boy piece of cowshit. I am okay with who I am.

One small step. Dare I take it. I so want to. And I have, many times. But other times, the fear shows up. But I cannot and do not give up... what’s the word? Hope? I don’t do hope much. I prefer action. Faith, then. Perhaps. If I keep going, if I can just find a way to be okay with the fact that I wrote a poem, or a story, or a song, the way I felt it in my heart, whether or not anyone likes it or even cares, or that I chose to write “Hi David” instead of “Hey Dave” in an email to a friend, if I can start to be okay with even that tiny part of me, then maybe I can change my heading by one tenth of a degree. Away from judgment, fear, shame, and towards love, compassion, and trust. And maybe that’s the tenth of a degree that will make all the difference in the world. I don’t know. But I know it’s worth trying.

Thank you for joining me on this. 

by Adam Farouk

a plea to all demons, within and without...

open to your heart and see the light being within you
find a way to resolve your inner turmoil other than inflicting it on others
find a way to deal with your fears rather than acting them out
step away if you must and allow things to unfold
rather than pushing your agenda time and again
we are all in this together
we are all healing
be one with this process
surrender to it
your ego versus the will of the universe
there is only one way
and you are part of it
not against it
the power of the universe lies within your fingertips
if you possess the will to let go of your need to control
your feelings, the will of others, the flow of resources
let yourself swell in the fullness of the light
and free yourself from the prison you have created for yourself
where good is only when the world obeys your command
love yourself instead
be willing to see yourself as both loveable and loved
then may you start to explore the wonders of existence.
then will the magic of the universe open up to you.
i challenge you.
come, join us. be part of what is now. 

I just wanted to take a quick moment, as I've received a number of emails and other messages over the past few weeks, of people sending thoughts and words of love and encouragement, to say a big thank you and to affirm to myself and to all why it is I feel I am doing what I am doing. I realize I've written this message, or some variation of it, a few times now, so if what you read below feels familiar I hope you will please forgive me. The words and sentiments just seemed fundamentally relevant enough to share, in some cases verbatim, here. 

First, thank you so much for the outreach of support. Things are actually okay at this time. They were more difficult last year, when we really had no idea what was going on and were going through the process of systematic elimination of various theories. I'm doing my best to move forward (though there are still plenty of #WTF moments, which I'm sure I'll write about in future posts); I'm respecting the results I am seeing so far from the medication. In time perhaps there might be other means of management, but this works fine for now. 

Really the most important thing for me is that I start making and producing. Productivity helps me heal, and I have a new sense of urgency about this music, this art, these stories that I have been developing alone thus far. I see the world changing and I am feeling a strong urge to contribute positively by adding my voice to the symphony of media and entertainment that is out there. I am committed to creating products that are life-affirming, that offer messages of self-empowerment, and that encourage lucid living and conscious choices. There is much out there in the world of film, music, and TV that promotes the opposite, and I would like to offer a counter-balance to viewers and supporters who are willing to go with me. 

So Elizabeth and I are working hard to that end. There are certainly moments of fear; we are an independent, and at this time, small, organization, in an industry becoming more and more monopolized by megaliths, but we retain a sense of, if not optimism, then focus, in the knowledge that the ever-fluid internet remains a constant and growing stream of new ways for people to connect with people directly. We welcome any and all to join us on this grand experiment. 

Once again, thank you for all your support. 

-AF 

P.S. And, because baby tapirs are awesome... 

I was asked a few days ago, in a pretty point-blank way, “What kind of person do you want to be?” The question caught me off guard. I was in the middle of saying something else, and I realized in that moment I had never actually been faced with having to respond to that publicly before. What kind of person did I want to be? I knew, in terms of a feeling, but I hadn’t taken the time to find the words yet.

As if sensing my discomfort, my interlocutor quickly offered a suggestion. “I’ve always seen you as creative, and also innovative...” he said, which, again, took me by surprise. Not so much the first part; as soon as people find out I’m a musician they immediately smack the label “creative” on me (not that I’m complaining, though there have definitely been some bite-my-tongue moments e.g. “Oh well, I’m not creative, like you, I’m much more, like, organized, and, you know, practical!” “Oh thanks, here, turn around so I can whack you upside the head with this bat.”), but more the part about my being innovative.

