Water down the drain

I don’t usually write on a whim but I guess this is what our community is for. I haven’t had the energy to write, let alone sift through social media outlets at all. I’m coming undone. So I apologize for being MIA to everyone’s words and feelings here. I’m completely numb and disinterested in life. Call it the weather or the medications but I feel like crap. I can’t remember the last time I was giddy and upbeat consistently. I think I can trace it back all the way back to 2014. I don’t mean to sound bitter but if you have seen me “happy”, it’s probably just a mask to make you feel more comfortable. Let’s be honest – no one really knows what to say or do unless you’re close to my ball of fire. And if you can’t come out and tell me you want to learn what to say or what to do, then I’ll spare you and tell you “I’m OK” instead. Just don’t expect anything real from me. I’m exhausted and I don’t need to apologize for being unwell and not giving two shits right now. So here is my attempt at some flowery poetic words that came up with now to describe my current existence.

Happiness has come in spurts, either days, weeks, or a month if I’m lucky.

So basically, I feel like water floating down a drain.

When the tap is turned on and I’m hypomanic, down I go. So rapidly, swirling and spinning around the metal curves of the drain.

When the tap is turned off and my world stops, I trickle and calm down again.

But while the tap is turned off, each drop of water slowly evaporates. I slowly evaporate.

I eventually trickle – if you can imagine, maybe a drop an hour –Β but I never dry out inside the drain becauseΒ the tap will be turned on again eventually.

I know the real battle is finding the right balance in my medications. My pdoc is starting to think some of this psychosis might be attributed to seizure activity, so hello neurology.

At least I can find some solace in that. Who the fuck knows. I 100% have no idea why Peter and April find it necessary to bother me so often these days. They’re voices – not my real friends.Β I have no idea why I’m having delusions of someone mashing up my intestines and eating it like guacamole.

All I know is that bipolar disorder is some sort of “remission and remitting”, as I quote my favourite bipolar person Melody Moezzi.

I’m scared. Can anyone who has lived with this for longer… tell me that everything will sort of be okay and that it will eventually get easier? Because mid 2014 to now has been nothing but shit in my brain. Not my life events at all, but upstairs in that holding cell surrounded by nerves, fatty tissue and a hard shell. Sigh. Here commences my rant. Thanks for listening.

xoxo,
Joanne

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