Ready. Set. Sail!
(Real fucking trigger warning!)
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I can’t think anymore. The words are just not flowing. Wandering through the mist I’m tormented by memories. Good memories this time. Memories when I used to go clubbing and grind up against all these hot guys while my fiancee sits at home playing video games. What the fuck was he letting me do that for? My insistence on going clubbing because I “had to get it out of my system”? Did I ever once consider how embarrassed he must’ve felt? I miss it. I miss my freedom.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
This week has been hell. Yes I know I work a stable 9-5 job. Yes I know I get paid a good salary as a molecular biologist. Yes I know I live in sunny San Diego, CA. Yes I know I have the greatest, kindest, most amazing husband on the planet! Yes my friends are compassionate and caring and would do everything in their power just to see me smile. Why the hell am I complaining? Who does that?
This week I’ve been putting on a fake smile for everyone. I’m exhausted. I’m so damn tired of trying to do my best and pretend to care. This stupid new kid is SO much better than me at work. We just hired him a month ago and he was able to accomplish something amazing at work that I’d been working on tirelessly for MONTHS! None of the PhDs could do it! I was on the verge of a scientific breakthrough! He figured it out with the help of his PI (principal investigator) and the data looks neat, clean, and self-explanatory. Well fuck! Now I’m useless. I was so close to cracking it but then my Mania died and I lost all motivation to continue.
It makes me sick. This dark part inside of me. It craves the Mania. I want it back. I. Want. It. Back. I. WANT. IT. BACK.
My brain doesn’t work on meds. It just doesn’t. I can’t see past my own lab notebook. Scrolling through the pages frantically trying to figure out why I didn’t see it first. Where in the world did I go wrong? I close the book and stare at the computer screen.
I’m still stuck in Purgatory. The fun place where life sucks but you don’t want to end it. You wander as your past memories float by you like wisps of smoke. Transparent and cyclical, they replay your life story in snippets like a broken record player. Over and over again.
Telling someone they have Bipolar Disorder is a death sentence. It really is. It just dawned on me. They say you have to take your meds because your brain doesn’t function the same way normal people do. They say you have to behave and track your moods. Make sure you tell someone when you are feeling suicidal or having thoughts of hurting yourself. Or, in my case, letting someone know when my sex drive goes out of control. I’m afraid to even have one anymore. The hot trainer guy at the gym smiles and says good morning to me. Every time. With that look. You know that look. I recoil instinctively with a quick “Hi” and a mad dash to the locker room to drop off my bag. Heart racing and pulse pounding.
Life is meaningless like this. I’m so bored and angry!
Now don’t get me wrong. This has nothing to do with Mark. He is an afterthought now but I miss the RUSH. I miss not having to struggle to put words together when I try and socialize with people. I miss having the ability to read 5 or 6 journal articles in one sitting and understand them completely and figure out a clever experiment right off the bat. I want to have the motivation to go outside. I want to appreciate the kind concerns when my guy friends at work ask why I’m not playing nerdy board games with them anymore. Why I’ve completely closed off.
One blogger gave me a post to read on missing my Mania and how it was fun while it lasted but now it’s back to the old grind. Well, I’m paraphrasing…or rather misinterpreting. It’s actually a great read. And I do believe it’s something wrong with my brain that makes me feel this way. But knowing the reason doesn’t kill the desire. I’m probably over medicated or under medicated. Or maybe because the Mania was so strong in the last episode it blew a meteor-sized crater in my head that’s taking forever to repair. Maybe it’s just all in my head…
…well. It is just all in my head. Duh! But I mean, maybe the neuron sensitivity or mitochondrial energy overload has nothing to do with this. Maybe it’s perspective.
Whatever. Ha. I know my life is an open book now. So I know once I post this I’m going to be getting a lot of calls and texts from followers who live nearby. This is a red flag I guess. My poor husband has to deal with this bullshit now. Pray for him guys if you believe in a deity that actually gives a fuck!
Speaking of open book, I’ll start working on that when I feel like it. Don’t worry, the map and life story will come. I tried working on it this week. I really did. But it’s hard finding a good place to start. My life is complicated. The only thing that’s on my mind right now is trying to find my Wellbutrin and inducing the Mania. I wanna give this old Chevy a nice rev! I’m cold and I want a little action.
Sorry everyone! I refuse to believe that Mania is off the table for the rest of my life. Don’t tell me Disneyland was a spectacular experience but I can never go back there ever again.