Helter Skelter

Coming Down Fast, Like a Roller Coaster 🎢

The Cycle, the Chaos, and What Fifty Years of Rock and Roll Finally Taught Me

I have known this song my whole life. That is not an exaggeration. “Helter Skelter” was on the White Album, which was one of the records that lived in my parents’ house before I knew what records were. Paul McCartney wrote it because he read an interview where Pete Townshend described a Who track as the loudest, most destructive thing ever committed to tape, and McCartney decided he could do that too. The song is literally about a spiral slide at a British fairground. The thing it actually is about is harder to name, but I have been naming it for years.

The centerpiece of the song is a cycle: “When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide / Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride / ‘Til I get to the bottom and I see you again.” Up and then down and then back up, without end. Most people hear that as pure chaos. I hear it as the most honest description of what living with bipolar disorder actually feels like.

I have been to the bottom more times than I want to count. Each time, there is a moment where the bottom feels final, where you have convinced yourself that whatever forward motion you had managed to find has been permanently revoked. Then something shifts. The shift does not arrive dramatically or with fanfare. The mechanism just engages and you are moving again, back toward something. The song does not claim that going back to the top is triumphant. It is just the next part of the ride. That distinction matters to me more than I can fully explain.

The line I keep coming back to is “I’m coming down fast but I’m miles above you.” There is a particular mood that comes with a manic episode, or even just the high end of a difficult cycle, where you are genuinely moving fast and genuinely feel elevated and it is genuinely not okay. The speed is part of the problem. The altitude is part of the problem. You are above things in a way that feels like clarity and looks from the outside like anything but. I have been miles above in ways that cost me, and the cost was paid by people who did not deserve to pay it. Donna carries some of that. I know it.

The song is loud and messy and deliberately uncomfortable. McCartney wanted to make the most chaotic thing he could, and he succeeded. The chaos is the point. What I find in it is not comfort exactly, but recognition. This is what the inside of a bad stretch can sound like: fast and loud and circular and unable to stop. Naming that honestly is something. It is not a solution, but it is a start.

What I have learned, slowly and at some cost, is that the cycle itself is not the enemy. The enemy is the belief that the bottom is permanent, or that the speed on the way down means you will not stop, or that the pattern cannot be survived. I have survived every bottom I have ever reached. My track record is one hundred percent, which is something my therapist points out when I need reminding. The slide keeps going. The bottom keeps coming. You keep making it back up. That is not nothing. That is actually everything.

“Helter Skelter” ends with Ringo Starr shouting that he has blisters on his fingers. He had been playing so hard and so long that his hands were raw. I think about that a lot. Some stretches just leave you with blisters. You played through something that was too loud and too long and too much, and you have the marks to show for it. Those marks are not failure. They are evidence that you stayed in it.

Take gentle care of yourselves and of each other.

Keep going,

Blake

Disclaimer: While music can be a powerful tool for emotional well-being, it is not a substitute for professional mental health support. The information in this blog is intended for general informational purposes only and does not constitute medical or professional advice. I am not a trained mental health expert. If you are struggling, please reach out to a qualified therapist or counselor. If you are in immediate danger, call 911. You can also contact the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988, or text HOME to 741741 to reach the Crisis Text Line.