summer mania, am I right?

If you know me, you’ve heard me speak about the relationship between my bipolar and cycles, because such is my life, at least it is on the bad days (and, of course, on the too-good days, the precariously-good days, the too-much, too-irritating, too-fast-but-painfully-slow-moving days). You’ve heard me speak words, either slurred with the remnants of sadness or blurred with the remnants of endless frenetic energy, about cycles and patterns and rhythms, trying to make sense of it all after the storm has subsided and I organize my previously unintelligible thoughts into categories that hopefully make sense to other people because then hopefully they’ll understand it all and therefore be able to explain it to me a bit better. Maybe hearing why my cycles are “off,” how they’re too extreme, too dramatic, too chaotic, will make things better while I try to process the inevitability of another downswing, another round of fiery rage, another surge of explosive energy that doesn’t fit within me, another another another. But I’m sitting here, eyes rusted open, later than I should be awake, and I’m thinking that “off” is an arbitrary thing and maybe crazies like me are the normal ones (ignore the obvious contradiction in my choice of words). Maybe it IS normal to go from one extreme to another, to swing, fast and hard sometimes, repeatedly all times…maybe it’s normal to mark life that way, to be big and painfully conspicuous, to have unrelenting mayhem within all of who you are, down to the core of your soul and into the farthest depths of your brain, leaving no nook and cranny untouched by the confusion of your perplexing existence —because really, it’s not all bad. I feel the electricity in the atmosphere, I feel my cells vibrating, I feel my organs, each of them, doing what they’re doing to keep me alive (and I feel the anxiety in each of them, but it’s so easy to ignore that bullshit when I have a song stuck in my head and I’m dancing around my kitchen like I haven’t been able to in I don’t know how long). I feel the atmosphere around me, thick and heavy with the lingering sensation that this might dissipate into frazzled distress at a moment’s notice (that it will dissipate into frazzled distress at a moment’s notice). It’s not all bad, I swear it’s not. I don’t want to dwell on the downsides, not right now, not when my pen is flowing freely in my hand, spilling ink clumsily but purposefully, staining my fingers with sticky black meaning, staining my notebook with a snapshot of this quasi-euphoria on this midnight bender fueled by an excess of typically-all-too-elusive neurotransmitters. The music blasting from my speakers is loud, and I keep turning it up to drown out the music in my head, and it’s the same song playing in both places, both on repeat for days at this point, and the speaker won’t go any louder, so I guess my head is winning, but maybe what I’m trying to say is I’m not fully certain it’s “winning.” I’m spinning trying to latch onto an answer, but let’s face it: it doesn’t matter. I’m on the damn ride. Gotta throw up my hands 🙌🏻

Published by ittakesrain

|| It takes rain to make a rainbow!

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