Is that what I think it is? It can’t be. But it may be. It could be. Yes ohmygod, yes, I think it is. I do believe that is a light at the end of the tunnel. Now I don’t want to get my hopes up, we all know how dangerous that can be, but I’m pretty sure of it. Yes, I think I see hope.
It happens so quickly. So unexpectedly. The switch, the change, the mood swing. Whatever your personal label is. I moved through yesterday in a daze of unimaginable grief. Crying late into the night whilst mentally taking a knife to my neck and plunging it repeatedly into the jugular over and over and over again. I imagined the spray of blood against the bathroom wall. Loosing grip of the knife in my slippery hand. Staining my favourite pyjama’s. And the physical pain. I didn’t care who would find me, when they’d find me or how they’d find me. I just wanted the anguish to end.
And not 24 hours later, here I am talking about hope? You’ve gotta be kidding me. But, bipolar is it’s own irrational animal. It contains no order or reason. The symptoms hit you from behind like a schoolyard bully. Sideswipes you. Toys with you. Confuses you. It brings you to your knees in an imaginary pool of blood, with unwashed hair and mismatched clothes, soaked with snot and warm salty tears. And just when you think you cannot do this anymore – sink lower, drown further, try harder, fail again……
BOOoooo…… bipolar sneaks up behind you and waves a white flag. Drowning in your choking sorrow, you grab onto that lifeline and hold it close to your heart.
I have crossed from last night’s bloody yet unfulfilled end, to tonight’s small glimmer of hope. Hooray! I’ve washed my hair and put some laundry on. I think I may paint my nails. What colour though? Pink, red, green? Blue. I think I’ll go with blue. That’s quite fitting wouldn’t you say?
A lighter shade of blue.