June 2, 2008
I want to share my story, though it is no more spectacular than the story of anyone else who has this in their lives. I seldom am the life of the party these days and for now it is okay. I have a mental health website that I am moderator/administrator on and that is something I am proud of. It keeps me grounded by its demands even when my world and head are spinning out of control.
And yet I want so much for the words I write to mean something to someone. To know there are others who do understand and are there in those dark hours. Funny thing is when my own darkness comes I prefer to be alone. Depression is the worst of friends and the best of enemies. Something I thought of once and thought it was like everything I write dazzling. Yet no one else seems to think much on what I say.
In the mania phases I have thought I could create masterpieces and tried to literally in one sitting. Sixty thousand words peeling off the fingertips as the rest of the world slowly moves away. I don’t see that world anymore, just the blank page in front of me. I feel that way when I paint or take pictures. I don’t finish till they are perfect which never seems to come.
The manic phases I love the world and it loves me. I am friendly and can laugh with ease. Nothing gets to me in the beginning and everything feels as it is perfect. The further that goes on the harsher it gets. Suddenly I am the vampire just waiting in the dark. Suddenly the darkest thoughts are the most appealing. And my love turns to hate very fast. The days I am sick and moving. Never resting because the mind never ceases. Waiting for the fall off the merry go round of insanity and fearing that fall even more.
I am an ultra rapid cycler, so these moods can happen many times a day. The ups and downs become sickening, and you can’t keep focused for long on anything. The crashes are hard and often come without notice. Everything is tainted in despair. And nothing seems to ever be or feel positive again. You remember the lover you were dumped by for being too much work. You remember a friend that said you were not enough. You remember the frightened, angry family who said so many horrible things that you no longer hear them say “I love you” when they do. All you remember is the time when they shouted, “Why don’t you die already?” My response was: “It wasn’t for lack of trying, surely.”
The night is all I have in the sense of peace and belonging. I can work on the website and communicate with others with whom I belong. Offering hope and friendship to those who sometimes find it hard to breathe. Asking none for myself.
The meds – we haven’t been able to find a combo that works yet. I had hoped that before I hit forty it would have been found. I haven’t given up hope on that one. Somehow Scarlett O’Hara and I have that in common for tomorrow will always be another day in which we can hope for something better.
It hasn’t been easy for those who know me. I never say half of what I feel or where I am at. They have their burdens, and I won’t be a part of that. And yet sometimes I wish I could just reach out and have them grab my hand right back.
So when you feel that no one hears you, someone does, but never quit reaching out… or hoping that tomorrow will be that better day. You never know, it just may!