Two biscotti, a brownie with ice cream, and a cup of coffee later and here I am again, with you. That's what I get for watching a bad movie and going to bed so early out of boredom.
The unicorn meat eating cats didn't go out yesterday; today, they are frantically chewing on the doorknob and tunneling through the wood. It doesn't matter that I keep the litter boxes empty and the cat bowl full...they want OUT. There are just too many interesting goings on outside. My apartment is small competition.
I figure that if I have to endure being bipolar, that I should get to be manic all the time. That's only fair, right? It's depression that makes me pay. Did you know that the number one reason for bipolars to go off their medication is that they like the effects of mania?
Ah, mania, my friend. With mania I am: brilliant, sexy, hip, on my way to the top and no one can stop me. I am a shooting star, designed by heaven to be the greatest wit on the planet since Oscar Wilde and Douglas Adams. Any day now, someone at Penguin Books will spot my blog, and offer me a hefty contract. I have a destiny. I am immortal.
But depression, or even the normal state that I am in right now. How boring and dull I feel. A loser who spends her nights smoking, eating, and drinking too much coffee. I face the blank page and feel no inspiration that will live for generations...I'm just a recovering drunk and my dog is a spaz.
True, I do have cats raised solely on unicorn meat, but from my death bed that looks like two expensive, picky cats.
The only thing that helps me live through the dullness is the thought that the pendulum will, one day, swing the other way.
And this is not to discard the effects of having another psychiatric disorder that I am not ready to tell you about yet. The stigma is that bad. When I was recently diagnosed with this other disorder, my therapist at the time told me the stigma is so widespread that even surveys of mental health specialists show that they have a negative viewpoint of it. And, no, I am not a sociopath, or a homicidal maniac, or any of those really nasty buggers you can't treat. I know this will be a relief for the classmates I will be meeting at my high school's 30th reunion.
Indeed, my new, wonderful therapist, is a specialist in my disorder. And, once again, I have yet another disorder that won't let me take any of the really good drugs. Talk therapy is the only thing that works. Or, if I wasn't in recovery, I could take the really good drugs. I can't win for losing...
Instead, today I am just myself, in this small corner of the world, flinging her voice out to you, as a star sends energy out to other, distant stars. And hoping some of the stars are thinking back to her...yes, I am like you..."To give off light, one must endure burning..."