Joy of Mania (original) (raw)
So, I have been stable for nearly two years but I haven't done anything in that time that would suggest that I am approaching wellness in any significant way. I am mildly depressed in that I don't take great and lasting pleasure in socializing, bathing, doing laundry, grocery shopping, sex, etc. I haven't enough outlets for this rage. I burn through so much time in a perpetual state of dread, fear, wishing there was something, anything that I could thrust my Self into that might actually bring me a semblance of joy. Desire haunts me and tears into me so that I fear calm, I fear happiness as if it were a plague that might happen upon me unknowingly. So, the temperamental urge to write has left me temporarily. I can hardly do it with any conviction and am therefore left with absolutely nothing to hang my hat on, as it were. Bodies terrify me. I am enjoying the sun more than I have in the past but that always necessitates other people to have to circumnavigate my way around; they devour my energy and leave me with little or no pretense to involve my Self with them in any real and lasting way. One must learn to deal with others in some capacity or another in order to live a full life. I find that I am portraying the role of the surly, crusty old man in the corner who mumbles curses at everything in the room so that everyone avoids him and shoots condemning gestures his way at the slightest opportunity. I scream for attention, in actuality, but can not find a method of getting my Self heard. I don't remember. It seems as if my life has been filled with minor moments that mean nothing to me now and are replaced continually by other meaningless moments that do not glow, do not sing, do not speak of themselves in such a way that they might charm, delight, or please in any way. I am harangued by illusions that reach out into the fabric of existence and color the moments when I am sitting alone, begging for recognition in the eyes of another conspirator. The pushing, pulling disaster that has become me strikes me across the face with force and reason. I am sliding down, clasping the cinematic dreams that choke and defend and mark the depths that I appear all to willing to sink to. Oh, but I have learned to control the mania but that has left me reeling and clearly despondent in such a way that I can barely speak. Granted, there doesn't seem to be much of anything that I want to say to anyone. Sure, I do long for one, a singular being with out pretense, who has understood the suffering mannerisms that fester in so many of us, often uncalled, unwilling, fettered, and wholly demonstrative. Yes, I understand the nature of things are not set up for me to experience the pleasures that are so readily approximated by many who are unaware of how simple it can be to gradually lose control of one's thinking apparatus. How one can go from a contributing citizen to a veritable invalid in a breath. Yes, it strikes me that life can turn in such a way that thoughts become a scourge that tears, lashes, gouges at the senses and deprives the person of safety and comfort essentially taken for granted in the course of living. Words get tangled up, sounds are distorted in such a way that new music appears to be formed. The approach of mania can be viewed as a glorious thing that reaches into the heart of every essence and brings forth treasures untold. But, soon the hot hounds of hell start nipping at your heels. You must move faster and faster in order to get away but they always catch you in the end. They always carry you off into the woods and make a meal of your meager flesh. Then you are reborn in another form that nevertheless must keep repeating the same tired gestures until you want nothing more but to collapse at the feet of some grand statue. But, no such thing can be found and life winds itself around, dangerously pleading it's case to be experienced in a spastic fury replete with intense moments of a type of bliss.
| Poster: |  blood_victor |
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| Date: | 2007-02-02 17:00 |
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| Security: | Public |
I know this is supposed to be about the joys of mania. Well, I haven't experienced any for the past eighteen months because I have been stable (i.e. chronically depressed) during that time. I yearn for the day when I was wired for sound and tearing a hole through the very fabric of time. On some levels, that is. I long for the level of energy I exhibit during my Manic moments. But, I don't miss the mental terror, the inability to face conflict, the obsession with trivialities. I do miss the obsessiveness and the hyper eroticism. Those mornings when I would rise at 4 or 5 and start my day eating fruit and reading whatever esoteric text was handy. Not working is the key to all this. It allowed me to continue on for three months without having to face the cold reality of my folly. Yes, circumstances conspire to lead us astray. Most of us merely find ourselves in jobs/situations that we loathe. I couldn't bear to stand anything that challenged my absolute right to take center stage and dominate everything I encountered. This is fine if you want to accomplish something of merit and you have a definitive vision about what you need to do. Obsession drives so much of what is considered to be viable and therefore, good. Obsession in my case was merely for the utter meaninglessness that floats around the sludge pool attracting flies and death birds. Depression is waiting for the death birds to alight on you, beginning the process of tearing your flesh off in conveniently-sized strips. The obsession is for sleep, forgetting, slipping away for long stretches of time where one does not have to act if one so chooses. So many actions are wasteful. The key to happiness is accomplishing legitimate goals in the fewest steps. Mania slices away needless layers and carves into the very heart of things. Then it keeps carving until nothing is left but a barely pulsating pulp. That is the basic problem with mania. It simply cannot tell the difference between gold and dross. It cannot discern between what is good and what is vile. Everything is muddled in a brown slime...
