Sometimes I do my best to manage my bipolar but circumstances beyond my control disrupt those managing patterns; sometimes I can’t sleep as much as I need and I know I’m in trouble, my brain gets fuzzy, my mind races, my eyes feel like they are on fire, I feel angry and depressed and anxious as hell ; just a passive-aggressive nightmare.
I am a live wire at this moment and I’m angry; not at anyone particular but angry that I have this fuckin disorder, that I can’t be like everyone else, that during my manic periods I act in ways, I regret, I say and do things that I don’t remember; well maybe I do somewhat but it’s hazy, its like being high or drunk, everything feels like a blank and the whole day is lost when I don’t sleep well; lost in the abyss of my own racing thoughts; a frantic freeway or words and theories and inner grumblings; paranoia, they all hate me; im no good; im defective, my brain doesn’t work like yours and that’s why everyone rejects me.
They hear the rapid speech and see the darting eyes and back away in fear; they know I’m not ok, and if I had just gotten some sleep, they wouldn’t have seen the bipolar monster before them. This isn’t me; it’s my Mr Hyde who spings out at the most inopportune times. The meds help but its not good if I can’t sleep…..
Memoir of the sleeping bipolar that lives inside my mind…