A place called Hope

Warning: This is a translation of a fantasy of mine.
Reminder: Not all madness is scary. Some madness is magic. Read for yourself and see.

I haven’t visited this place called Hope before but it’s a destination I will move to soon. I shall be an expat there!

That’s hopeful right? Seriously though, so much shit has been happening in the last… 2 months now (more than that actually) that moving to Hope was as realistic as travelling to the North Pole and seeing Santa hanging out in his boxers.

So let me paint you a little picture.
I spent the first month spinning ‘round and ‘round between depression, anxiety, and hypomania.
I was sad then happy then bouncing off the walls.
The voices were parading in my mind,
One of my voices killed the other voice (so it seems based on his cryptic explanation),
My feet couldn’t stop dancing under tables,
My skin kept feeling like a thousand bugs were crawling underneath,
And the worst was that I began to lose my movement after some of these wicked episodes,
…I moved like a robot.
I couldn’t get off the couch unless my husband helped me.
And turning onto my stomach to sleep required him to help me turn too.

It feels like that horrible and ignorant joke people make about “bipolar people” – you know – they’re hot and cold and “crazy” because they are BI-POLAR. We only have two polar extremes. Ha ha so cleverly of you *mega eye roll*  Except the joke that you make is real for us. It sucks and you suck for making those jokes if that’s you.

That was just the half of it.

The second month was a heavy cloud of depression on top of the voices and my casual robot identity. Now that I’ve finally visited my psychiatrist, I am under the spell of new medications, which includes part time nausea, retching, and insomnia. I’ve slowly transitioned from a liquid to a soft-ish diet, which means I’m putting on weight again. HOORAY.

Despite all of this, I’m packing my bags and heading to this place called Hope. I know there is no better safe haven in this universe. Currently I took a detour and landed in Costa Rica to escape from adjusting to the thought of my new home in Hope. I’m still figuring out the logistics of it.

I hear that Hope is like a mood ring – it adjusts based on how you’re feeling.

The atmosphere is composed of positive ions that, well, keep you positive even when your mood ring colour is carbon black.

Everyone floats around. Gravity doesn’t exist.

It supersedes irrational and harmful thoughts.

The only downside is that it has loose immigration policies that allow you to freely leave whenever you please.

That scares me… all the work you put into moving to Hope and then poof you’re flying away before you even know it. But I want to go to there!!!!!!!

Hope is real to me. My sprinkled donut tube is docked and ready to keep me afloat to Hope.
Hope allows me to believe that these awful medications will save my mind and my life.
Hope allows me to trust in everyone around me, which is currently impossible on Earth.
Hope takes away all the paranoia that leads me to believe that everyone (including my husband) is plotting to take me to Everyone Island, where dead souls get dumped.

This place called Hope will be my home. Let’s go to Hope together if you need some positive ions in your life.

xoxo,
Joanne

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