Life is inherently meaningless. If you think about it, there’s no purpose to anything: we simply exist on this planet. However, human beings are endowed with brains that can create meaning through the attainment of knowledge and skills. The brain is a magnificent organ and the functionality of the human brain is what separates human beings from our animal counterparts. Something that the brain is really good at doing, I’ve once read, is to make sense of things that don’t inherently make sense (i.e. chaos). I suppose that’s what scientists and doctors are really good at.
As a bipolar patient, I get asked about suicide a lot. Individuals with bipolar have very high rates of suicide. I personally have never attempted suicide. I’ve never reached a point where I genuinely wanted to die and acted upon that desire. I’ve ruminated about it during depressive episodes–partly because I get asked about it consistently–but I’ve always somehow been able to avoid the act itself and metaphorically stay far away from it despite my bipolar I status.
I don’t know why or what separates me from others who can’t hold on. It may be that I’ve created meaning in my life, I don’t know. Why is it that I have hope and some others don’t? It’s something to think about as I venture toward the arts, a field where rates of bipolar is comparatively high.
The Ivory Tower 
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