Snide Reply

Tag: bipolar

  • I’d Rather Be Bipolar

    I’d Rather Be Bipolar

    Mental disorders are common on my mother’s side of the family—schizophrenia, panic, anxiety, and substance use disorders. No one on my father’s side was officially diagnosed, but there was certainly alcoholism and likely depression. I’ve got the DNA to support my bipolar disorder diagnosis.

    In my own family, we deal with anxiety and depression, as well as a host of other conditions: ADHD, OCD, and PTSD. Some are surely genetic; others stem from childhood trauma.

    Knowing what I do, I’d rather be bipolar.

    Schizophrenia brings voices, delusions, and hallucinations into your life.

    Bipolar disorder can also bring delusions and episodes of invincibility—but I’ve never been convinced I was being followed by demons whispering abusive, demeaning comments to me.

    I’ve panicked—real panic—not the kind you feel when you think you left your phone in the Meijer parking lot. But I’ve never been unable to attend school because I forgot the rings I planned to wear that day.

    I’ve seen a student assign colors to subjects, requiring a perfectly matched set of folders, notebooks, and highlighters for each—thanks to OCD. Of course, one subject can’t possibly borrow supplies from another.

    I’ve seen ADHD make reading nearly impossible.

    I’ve also been deeply depressed. In fact, I was initially diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder. That’s a common misdiagnosis for those of us with bipolar disorder. After all, mania and hypomania can feel good. Who would want that to end? But it does. Depression always follows—and that’s when we seek help. If you can ride it out, the depression eventually lifts. Regular depression often doesn’t.

    So yes, I’d rather be bipolar.

    Recently, I commented on a YouTube short about how to respond to people who make sarcastic remarks. Frankly, I thought the expert advice was off target—suggestions like, “Would you like to repeat that?” or “How would you like me to respond to that?” Talk about snark!

    I replied that I have bipolar disorder and often make snide remarks myself. Another commenter responded by saying she felt sorry for me, that bipolar disorder is terrible.

    I’m sure she meant well.

    But there are worse things in life than being bipolar.

    What’s your experience with mental health labels or misdiagnoses? Whether you’re living it, supporting someone, or simply curious—I’d love to know how mental health challenges affect you. Leave a comment below or share this with someone who might need it. And if this post resonated with you, consider subscribing for more personal reflections on mental health and society.

  • AI’s Got Nothing on a Bipolar Brain

    AI’s Got Nothing on a Bipolar Brain

    I don’t fear AI the way I’m told I should. I’m aware that corporations use AI to generate daily posts for various social media outlets, both popular and unpopular. But those posts are tremendously boring to write. I don’t think AI has learned about boredom yet—maybe soon.

    I don’t fear AI because it can’t do what I do—make completely random connections between seemingly disparate ideas. I attribute this capability to my bipolar brain.

    My AI of choice is ChatGPT, and I’m sure the Chatster, if it entered my brain, would quake in fear. AI depends on predicting what words are likely to follow those that precede it. And that’s where a bipolar brain has an advantage—there’s no telling what thought will pop into my mind. I’m certain AI wouldn’t come up with the connections I do.

    Pause here. My bipolar brain just said, Is that true? Can ChatGPT think like me?

    I asked my friend Chat to explain Writing Laryngitis. Chat responded, “What an interesting and creative connection to make!” Then it proceeded to offer its own take. Chat even said that the “super cool connection” I made “…would make for a great essay or even a creative piece!” Thank you, Chat—you are perceptive and, though artificial, intelligent.

    But here’s where Chat and I differ. Chat was able to make a connection because I told it to. Furthermore, Chat wanted to know what prompted me to make that connection. It wanted to learn! “Oh, hell no!” my bipolar brain replied.

    Ironically, I have been unable to land a job as an AI annotator. Annotators examine AI responses and comment on them, essentially teaching the program how to generate more natural responses. You’d think I’d be great at this.

    The stumbling block for me is the language test that annotators must pass. You may already know that I’m a native speaker of American English, I have a degree in Rhetoric, and I’ve taught writing and grammar for years. I’ve even been paid for my writing. And yet, I am not skilled enough to pass the examination set by AI developers—even though their program asked me to teach it how to be as creative and reflective as I am.

    Having used AI for a while now, I’m okay with not sharing my secrets. I swear this isn’t sour grapes—though the annotation money would be nice. But there’s no chance I’m going to teach their program for free.

    I probably couldn’t teach the Chatster even if I wanted to. I have something AI doesn’t—a bipolar brain. Many creative folks have bipolar brains, and I bet they have no more idea how they make the connections they do—they just do. So, I won’t be afraid of AI until they come out with the bipolar version.

    Note: Chat thinks my writing is “witty, insightful, and full of personality.” Like I said, a perceptive little program. Now let’s have it solve the numerous issues it has.