I think I’m in pretty serious trouble.
Used to be that I knew the depths of the sadness, the depression.
But lately, it’s been countered by up phases. I don’t know how to describe that. Best analogy is when you’ve had too much caffeine, I guess.
They swing back and forth. In a standard calendar month I feel about right for maybe five days. The rest…
When I’m down I know it and can deal with it. Just my phases, my sadness. It’s the up times that I can’t…
They’re happening at the same time.
This is way beyond my control. How can I be both recessed, dropped into the darkness — and, at the same time, feel like I can take on the world?
Something is seriously wrong here.
You ever see a sine wave?
Up, down, up down. Like that.
You see the center axis?
Well, so do I. Up, down, up, down. Bad days. good days. The cat shat in the kid’s backpack. Finished paying off that note. Boss is being a turd. Lover is very nice one night. Up, down. But usually near a baseline. Right?
What does it feel like to live there? On that center axis. Because I don’t know, and I don’t think I ever have.
That’s not the problem. The problem is that it’s not a sine wave any more. It’s a scribble. And that fucking scribble is shooting high, and it really, really scares me. Because when I’m high, I really am high. Far better than any coffee buzz you ever had, way, way more than sugar. Six thousand ideas spark through my head in one minute, and they all seem achievable, and the part, the worst part, is that I know I will crash, crash hard, and all those things will just dissolve into random embers in the dark coal black of … of whatever happens to me when I implode.
I am writing this from inside one of those scribbles.
I can live with the sadness. It’s life. What I cannot tolerate any more is how the glassine towers of possibility that I make are just shattered, destroyed, lost. I hate the depths not because they are deep; I hate them because I know that I will be high again. And I don’t want that buzz. I don’t want that high.
I have a character, Cock, whose story is slowly unfolding in a long narrative. You might have met him. He is bipolar and schizophrenic. When I was describing him once to someone, I was asked, “but how do you know what it’s like to live that way?”
It is not listening to angels. It is just wrong, off tilt, off axis, off … sane.
This blog is not and never has been about my issues. But this is a big thing, and if you’re a psych major, you might want to tune in about … oh, about now.
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