I can feel the slow fall in thoughts. The rapid array of ideas are steadily becoming concrete impossibilities. Again, a lot of money spent. Late nights and early mornings of extreme excitement are waning away. I write because for once, I notice it. I write as a reminder to lock this in.
As I write the sadness thickens. The illusion of mania is so mysterious. The delusion of depression not far behind. Anger is lurking close by. Depression and anger have become great friends. If one is around he lets the other in. What a pair they are! What a team!
Mania has become a liar of sorts. Says that he will never leave but always does. Not his fault though. I am flabbergasted at the fact that I believe him every time. Perhaps a willing delusion. No matter how much fun we have in a day, night has never ceased to arrive. Usually right on cue, invited by the dusk. Dusk and dawn are neighbors but they never have seen each other. They only pass letters through the days break and the night wake.
Night is here now. I must go let him in or he will keep knocking. I must keep him out or he will keep coming. I am not sure what to do. All I remember is that day will come again. At least that’s what day says. Night tells another story at bedtime. It’s time for for bed now. Hopefully the night won’t keep me up all night.
A proposal to add C-OCD to DSM future additions. It appears that my OCD symptoms follow the mood shifts of bipolar. When in a manic or hypo manic phase I noticed that the OCD intensity begins to outweigh every other issue that is going on. The mind gets “stuck” on whatever for an unusual amount of time. Compulsions become necessary acts of the body to take the edge off of the mind. Then after the shift is over the OCD seems to grow very quiet for a season.
The ironic issue is even during depressive and mixed phases the OCD steps to the forefront. It’s only when I have no excess swings that I have a few days and sometimes even a week of normal living. I have to assume others go through the same swings with OCD but the OCD can get ignored by Psychs due to the nature of the manic phases. The mania is definitely intense but my mind still seeks to find relief from the obsessions. I was told that since the symptoms only occur in severity with the swings a dual diagnosis was not necessary. I understand that. So I propose a new term C-OCD.
No I don’t expect any traction at all nor do I have the energy to make a big deal about it. I told the Psychiatrist and that’s as far as I will take it. What is the solution? Manage the mania and mixed episodes and the ocd will follow. Let’s hope that is true. The dual issues are seemingly worse together than when apart. So they must be defeated together. Until then may this C-OCD find a balance in me.
On the edge of the blade, walking softly as not to break the skin. Ready to reveal every cut and bruise instantly and vehemently. Egg shells whisper as those near walk about. They know something. But the soft sound of those useless shells are slicing through my mind like a sharp knife through an open wound.
Death lives next door. He peers out of his window attempting to hide on the ledge. Also agitated I presume from the constant destruction off egg shells under soft pressure. In this day, I hear thoughts of so many. They scream out like at an athlete going for the gold. Like at a cook who is taking far too long to create an omelette. Like at a neighbor with a renewed interest in my life.
Today is appointment day. Today is the day I cut the knife with a blade. Today I stare back at my neighbors. Today I will make my own breakfast made with freshly broken eggshells. Today I will even share my breakdown of breakfast with my neighbor. Today I will meet with agitation.
I was told by a small group of professionals that I was in a manic episode. If they only saw me when I was actually animated. So tough to focus but so fun to do everything at once. Many things got done. Too much really. Spent waaay to much money. Everything was desperately needed. Today I hope to send most of it back. I remember what it was like to have a good memory. Those were the days of information overload. I forgot most of what I learned. Must focus soon, again. Must focus on writing and music. Must release the single exposing this monster. This blessing that is not all bad. Perhaps next phase I will finish one of the many songs that I wrote. Perhaps I will be able to focus on finishing the task. Perhaps the energy that spends will save a few thoughts for me to enjoy. This monster of mania is such a blessing. It’s the reward for depression states. It’s the time that flies for the time that sat still. It’s not good, but it’s not all bad. Perhaps I will take my pills so that life balances. Just kidding. Too much to do now. Too much fun to be had. It’s not all bad.
