We'll see what I think of this a year from now
This is a proclamation of sorts. While I don't really feel like this is absolutely necessary, I know a lot of people who might want explanations, as I feel as though I've become somewhat of an enigma to a lot of old friends.
I am, without a doubt, bipolar. Not ROLMFAO OMG im soooooooo bipolarzzzzzzzzz. Like, I have bipolar disorder. What does this mean for me? Well, it means I can medically categorize what for years I have dismissed as moodiness, laziness, anxiety, and an inability to genuinely and consistently connect with other human beings. It also means I have shackles made of voodoo nu-pills. It means my lifelong quest to find my true inner self was all one big farce, highlighted by life-affirming revelations that were quickly dismantled by the cessation of a manic intermission. And excuse me for stepping up to the soapbox for a moment, but is there any more appropriate era to have bipolar disorder? All my life, my poor, naive brain has been shoved through an alley of bright lights, promises, and fear-peddling. Instant gratification just a click away, followed by an asterisk trailed by surprise obligations leading to a long, disorienting march tiptoed on the gray border between the Land of Maybe and the Valley of Perhaps. How thrilling, and yet how profoundly depressing.
Two paragraphs in, and Abilify, the wonder drug supposed to recapture my lost focus, seems to be bringing my focus back on the condition that I can only express myself in rambling metaphors. I will attempt to return to a more real reality now.
This has been the worst year of my life. I have been admitted to a psych hospital, mused naughtily with my vitality, dropped out of university, stopped eating for an unhealthy interval, lost the ability to mindlessly tread on the cracks in the pavement, self-medicated in excess, sent desperate messages to friends from extreme islands of aloneness, and never really said one honest thing to anyone. The quintessence of my personality has become a black hole--the kind that inhales every ounce of effort from the most caring of people but exhales not a photon of improvement. For this, I apologize with every human component of my primordial body.
With every day of my life having been a banal battle for stability and rationalization, a blessing has ever-so-secretly matured. I am beyond a quest for comfort or a search for a calling. Everything I've been taught, everything I've learned about success and happiness and "follow your bliss" turned out to be maxims for people who possess the mentality to adhere to a single, undeviating verisimilitude. As for me, I can rightfully claim pride for dutifully absorbing alien axioms, nearly destroying myself in order to comply with them, then having to amputate all of it like maladroit fingers with the maladroit fingers I'd been lended in the first place.
A supposed debilitation of my brain has ironically presented me with the clarity to discern the truly important from the trivially important. The next step is to calmly defeat the pains of unremitting reconstruction of my brain. I can only ask of you, my friends, that if what I do doesn't make sense at first, please acknowledge the distance I've come and the distance I have farther to go. I am imperfect in every possible way, but imperfection is the only avenue through which I hope to find conation in the love of yours and mine.
I am, without a doubt, bipolar. Not ROLMFAO OMG im soooooooo bipolarzzzzzzzzz. Like, I have bipolar disorder. What does this mean for me? Well, it means I can medically categorize what for years I have dismissed as moodiness, laziness, anxiety, and an inability to genuinely and consistently connect with other human beings. It also means I have shackles made of voodoo nu-pills. It means my lifelong quest to find my true inner self was all one big farce, highlighted by life-affirming revelations that were quickly dismantled by the cessation of a manic intermission. And excuse me for stepping up to the soapbox for a moment, but is there any more appropriate era to have bipolar disorder? All my life, my poor, naive brain has been shoved through an alley of bright lights, promises, and fear-peddling. Instant gratification just a click away, followed by an asterisk trailed by surprise obligations leading to a long, disorienting march tiptoed on the gray border between the Land of Maybe and the Valley of Perhaps. How thrilling, and yet how profoundly depressing.
Two paragraphs in, and Abilify, the wonder drug supposed to recapture my lost focus, seems to be bringing my focus back on the condition that I can only express myself in rambling metaphors. I will attempt to return to a more real reality now.
This has been the worst year of my life. I have been admitted to a psych hospital, mused naughtily with my vitality, dropped out of university, stopped eating for an unhealthy interval, lost the ability to mindlessly tread on the cracks in the pavement, self-medicated in excess, sent desperate messages to friends from extreme islands of aloneness, and never really said one honest thing to anyone. The quintessence of my personality has become a black hole--the kind that inhales every ounce of effort from the most caring of people but exhales not a photon of improvement. For this, I apologize with every human component of my primordial body.
With every day of my life having been a banal battle for stability and rationalization, a blessing has ever-so-secretly matured. I am beyond a quest for comfort or a search for a calling. Everything I've been taught, everything I've learned about success and happiness and "follow your bliss" turned out to be maxims for people who possess the mentality to adhere to a single, undeviating verisimilitude. As for me, I can rightfully claim pride for dutifully absorbing alien axioms, nearly destroying myself in order to comply with them, then having to amputate all of it like maladroit fingers with the maladroit fingers I'd been lended in the first place.
A supposed debilitation of my brain has ironically presented me with the clarity to discern the truly important from the trivially important. The next step is to calmly defeat the pains of unremitting reconstruction of my brain. I can only ask of you, my friends, that if what I do doesn't make sense at first, please acknowledge the distance I've come and the distance I have farther to go. I am imperfect in every possible way, but imperfection is the only avenue through which I hope to find conation in the love of yours and mine.