I want to say something brilliant to you that you have never heard, or at least something original that only I can say. I can say a lot of things. I can tell you I’m scared I won’t have anything to tell you. I have lots of fears, one of them being that I have lots of fears.
These are the days of our lives. We all have our lives, and I would love to hear your story. What moves you, what makes you laugh? Tell me, I’m dying to know.
There is a book called “Dying to be Me.” It’s a wonderful account of a woman who learns to be herself. When you have a somewhat public persona you don’t always want to be yourself. Sometimes I want to be someone else. I would love to be say Whoopi Goldberg for a hot minute. I want her spunk and candor and truth for a moment. I want to channel her aura.
I have Bipolar Disorder and when I was very manic I thought that people on T.V. were speaking directly to me. I thought I was special. I wanted to be special.
I realized later that no one was speaking to me, but the problem was I wasn’t speaking to myself the right way. I wanted the stars to be my friends because I wasn’t my own friend.
I also by the way thought for a while that I was on a reality show starring nina. I thought that security cameras were really cameras for the show no one told me I was starring in. Like in "The Truman Show," everyone knew we were on my show but no one told me.
One day I got really upset that the cameras in a lobby were watching me. I wanted some goddamn privacy and I was tired of starring in my own show. So I started moving the furniture around in the lobby of my apartment building in New York. I was moving it around so the cameras could not get a good view of me. The doorman asked me what I was doing and I just laughed at him. He called security. I started saying “Fuck you.” I was kind of like that chic in the Exorcist, in fact the only difference between me and her is that my head wasn’t spinning around but my mind definitely was.
A Columbia University security guard came and I tried to go up to my apartment in the elevator. But the doorman stopped the elevator from working. The “police” officer asked me nicely to come outside of the elevator. I had seen him before many times on campus; he had probably seen me as well. I figured he was an extra on my show.
“Where’s your gun?” I asked him.
“I don’t have one,” he said. He looked so sad when he said it. He looked so sad that I came out of the elevator and walked towards him. The ambulance people were there and they had a stretcher. They strapped me to that stretcher.
I don’t usually talk about the fact that I have been strapped to a stretcher before. It scares the shit out of me and it’s not something I like to advertise. But here I am, talking about it, writing about it, and sharing it.
Maybe you don’t want to be my friend anymore because you know this about me.
I know I’m being extremely insecure and childish when I say something like that…but sometimes it is how I feel. Who wants to hang out with a crazy lady?
Trust me I realize this disease I have sounds fascinating. To some degree it is. To some degree it is just painful and wrong. I used to think I could not really be “me” on medication. Trust me I’m more myself now on medication than I ever was when I wasn’t on it.
I used to think I couldn’t write while on medication. Again that was another excuse not to write. Nowadays the way I get things on paper is by making myself write. Other times I have to force myself to stop writing. Either way I don’t need mania or pot to get this done. I just need to channel my truth.
What is my truth? That’s a complicated question. I’m well now but do I miss my mania? You betcha! I miss the feeling of euphoria. I have duplicated that feeling many times after the mania was over through mediation and mindfulness. But sometimes I miss just having that high without working for it.
It’s really just a lazy way to be “happy.” Just like drugs and alcohol is a lazy way to feel relaxed and chilled out. There are better natural ways to feel good. Falling in love is one way to feel good too; even consensual sex is great. Creating art, or creating anything for that matter feels ecstatic.
People think mediation and mindfulness means you have to sit in yoga position all day and chant or something. Absolutely not. Simply being you is spiritual. Be true to who you are and you will start to feel bliss inside.
Meditation just helps you connect with that inner you, but being you requires no manual and no labor. Your happiness does not require assembly, but spiritual texts are simply directions on how to get happier faster.
It’s funny but I know some people who don’t want to be happy. They are so fascinating to me; they revel in their own unhappiness. They enjoy it. It makes them happy.
If it makes you happy…then why the hell are you so sad?
Sheryl Crow said it first.
Notice I quote songs all the time. I want to write songs. Don’t worry I have no ambition of eventually singing those songs. I just like the poetry. Obviously I know nothing about melody or harmony. Elton John has a writer I think. He writes and then Elton puts it to music. They work independently is what I heard. I think that is amazing.
Seems to me you lived your life, like a candle in the wind.
Did I ever mention how I thought I was Marilyn Monroe in a past life? Yup when I was totally and completely manic I was convinced that I was her. Now again there is no evidence that I wasn’t her, and no evidence that I was. Two physical attributes made me think I was her for sure at the time: when I look at her picture, our beauty marks line up exactly. And she always wanted extremely long lashes and I have naturally long lashes.
I know, I know…I should probably go back to the hospital for “maintenance.” It’s a situation I tell you. Having such a weird funny disease is kind of interesting to talk about at least. I think when I bought five books about Marilyn Monroe in one day at the New York City Barnes and Noble, I felt like I understood her. I understood what it was like to be objectified sexually. Every woman can relate to that. You don’t have to be Marilyn Monroe to be a sex object to somebody.
I haven’t done any past life regression therapy so I can’t say if I was truly her or not. And I’m not the only one, by the way, that thinks that I was Marilyn. There is a whole crowd of loony’s who think they were Marilyn Monroe in a past life. Some of them think they are her in this life. I hate that I’m in that crazy category. They are like Elvis impersonators.
Don’t worry I’m really not invested in the situation, I mean who knows about the past? I haven’t even thought about it in ages. I’m more concerned about who I am now then who I was in the past. But I hope to god I was at least a true blue hippie in a past life, I hope I died in a revolution of some sort. I mean come on: it would be lovely to die for a cause.
Sometimes I think in this life I will die for a cause. I haven’t picked the cause yet. But I imagine my martyrdom in great detail. I will be assassinated by one of the people in my own entourage.
Of course I’m kidding…sort of…
You never can tell with me what is real and what is a show. I like that.
My name is Nina Kaur. Kaur means princess. You can call me Princess Nina.
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