It’s true that it is an aspiration I have: to somehow affect or alter (and in a positive way) the conversation, or at least its timbre, about what it means to be here, human, participating in this life experience, in the world, at this time. I suppose that’s innovation in some way. But, I mean, I didn’t invent the tablet computer, or re-define string theory, or even come up with a particularly new and unheard of sound musically. I’m pretty standard regarding aesthetics, harmony, and narrative. Innovative? A dream right now. Let me make a difference, a positive difference, a real and practical difference on this planet. Just a little brighter for my having been here. Who knows? I keep at it.

But I continued to give thought to the original question. And I came up with something that I’m feeling like sharing, for no apparent reason: I want to be what I mean, and mean what I am. This is the person, no, more basic, the “is-ness”, once you strip away all the “do”-ings and machinations, that I wish to be. There is, I realize, a single word that encapsulates this: authentic. To be someone who is authentic. And this is fine, but the word authentic feels a touch overused, a touch “yoga journal”, for my palette right now. I could give a shit about whether it’s via connecting to one’s higher self, or by sitting around masturbating to porn: I just want to mean what I am.

Maybe that’s why I went public so quickly after getting diagnosed; hiding the news just didn’t sit right. And maybe that’s why I did it the way I did it: angrily. I was feeling those feelings then. And I’m feeling a little anger now. Anger at myself mostly. Not so much at the world, I realize. Maybe some anger at some people. Yeah, it’s in there. It is what it is, and I’ll get over it. Teachers who were dismissive and cruel. The folks in my life who were violent or physically abusive. Children who were bullies and referred to me and the other “brown” kids as “cowpat” (i.e. cow dung). Hurts a bit to think about. But I’ll get over it. Because the other option is to not get over it, which doesn’t make any sense to me.

So the way I start to get over it is be mad. Be what you mean. Stop trying to be a fucking hero all the time. I finally got smart last year and told myself, “You’re not going to yoga and meditate your way across the muck and the shit. You’re just going to have to wade in, deal with the stench, and do your very best to get through it.” And, yeah, btw, I talk to myself. Like, all the time. I think it’s awesome. Smart conversation guaranteed. In any case, last year I wrestled my way through one big fuck off swamp. E and I both did. We fought fear, together, a pair of lions refusing to go down. We fought it to a draw we like to say, and we’re still winning on goal difference (those who don’t know soccer get with the program and globalize), and we plan to keep it that way.

But the being mad is only part of the process. There’s also the part of me who looks back at that little child who only wanted to bring light into the world. He was an idiot, for sure. I remember some of the things I used to think and say when I was a kid and let’s just say I’m glad I was a child before social media existed. But beneath the idiocy inherent to being a child who is male was a little boy who wanted to bring light and beauty and happiness and joy into the world. I know this for a fact. And what this boy needs is for someone to look at him, and hold him, and support him, and say to him, you got it kiddo, and you can do it, and have him really hear it, hear that love, and that support, in some way, in some cases for the first time in his life.

So I do this. For him. For me. And it’s taking time. And it is here where sometimes the anger at myself can enter in. I see the years pass by, my twenties become my thirties, and now rounding into my late-thirties, and I start thinking about what it is I am creating, at this point in my life very much in private. I know it is worth something. The songs, the stories, the body of work as a whole. I know that it has the potential to bring in that light, that beauty, all those things I wanted to bring in from when I was a boy. I know that when it is heard, really heard, really sensed and appreciated by an audience that’s finally ready to hear it, ready to experience it for real, it will change lives, and bring light into whomever it touches. Such is my commitment.

Yet, I fear. I worry. I judge. If only you were stronger, my judgment says, if only you weren’t so broken, you would have the confidence to go out and be heard, right now. You’d be more successful. You’d be famous, just like Ben Cumberbatch, and Norah Jones, and all the other household names you went to school with. Maybe so. But I can but be who I am, and I am doing the best I can. So fuck off and get out of my head. Get out; you don’t live here anymore. And it fights me. It makes me feel horrible, a failure. And I cry. And I smile. And I scream. And eventually, I release and it is gone. And then I make music, art, story, some more. This is why it takes time.

