bipolar swirl: seven

Seven week from today. Seven. That's less than two months. We leave seven weeks from today.

Things are closing in fast. We're finally seeing real progress with our preparation. The house is more than half ready; we are more than half packed; plans are almost half made. Things are coming together and accelerating quickly.

Part of me is so ready, impatient to leave; yet part of me is freaking the fuck out. I've never left before. I can't stop thinking about all I'm leaving and all I'll miss.

But I need to leave. I have to get the fuck out of here. It's beyond time, but I think I will always be torn about it. I will be happy and sad.

a welcoming glimpse

You feel the energy pulsing through you. It throbs through every cell of your body. Your nerves are on fire, completely inflamed and outstretched, receptive to every whisper, any twitch of motion near you. Touch is so amplified. A pat becomes a slap, a light grasp a clutch, a caress amazing. A faint breeze raises goosebumps all over your flesh and teases your mind. You can hear everyone breathing silently and the entire world outside your apartment. It feels like your heart has released hundreds of fluttering insects into the cavities of your body. They are brushing against the walls, bubbling in your blood, palpitating in your heart. Disjointed thoughts race and flare over your eyes – blinding flashes in your sight. Every flicker is a new universe. But your mind is unable to concentrate. It all slips away and disappears as fast as it captivates you. Focus is too elusive. Distraction carries you randomly through the world. You start writing a paper then run to email your friend in another state then forget why you’re at the computer then start organizing your closet. You begin a conversation and sprint through topics blindingly. An endless flow of words leaps from your tongue. They scramble high and low in the room, swirl around your head. They sound so vital yet mean nothing and make no sense. There is a fascination in everything. The way the light filters into the room, the feel of the air on your skin, the sound of your incoherent words, your hair grazing your face, the texture of the plain, white wall. You want to feel, see, know, experience everything, now, now, NOW! You blink. You breathe. You lose your breath as your heart plummets in your chest. It leaves a gaping hole below the lump in your throat. Your mind screeches to a painful halt, deafening you, erasing every thought and sense. You stand frozen. All the brilliant, fascinating colors fade from the world. The dial turns down slowly, and it all becomes monotonous greys. The twitching bugs inside you have stopped flapping and fallen dead. Their corpses accumulate in those vacant cavities; they press on your lungs, fill your throat. You choke on them as they poison and paralyze your tongue. Your brain floats black and lifeless in your skull. It sloshes against the narrow walls, always sinking farther down. The world is so repulsive. Everything is thick and heavy and slow. You can barely move. The dreadful emotions have weighted every limb and muscle. Your sight has shrunk, grey and blurry around the edges. Sound is muffled and muted; it echoes slowly and softly through your head. You feel nothing. Your nerves have shriveled and died. They recede down below the surface where your skin still slightly tingles somewhere deep. You are bleeding on the inside. You can feel that heavy, warm, red liquid spilling from your veins, slipping down and filling you. You are drowning in yourself, being pulled to the bottom of an endless pit. You don’t care about anything. You can’t force yourself to worry about what you have to do or what you want. Fuck the world, and fuck everyone in it. You just want to die. You blink. You breathe. Your heard is spinning again. This is being bipolar.

bipolar swirl

Monday, August 25, 2008

seven

2 therapist(s):

About Me

a welcoming glimpse

past cycles

counselor.org