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The manic in manic depression is fun sometimes. But sometimes it means days, weeks even months without any real sleep. I get so tired of doping myself up to get even 4 hours of fitful sleep. My boyfriend ends up sleeping in the spare room some nights because I sleep so weirdly that I either a) toss and turn and keep him up or b) finally get to sleep and he's afraid he'll wake me and I'll never get any sleep.
The mania has got me through this tough semester. The mania got my ass graduated this semester. The mania propelled me to apply to the university before I lost my nerve. The mania has planned my trip to Colorado next month, the mania even promised my paternal grandmother that I would drive to Washington this summer to visit. The mania has helped me keep my tiny crafting empire up and running, has kept me pushing through and trying new things. The mania has forced me to order 5 lbs of soap base plus fixin's for a business I'm intent on starting even though I know nothing of the industry. That terrifies me, but it also seems fun and I have an enthusiastic business partner so what could go wrong? (Amy; are you sure you want to get in bed with this hot mess?) The mania has inspired me to write, prolifically as it comes to be, on my blog, for a website, in my paper journal and on a variety of sites that limit you to 140 characters or less.
The mania is keeping me up right now, back lit by the computer screen listening to the "Please Clap Your Hands" EP from The Bird and The Bee. I got all wired when I listened to "Recollection"; a best of album by Concrete Blonde. That propelled me to write a whole new article for the website I'm pseudo employed by. Now "Polite Dance Song" is making me want to wander out into the court yard and smoke cloves and dance by myself until I pass out from exhaustion.
The mania has to be referred to in third person because the mania is NOT ME. I know it's not. It seems like it, it even feels like it but I know it's not. I just want to sit still and read. That's me. The mania wants me to dye super wash merino in the kitchen sink at 2 a.m. The mania wants to go to the grocery store at midnight to buy the makings for root beer floats. (ooooh, that sounds so good.) The mania wants to drive to the California coast so I can put my toes in the sand (and then the mania wants to drive home right away because the mania doesn't have a job and can't pay for a hotel room.)
The mania also kills my sex drive, makes me pick fights with loved ones and fuck up important projects because I can't focus. I hate the mania.
I hate the depressive even more. And I know it's coming. Soon.
The mania has got me through this tough semester. The mania got my ass graduated this semester. The mania propelled me to apply to the university before I lost my nerve. The mania has planned my trip to Colorado next month, the mania even promised my paternal grandmother that I would drive to Washington this summer to visit. The mania has helped me keep my tiny crafting empire up and running, has kept me pushing through and trying new things. The mania has forced me to order 5 lbs of soap base plus fixin's for a business I'm intent on starting even though I know nothing of the industry. That terrifies me, but it also seems fun and I have an enthusiastic business partner so what could go wrong? (Amy; are you sure you want to get in bed with this hot mess?) The mania has inspired me to write, prolifically as it comes to be, on my blog, for a website, in my paper journal and on a variety of sites that limit you to 140 characters or less.
The mania is keeping me up right now, back lit by the computer screen listening to the "Please Clap Your Hands" EP from The Bird and The Bee. I got all wired when I listened to "Recollection"; a best of album by Concrete Blonde. That propelled me to write a whole new article for the website I'm pseudo employed by. Now "Polite Dance Song" is making me want to wander out into the court yard and smoke cloves and dance by myself until I pass out from exhaustion.
The mania has to be referred to in third person because the mania is NOT ME. I know it's not. It seems like it, it even feels like it but I know it's not. I just want to sit still and read. That's me. The mania wants me to dye super wash merino in the kitchen sink at 2 a.m. The mania wants to go to the grocery store at midnight to buy the makings for root beer floats. (ooooh, that sounds so good.) The mania wants to drive to the California coast so I can put my toes in the sand (and then the mania wants to drive home right away because the mania doesn't have a job and can't pay for a hotel room.)
The mania also kills my sex drive, makes me pick fights with loved ones and fuck up important projects because I can't focus. I hate the mania.
I hate the depressive even more. And I know it's coming. Soon.
