Journal of a manic bipolar

Day three of my bipolar and mania episode. Sigh. It’s far harder than I anticipated to control my rage and depression these days. Sometimes I feel myself succumbing to the darkness, swallowing me whole. Constantly I’m told how proud and amazed people are that I’m doing so well with the hand I’ve been dealt. Gee thanks. I’m fighting clawing at the walls closing in to break free of this depressing cloud hanging over my head. Fucking rain already. These “episodes” are impossible. Imagine feeling numb no connection to those you care for in your life. Sure you know you love them, you remember feeling it you just can’t feel it most of the time. It’s fucked up is what it is. But that’s not where it ends, everything gets on your nerves and you’re afraid you might deck the snobby bitch in line at the grocery store if she rolls her eyes at you one more time and you are honestly physically restraining yourself. Next add waves of soothing depression. Dark seas of hate, sadness, lust, emptiness and loneliness. Jumping back and fourth at a rapid pace between caring too much and not at all. The consequences of your wake wait patiently for when life turns around. Even if it feels impossible deep down you know it will turn around if only for a little while. Until then you wallow and hope no one strums your triggers, causing a far worse reaction then wallowing in your misery. You’re already kicking yourself for every mistake you’ve ever made, that you can’t remember. Of course your memory has some sort of sad break and moments you’d miss you can’t remember. And what the fuck are you doing with your life? Can you see it? I can but I’m living it. So stop asking me if I’m okay, clearly I’m not fucking okay. I’m hanging on by a thread, trying not to lose it, lose everything and everyone. Remember to pretend to be okay. Is my condition the result of life or was I predestined before I was born?

I can’t even face my past, it’s locked away in some dark corner of my mind. I can hear its laughter though, echoing throughout my ears. Rattling my anxious mind. Knock Knock “Are you all right?” A voice asked through the fog. No, I’m not all right I’m losing my fucking mind. I never say that though. Lost and broken I tread through the filthy waters at my feet. Where does this drive to survive come from? I feel numb and hopeless. Depressed and angry but yet something pushes me onward. My world constantly feels like it’s tumbling down around me and yet I choose life every time. Remarkable. Truth is the pain though unbearable at times is easier to endure than the mental battle i’m having with darkness closing in. Priming its teeth to sink deep into me to feed my sadness and steal my joy. Breathe. I demand attempting to slow my ever beating heart. Everything in me screams life! Love! But why can I only feel anger and loneliness? Wrath builds in my veins, emptiness fill my tear ducts and I begin to melt like snow on a warm spring day. I reach out and feel no one nearby, even if they are there they are only but a ghost haunting the good in me. I cry against my will. The darkness dances triumphantly while I squirm inside my own darkness as it consumes me. Let me go, my mind shouts inside my skull. Barely alive I fight, I win. I’m left in my lonely broken state staring out at those I care for with nothing more than a nod. Unable to express the hell I’ve just endured while missing… What the hell did they just ask me? Labeled, an asshole. Not the survivor I barely am. No one feels my struggles. I wander with no where to release my wrath. Only able to grip a hold of it and hide it from the world. No where to release this depression for the effect it has on others. Bottled up. Ready to explode always. Alone.

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