Exigency.

By Paul D Robertson

Watercolours, 46 x 29cms.

Available for sale.

Exigency means emergency, or something close to it.

In the year 2000, I was high, or manic, for a long time, about 5 months (see the bipolar and Paul page). I had a great time, till towards the end when it got weird like it always does. It was when I first got my career (or as I like to think of it, careen) started and had the confidence for the first time to really try. One of the things about mania is that it not only lowers inhibitions (I went to a party dressed as he-man wearing underwear with fur taped to it and gaffer tape only. Oh and moccasins,) but it practically removes all fear.

Afterwards... well after this particular time, as it had been so intense and absolute, I crashed quite badly. I had a lot of symptoms quite far from those one would normally associate with depression. I mean, I had those too - feelings of worthlessness, lethargy, weight gain, guilt, hopelessness. But I got a lot more besides. I have always been a fairly robust person - I heal so quickly it is almost bizarre (I call it my mutant healing factor. Like Wolverine.) And I don't get sick very much.

So this was a shock for me. I was sure I was dying. Every day I would wake up sicker and sicker. I had fevers and stomach and bowel pain and blinding headaches and an overpowering sense of physical weakness. All accompanied by a feeling of inconsolable loss. I had every medical test that I could get cover for and was apparently in perfect health. Pink and glowing as oppose to pale and shaking. And I was delusional and suicidal. I have had a lot of irrational anxiety but never really paranoia - I like to thin I am too cynical to believe that anyone is out to get me let alone everyone. I just am not that important. Well, yet. I should have been in mental hospital as I was suicidal of course, but they are not overall pleasant places and I don't go unless I really, really have to. This has very nearly cost me my life in the past. The biggest reason for staying away was that through all this I still had the burning desire to work.

So instead, I let my partner of the time, Marina, take care of me.

And this is a water-colour I did of her from that time. She is so gentle and so sad. She took care of me so well, even when I finally lost the ability to speak.

Eventually after 8 months I suddenly went back up, and with a torrent of new works started my career (careen!) from scratch again. Though I didn't go back to full mania, but to a mixed state where one swings from despair to elation over the course of the day, or over the course of a few minutes.

But I was working again, and had survived once more.