I’m giving birth to mania. I can feel it simmering beneath the surface. The key lies in the internal mind chatter. More and more chatter squirreling like mice in the attic of my brain. I can’t think straight for all the talking to myself. My lips move and perhaps, unaware, I whisper a few words of the dialogue between myself and I. You’ll catch me in an absorbed moment rolling my eyes or shaking my head; animated, some would think inebriated, deeply entwined in my own personal conversation and consternation of a slightly hypomanic mind.
Thoughts rolling thick and fast, I turn in one spot because I’m pulled this way and that between one suggestion and another, one thought, a new idea, a reminder, an alternative, questions and wonderings all in the space of one second. Or I can’t sit still, bouncing from room to room, forgetting then remembering, thoughts scrambled and unruly – don’t forget to fax the medical aid a copy of your text before the prescription then send …… a jumble of nonsense *rolls eyes, shakes head*
On and on it goes until I have to yelling out STOP! For the love of god just stop! Go have a cigarette, clear your mind, figure out a plan.
*has another cigarette ‘cos contemplating important universal stuff*
*has an idea*
*goes to bed at 2am with craft glue stuck in her hair* ……I know! WTF!…. *rolls eyes, shakes head*
Change is a strange creature in the life of a rapid cycling bipolar. Tuesday morning I set a date for my suicide, but I had the courage to change my mind, and here I am two days later with a hypomanic-induced spring in my step. Change is consistent. Change is reliable. And when it comes, it changes everything.