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A Passion For Writing
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I have always had a passion for writing, ever since I was a kid. From an early age I would write my thoughts down on paper. I would always write my dreams down and had a pad by the side of my bed. Generally I would wake up after dreaming, like clock work, pre-programmed if you will and scribble away into the early hours, writing thoughts and visions down. I was a firm believer in the power of dreams and still believe they have great meaning for those who receive them!
I have always written. As a child I kept a diary and wrote everything down religiously. I would always refer back to it, trying to find answers to problems, plans for the future, thoughts and ideas. It helped tremendously as a child and It has also helped me today, come to terms with life and my current condition. When I look back at diaries from the 1980s I can see the signs of illness and discover the reasons behind my abilities, inabilities and my future direction. It is great therapy and a great source of comfort.
I began writing short stories in my early teens. This was a difficult time for me, both sexually and socially. I found comfort in writing and was able to express myself in a way, that I hadn't before. Stories with characters based on those I went to school with. A fantasy world, where I was someone completely different, not the person I was becoming. The stories were funny, engaging, aspirational and helped me enjoy the worst years, confusing times, inappropriate weeks and upsetting periods of my life.
I continued to write, even at the worst times; rather than stories I wrote poetry. They were shorter, more expressive, took less time and allowed me to express life differently. I could write a poem off the top of my head and still have grammatically correct punctuation. That was just the start - when I entered a different world I could write in a way that I had never written before. The words flowed from my fingers easily and without hesitation. My imagination ran wild with ideas, comedy, reality and truth, as never before. I suppose drinking or medication and mania also opens ones mind to new concepts and thoughts never before explored and I like it.
I had my first piece of poetry published in the 1980s. It was called 'Grandma and me.' It was a deeply personal portrait of a special time with a Grandmother, who I loved deeply. She sadly died recently, without having seen me, her first grandchild, for fifteen years. I loved her immensely, but felt unable to be a part of her life after a lifetime suffering with mental illness and the awkwardness surrounding my sexuality. I miss her every day. I miss her purple rinse, her fantastic conversation, snowballs, my first cigarette and fish and chips at lunchtime, from school. That poem will remain my everlasting memory of a true lady, who I believe now was also Bipolar. She was the life and soul, perfectly manicured and the only completely loving woman in my life. In reality my direction, as different as it was, got in the way of a final chapter of our life together as Grandmother and Grandson. I often cry about this. I am just glad I have the fond memories!
In the late 1990s I was asked to write an article for a newspaper, in support for lowering the age of consent, to equal that of straight people. This was a subject close to my heart. I didn't have to think twice. I spent a lifetime fighting for recognition of my sexuality and this meant so much to me. It would allow me to put right all the wrongs I had suffered, through the legalities of Government, prejudice of others and above all Section 28. That awful law that made it impossible for me to talk about my sexuality and ask for advice at a time when I was struggling to come to terms with being gay!
I have always written. As a child I kept a diary and wrote everything down religiously. I would always refer back to it, trying to find answers to problems, plans for the future, thoughts and ideas. It helped tremendously as a child and It has also helped me today, come to terms with life and my current condition. When I look back at diaries from the 1980s I can see the signs of illness and discover the reasons behind my abilities, inabilities and my future direction. It is great therapy and a great source of comfort.
I began writing short stories in my early teens. This was a difficult time for me, both sexually and socially. I found comfort in writing and was able to express myself in a way, that I hadn't before. Stories with characters based on those I went to school with. A fantasy world, where I was someone completely different, not the person I was becoming. The stories were funny, engaging, aspirational and helped me enjoy the worst years, confusing times, inappropriate weeks and upsetting periods of my life.
I continued to write, even at the worst times; rather than stories I wrote poetry. They were shorter, more expressive, took less time and allowed me to express life differently. I could write a poem off the top of my head and still have grammatically correct punctuation. That was just the start - when I entered a different world I could write in a way that I had never written before. The words flowed from my fingers easily and without hesitation. My imagination ran wild with ideas, comedy, reality and truth, as never before. I suppose drinking or medication and mania also opens ones mind to new concepts and thoughts never before explored and I like it.
I had my first piece of poetry published in the 1980s. It was called 'Grandma and me.' It was a deeply personal portrait of a special time with a Grandmother, who I loved deeply. She sadly died recently, without having seen me, her first grandchild, for fifteen years. I loved her immensely, but felt unable to be a part of her life after a lifetime suffering with mental illness and the awkwardness surrounding my sexuality. I miss her every day. I miss her purple rinse, her fantastic conversation, snowballs, my first cigarette and fish and chips at lunchtime, from school. That poem will remain my everlasting memory of a true lady, who I believe now was also Bipolar. She was the life and soul, perfectly manicured and the only completely loving woman in my life. In reality my direction, as different as it was, got in the way of a final chapter of our life together as Grandmother and Grandson. I often cry about this. I am just glad I have the fond memories!
In the late 1990s I was asked to write an article for a newspaper, in support for lowering the age of consent, to equal that of straight people. This was a subject close to my heart. I didn't have to think twice. I spent a lifetime fighting for recognition of my sexuality and this meant so much to me. It would allow me to put right all the wrongs I had suffered, through the legalities of Government, prejudice of others and above all Section 28. That awful law that made it impossible for me to talk about my sexuality and ask for advice at a time when I was struggling to come to terms with being gay!
The response from members of the public was tremendous. Of the feedback I received, around eighty percent was positive. It vindicated me as a gay man, my relationship and the right that everyone should be equal. For me it was a big achievement, a dream fulfilled, that gay people would finally be seen as normal, ordinary and not people to be avoided or abused. If you were gay during that 'Section 28' time, you will fully understand the anguish and helplessness many of us felt. They were terrible years, but I could make my voice heard. People would listen and change would finally happen.
Social networking offered the biggest change for me. I am an avid Social Networker. Finally, a medium that would appreciate someone who loves to write and express oneself. Fantastic, I could promote myself to a wider audience and get my message across, both about Bipolar, sexuality and a passion for writing. Well that's not exactly how it works. People don't like reality hitting them in the face. They don't want to hear about the harshness of life. They would rather hear about banal trivialities, what Ben had for dinner or what the weather is like. I was always ridiculed for writing the truth and people refused to accept my writing and the feelings behind it. A few did. I wrote some small pieces for Gay Times, a dating site and work related publications, but sadly as a rule people found the things I wrote as hard and upsetting!
I make no apologies for the truths I write, the words I use and the language promoted. All these things are an expression of oneself, and they remain an important part of who I am. Being prevented from putting pen to paper, keyboard to screen or hand to phone, in a truthful, expressive and personal way, would return us to the days of repression and discrimination. As a person, one should be allowed to write whatever one likes, without reservation or fear of persecution. The only people who should judge a writer are those who read what is written.
So here I am today writing a blog about Bipolar, because I was hounded off facebook for my constant updates, colourful writing and honesty. Social networking has become another insignificant way of writing uninteresting, boring tripe, that no one is really interested in. I want to hear about the harsh realities, hilarious situations, broken promises and controversial statements that relate to all of us. Not drivel, forgotten at the breakfast table!
If you write, be honest and true to yourself. Ignore those who complain and above all keep writing no matter what. You never know who's reading. It may well be the answer to all your problems!
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