Better

I feel so much better today.

I feel so in control and happy.

I feel like I don’t need meds anymore.

But my psychiatrist said that I feel fine because I am on meds. Looks like I’ll be seeing abilify, invega, lamictal, biperiden and clonazepam for a very long, long time.

—–

When I don’t see you, you don’t exist for me.

I have a serious problem with object permanence.

Nothing, Nothing at All

I feel really good today. A rush of endorphins from jogging earlier this morning. I love it.

I love how I feel.

I love the way I’m so in tune with everythig. I find it funny, even, that I’m so happy.

I’m jumping round from cloud to cloud.

Ugh

For the people who do not like the way I write or what I right, here’s a simple solution: do not read my blog.

Stop reading it, for Christ’s sake, if it does not mean anything to you.

I never asked anybody to read this blog, nor do I ask anybody to read it again.

For those telling me I’m pathetic, guess what? I know I am. That’s why my self-esteem is the pits.

For those who do not believe that I’m sick, I won’t even try to defend myself. You obviously know little to nothing about psychiatry. So stop castigating me.

For everybody, remember that this blog is MINE and that I do not write to be read, but I write to release the emotions that I don’t want to just lock up inside.

For those pulling me down, fuck off. You do not understand me and I will not be bothered by your sarcasm and bullying.

In short, GO AWAY.

Strange

I feel really good today.

So well, in fact, that I asked my psychiatrist if I can discontinue my medications.

Well, he said no.

But at least my next appointment will be a month from now. That’s a big improvement. I used to go to him every week.

I feel so stable now, energized and I can finally interact with the world with clarity and hope.

He even suspected that I was hypomanic when I saw him. But no, I was just happy. I was too damn happy.

And I told him that I do know when I am going hypomanic.  Because I do- I become rediculously happy and energetic to a flaw. It feels like I’m high on something. And I can’t sleep because of the thousands of thoughts in my head. And I keep moving about- exercising at 2 am, writing memoirs, poetry, anything at all. I accomplish so much when hypomanic.

And when I’m depressed, I know that too. I feel like shit at the bottom of the ocean. And I can’t swim away…

I don’t appreciate people who just say “get on with your life!” because they just don’t know how it feels, they don’t know how it messes with the thoughts in your head, how your self-esteem and worldview changes with each passing mood. Nobody can understand until they’ve been there. Nobody has the right to insult me just because I’m down. Bottom line is: if you have nothing good to say, don’t say it.

In Which I Find Myself Lost

You are the frost in winter that numbs me down.

You are the apex of the world because you have the power to change mine.

You are the breaking dawn.

You are the swiftly flowing river that I cannot catch in my hands.

Sitting Uncorrected

I almost did something bad yesterday afternoon… Almost fell through the cracks again. But I had the willpower to stop it. I almost undid close to 6 months of hard work avoiding it. Almost. But it doesn’t matter now, because I didn’t do it.

—

I’m trying to unwind myself from your clumsy fingertips. I gotta stop myself from revolving around you. I can do it. I feel my willpower returning.

I can do it, I will do it.

Edited to Add: The silence bores a hole through my soul. The emptiness clings to the forgotten refuges of my senses. I cannot do this all alone anymore. I’m crying out for help as I am wrecking everything around me. I am calling out for help as I lie here all alone.

Who else will help me but myself? Indeed, I am alone in this masquerade.

—

I don’t know how to love. I need to be taught. I have to tell the people around me how sorry I am because I do not know how to love.

How do I best love anybody? Which do I give, freedom or restriction? Do I give my whole self? Definitely. Do I discriminate against the unsavory parts of other people? No. How then do I love? How must I love? Somebody must teach me.

Fading gray and ashen walls close in on me tonight. The nocturne is so hard to resist.

I’ll smile and say I’ll handle it better this time around. But it’s only for the benefit of people who want to hear it. Because, the truth is, I am still groping in the darkness; groping for a way to live this life. I am too weak even to raise my head and build a better me.

Thinking Quirks

I’m being irrational again. I don’t check my phone anymore, because I’m afraid of the emptiness it brings. I don’t want to think so much about you, because surely me thinking about you will jinx everything and not yeild you.

I’m full of little ‘thinking quirks’: mind games against myself. I believe that if I remember something and then forget about it, it will come. On the other hand, if I think too much about something, it will never come. And when I expect an event to be happy, it doesn’t turn out that way. If I expect it to be boring or otherwise undesirable, it turns out so damn well. I believe these things so much, I’m willing to bet my life on it.

But here’s the thing: I know these are irrational, but I’ve observed them happening to me. I know it’s weird and all, but I can’t help it. I’m playing mind games against myself. My problem is that, since these are the rules of my head, how do I stop thinking about you long enough for you to appear again?

Terrified

I am afraid of being left behind again.

I’m afraid of being abandoned by anybody.

So what do I do? I sell my soul to the devil and pray that he keeps his word. How ironic though it may sound.

I’m tired of being ambivalent or ambiguous. I want to be sure. I want to have certainty, security, love. But I have to work for it. It’s never gonna come on its own. I’m weary and tongue-tied.

This blog makes me feel awkward, because of all the things I have to hide from the world. It’s losing its sense real fast now. I don’t know.

—

Edited to add: I’m so fucking bored now, it’s not even funny. Nothing keeps me alive anymore. I look forward to jogging each morning, so I get to talk with my friends. But other than that, I’m dead to the world and the world is dead to me.

I entered this paradox not knowing what it was. Now I’m shaken and broken and I don’t know what else.

I wish people would just understand me. My baseline is mild depression, at best. I’m never really stable, I think, for long periods of time. And this depression is out of my hands, and circumventing it is a monstrous task that I’m finding hard to do. After all, what fight do you have against neurotransmitters?

None.