Obsessions are actions of the mind the refuse to unwind. Compulsions are like thoughts with feet that wish to ruin all sleep. And of course the days activities must bow before the ruminations. Night sweats won’t let rest come in the room. Washing not to be clean, but to be sure. Locking 7 times the door just to be secure.
Missing is attention for quite a span. I heard focus is with him in a distant land. Cracks in chairs cause such an irritation. Facing emetophobia in a subway station. Crumbs of bread are left on the floor.
“Does not anyone see this?!” Who can eat now after such disgusting displays of dirty booths of bacterial infestations. Ok maybe it’s just crumbs but…the tear in the seat causes terror to sit on. How did it tear? How many germs in there? Can’t eat here, at least not today. On my way home to a safe place where I can stare and not be stared at. In fact, it’s not safe, what’s that sound. Is the door locked? I hope not. Tonight I am ready to fight the irritation within. Without a weapon of words that are written. I hope I win.
Nights open wide for energetic outlets. Days break into patterns of ear drums and bass runs. Evening evens out the harmony of grass strings and brass skies. Midday choirs sing to midnight fans which stand and wave in sequence.
This is rhythmless rhyming. This is grand stand of circadian sounds which rarely find any form of decrescendo.
When we stay up all day in the dark, To stay awake all night fighting the light, We find our place.
when circadian rhythms find inlets, to stay in unconventional unconsciousness, we find our place.
Our instrumental place.
Light fades every evening. Scholars say the sun sets in the west and yet, everyone knows that it doesn’t. Why do we accept this curious lie as if…as if it’s ok to say what we always say even though it’s untrue.
Yes, I am fine today thanks for asking! I am light fading over mountains and disappearing over streams. I reel in my rays at days end. I feel in ways that plays against logical sequence. I stand still but turn on axis I. Or maybe II. From manic day breaks to personality nightmares.
Yes, I am fine today. Thanks for asking. Just as I sit and wait for the flaming gas fire to set against all understanding. As if…as if I knew the soul of the sun. It runs upon itself until itself is no more. I guess the sun will set after all. Then I will answer differently. No! nothing is ok. Thanks for asking. I just was unaware as I was entranced by the sun that rose as red rays against common sense and I was completely unaware of myself.
So we wait, I and the sun, as we face the final setting. The day that breaks never again. The night that will never end. I am fully aware that I will never see the sun face to face. But I know that I don’t know how I feel today. I know that the sun never rises or sets but I just don’t have any feelings about it. That’s the truth that the lie can’t accept. That’s the logic that is illogical. We must just accept delusion as if… as if I was the sun running on myself until…until I set. Yes, I am fine, thanks for asking.
I am offended at how many offenses detour to defenses. Climbing the fence to scream from protection of self perception being absolute. The unwritten rules decided by schools of thought that were brought in by the unseen elite. So few say so little and yet so much through puppets without strings. They have cords that are pulled by emotional wave patterns and it is so much easier to just repeat the ripples than walk up stream. The water ways are currently too strong and colorless. So most coast down to wonderland island and gather to learn what they should be mad about. Then on cue of the cords they shout!
I sit out, I stand down, I sit up! I am offended at everyone being offended. It has ended. Finally it has ended, that I pretended to agree at the sensitivities that so many carry like a disease. Not me,
I sit out, I stand down, I sit up! And this cup will cause many offenses as sensitivities detrimental to defense systems that deflect truth to protect wounds not caused by me. I am no longer defending offensives due to sensitivity created by systemic currents of electricity at least until I meet the electrician.
Today is the last day of light before the night.
Not a cut but a slice of life that forces red fluid from the vein through great pains. Not a shot but a wound of winter that breaks slowly into another season of snow. Not a pill but an overdose of little endeavors entering into psyche skewing the skylines into animated grave stones. Not a rope but a pen that types shapes onto screens unseen by dark masses in classes of engraving on grey clouds.
Clouds fly into rock formations that spell names with dates. The dates are remembered and celebrated with tears that carve through makeup on cheeks. What a unique party. I was invited by me. I am not going. My name is spelled across the grey sky with red ink and black letters. I see the date. It is today. Today I celebrate with tears.