Because the most important thing to me, I’m realizing, right now, is not to win some award, or to top some chart, or to win some political point, or to receive some praise or accolade. What I want is to be what I mean and to mean what I am, whatever it is I happen to be “doing” at the time. I want life to be about what it is about, and not about something other than what it is about. And so every step I take from hereon in is to move me in the direction of this path. Music, art, story, enterprise, philanthropy. What is it all? To me, it must be an outpouring of what is felt, what is seen, what I Am, inside. If it is not, then to me it is worthless.

Wisdom? Sure. Why not? But first... I’m going to dare to be me. 

Dear friend,

Thank you for your words of support. I have to admit it has been very difficult. The rapid-cycling in and out of depression has taken a toll on all of us; we are tired and emotionally very drained. But we are making it happen. And my commitment has not changed. Still it is my mission to bring as much light into the world as I possibly can, and I cannot stop, I will not stop, merely because of this. I am doubling down, as it were. Only now, perhaps, might I finally be willing to allow the fullness of my Being to be part of this process: not just the positive intentions and creative breakthroughs, but the shadow moments, the angry moments, the pain and the darkness as well. And maybe there is some benefit in that, maybe not. But it seems to be where I am being asked to go. 

With regards to the condition, yes, there is a little part of me that feels that maybe I allowed myself to be broken. It's funny that, even in this circumstance, I put it on myself to shoulder the "blame". This I believe to be a mental habit that is very destructive and one I wish to release. I think I developed this mental habit at a young age both so as to protect the image I had in my head of my parents, and also in a way to protect myself from really dealing with some of the difficult things that I experienced. I will need to learn to accept and love myself. It will take time and forgiveness to do so. Hence the need for some time and space to pray and heal and cry and do whatever I need to do to make this transition from the me I was to the me I am.

There is a book called "I Am a Loveable Me". It is a children's book that I came across sitting, of all places, in a doctor's waiting room. I find that whenever I read the title, to those words there is a strong emotion reaction, and I cry a little. I don't know exactly why, though I suppose maybe it's not much of a stretch to figure out. There is a kind of mystery I experience, perhaps you do too, about what it means to understand oneself as loveable. I hope to unravel it one day, to understand what it means to feel this, to be sure of it, deep inside. In any case, it seems a good book for helping teaching kids positive affirmations. I would recommend it, for the adorable pictures alone, to anyone who has children, or, for that matter, anyone who has ever been a child, which is everyone, so, I suppose, well... buy the damned book! :) 

You mentioned family. I have recently come to know of the word "ubuntu", which roughly translated means "humanity towards others". I wish to participate in the creation of a new concept of family, of community, one liberated from manipulations and obligations and other such contrivances, and one instead based upon a type of open-hearted and empowered love and support that I see so clearly in my mind's eye, and that I believe you see as well. That is maybe why in the past you and I have always been a bit weird, a bit off-kilter, a bit different from the mainstream. I had a dream a week ago where I was a little kid again, learning to ride a bike, terrified, and all my childhood TV-heroes--Phineas Bogg, MacGyver, you know the crew--were cheering me on, helping me to keep steady and stay on my path. You’re probably one of the few people who will get how fucking cool that is. And maybe one day the stars will collide and we’ll work together to bring awesome stories to life, like the ones we watched as kids that brought us inspiration to change and make something new, the way we have, out of our lives.  

I'm continuing to work on this mission even through all this challenge. I'm not going to lie: it's often pretty rough. I really don't like the person I am right now. The violent and painful imagery in my mind is quite disturbing, and the some of the worse parts are the days I cannot control it and I end up banging my fists against the walls, or smashing plates and stuff. Other days, like yesterday, I stay up late, and cry through the night, for no reason I can understand. It's a long journey I think. This week I have an appointment to get some scripts, probably for some form of lithium. I'm scared as hell. I have nightmares that it will shut down my creativity, take away what is my essential self, perhaps leave me stable, but also lobotomized and dull. E has stated her commitment to making sure that doesn't happen, which gives me some relief.

Whatever the weather, the mission does not stop. I cannot forgo this. I cannot and will not stop, so long as I have breath in my lungs and there is light to be brought into the world. 

With much gratitude for your love and support.

-AF    

... for the me i might become ....