Depression- miserable part of me. Mania- my personality in excess, more than I can process. Mixed Episodes -me through a defective lens. Switches are inevitable and frequent. Complimentary horror comedic show @ my own expense. And I die some more. I say I’m used to it as an attempt to lessen the manic depressive low blow to my “self”, electric havoc storming my brain.
On rare occasion, I feel mostly well (despite anxiety and/or hostility) past 24 hrs. For a fleeting moment, the stars sing brightly and my life makes sense.
And then the countdown starts. If time reaches hour 48, I join the festivities… ever so cautiously. A high’s only practical application serves as a predictor of a big bad bone crushing brain matter injuring crash on what would be if it ever finishes- day 3. Time rolls, in naked delusion I run, starring my own hypersexual live porn that only exists in my head. But you don’t know that. On very lucky occasion, I reach 3.75 days of okay-ness…
3,2,1-Boom. Game Over. The bioclock resets itself in bodily painful disdain. Somehow my horror show never goes past Act III. Nor does it wrap up, what the fuck. I just die some more. And I lie some more-voluntary denial to keep me somewhat sane. Albeit so fake, essential to my survival. I no longer fight or flight it- waste of my impaired common sense.
I just brace myself for impact, heal what I can. And I wait but not hoping, as it can be so deceiving. I die some more,
fuck this some more.