Polypolar?

I came across an interesting problem by pure happen chance. That it involves an innocent child is an absolute misfortune. But why it resonates so deeply within me is because I think if anyone (anyone) were to be labeled with some type of problem or disorder, that should be me.

I found out that a new friends son was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder at the age of four. I had heard of these diagnoses being made on tv or in far and distant places, in Dr. Phil-landia... By obscure and blurred moms who have no impact on me personally. But to have this beautiful new friend of mine's son going through something so intricate and difficult really put a limp in my otherwise brisk walk through this week. It was like I suddenly had a lead manacle attached to my appendage, gnawing at me with gnashing teeth of disbelief and doubt.

My dad is one of the most hilarious people around. Whilst speaking about bi-polar disorder in the past, he has brought up the concept of polypolarity and its something we just laugh about. Laughter is always such a beneficial way to circumnavigate otherwise tricky conversations.

So I did some Dr McGoogle research last night, pulling up the pages of the DSM-IV manual and then reading around in circles, this definition vs that definition etc, and learning about the four different types of bi-polar disorder (yes there are four types, I, II, Cyclothymic and Not Otherwise Specified)... and then I fell on the common characteristics and traits in bi-polar children.

Look, the thing is, I am not a doctor. I am also not a parent of a child who has had any major issues (Praise Jesus for this)... But whilst mulling through these expansive lists of definite symptoms of bi-polar in children (babies!!! They are innocent babies!!)... I can't help but wonder if our society wernt so rigid and categorised, would there be such a need to define our kids in such a methodical and specific way?

Honestly I have almost all of the characteristics of bi-polar disorder. So does my dad. I would also say my dads twin brother has it too. We have what I refer to as delightful eccentricities... Number one sticking out would be that we are what I call wordsmiths. Yet psychiatrists would label us with speech impediments such as Aphasia (substituting the correct word with a wrong word, like a Freudian slip that happens frequently. The substituted word may have a similar sound or consonant or vowels...)... or perhaps this is a Clang Association disorder... Making up nonsensical rhymes full of alliteration or assonance or both... Yet I prefer to say I have the gift of the gab? Everyday Health.com says my neologisms are a sign of a psychotic phase... So what if the Jabberwocky makes perfect sense to me? Disorganisation...Disambiguation... Sorry if you're too slow to keep up with us?

Which leads to grandiosity.... We just happen to think faster than you. But we would never say we are BETTER than you... Grandiosity is another 'hallmark' characteristic. Sorry I painted my whole house, made three birthday cakes,  single handedly catered a wedding, was the wedding photographer, went to work, made chicken picatta from scratch for dinner, had a lovely thought provoking conversation with distant relatives on skype and bathed the kids, cut their nails, dressed them in their matching jammies and now I am playing with my pet chameleon Emilio whilst all you did was serve a frozen entree to your family. I call that jealousy. *wink*

Sorry I talk your ear off. And when youre not listening I am on facebook and Skype. Thank you God for new ways to be in contact with my people who love me despite my supposedly "manic" tendencies.

I could go on all day. With similarities and real life personal myself experiences...

But the main point I want to make is how much of this is our true selves, our true identities, that society is trying to dull down, to hide away, to make us more neat and more orderly, to put us more into little mental confines... When we are beautiful and bright and sparkly. And dare I say it, unique...

How do they know what it feels like to be me. How to they know what I am supposed to be? My God made me with his own hands. He formed me in my mothers womb. He made me perfect. Why change perfection?