Ah, it's been over eighteen months since my most recent hospitalization. I'm fat, unmotivated, bored, and broke. I'm a giant, formless turd floating through life's galaxies searching for something to ooze it's way upon. I'm always tired. I need to work out. I loathe the idea of working out. I should be "working out" just fine on my own without the added burden of tummy tucks, ass bends and all the rest. I'm no longer pretty. I shaved my head to help motivate me and I've only gotten fatter. No wiser. I'm falling into the sewer and I can only hope that my appetite is sufficient to make the most of my new environs. Shit eating shit. A cannibal turd. Yay! I wallow in this degradation and nothing ever changes. Everything changes. I'm changing for the worse because I am not programmed to do anything else. Self-programming, that's a start. Pushing ones own buttons. I dunno. I need to find these buttons. I need to stay awake during the day. I need to get off my ass and join the working world comprised of people who run marathons, pull people out of burning buildings, create a viable life for their little turdlings. I'm 37 in a month. I spend most of my free time sleeping. I can't sleep at night so I sleep during the day. I keep getting fatter which feeds my depression which makes me sleep more which makes me get fatter. Truth be told, I'm sick. I'm depressed and no medication seems capable of dealing with this situation. Every antidepressant I've been on has merely made me manic. The last one was Zoloft which fucked me up worse than anything when I was taken off cold turkey. Now I'm not on one and I cannot get a handle on my sleeping. The past few nights I have been able to sleep because I have taken 200 mg of Seroquil. I'm only prescribed 100 mg. but I find that it just isn't enough. So, I've been taking two pills instead of one. I'm awake this morning but I expect at any moment to feel the overwhelming urge to go back to bed. This has been the pattern that I've established over the past two months or so. But I have figured out a way to sleep at least even though it means being reliant on yet another drug. I'm thinking of Valerian root. That works for some people and I'm quite wary of getting hooked on Seroquil. I feel already that I am and this troubles me to no end. I'm puling here like a chicken but I need to get this out in some fashion. I need to be able to convey basic perceptions about my disorder. I invite others to absolutely do the same. It baffles me that I can't seem to motivate my Self to do anything at all that might help facilitate some lasting relief from this excruciating depression...
Perfect example of why Mania is top notch. I couldn't remember why I put "Bernburg an der Saale" in my interests list. I did a Wikipedia search and came up with the obvious. Bernburg is a small Saxon town in Germany. It is on the Saxonian Saale. Yay! But then, I clicked on one of the
German language pages for "Bernburg" and came up with this. I just love how fucked up these translation pages really are. They bring me so much joy I'm going to burst with it, I am...
Today is a perfect example of the kind of day I swear I can have all the time. I've already described most of it on my Still We Stare MySpace group page. Today has only gotten better. This gal, lady person called me from Japan and we talked and talked about her product and how I really need to be selling it here in the states. Oh, it was lovely. I've been practicing this with countless random phone calls that I am able to turn into 2 hour conversations. Finally, after leaving my cell on despite the urge to shut it the hell off, she phones and I end up thinking "holy schitt, this is a product I can break the goddamn bank with. A holistic, completely organic patch that helps people lose weight, stop smoking, look sexy, talk like a confident, sexy beast with hot pants and a secret...
| Poster: | werewolf_song |
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| Date: | 2005-06-17 11:21 |
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| Security: | Public |
Don't have anything to add (I'm not 100% sure I'm bipolar, though there's a good chance. I love what appears to be mania, though, and really wish people would stop trying to get me to go on lithium or something because I feel too good. I wish I could always be hyper and excited and seeing the world as one big never-ending party. {Even if I scare people a little when I'm like that. All part of the fun!} I should run to my doctor and say "Help! I'm feeling too good!" just so we can laugh about it. Or so I can laugh while he looks at me like I'm on crack or something. Hee!) but I just wanted to say it was interesting/amusing/something that in the interests list, 'sex with nurses' is linked but 'sex with doctors' is not. Doctors may have more prestige than nurses but they sleep alone! LOL!
I'd like to hear one of your manic stories. I hope this list takes off. I wish the positive sides of all disorders were more recognized. My ‘up’ days make the depressions worth it to me, and I wouldn’t change a thing (except to have more up days, of course!) and even the depressions serve a purpose. (Long story there but I’ll go into it if someone asks. But only if someone asks, ‘cause it’s, well, long. Or I’m lazy. :p)
This community is for those who have stories to share regarding their Manic behaviour in all its glittering, despairing glory. This is a controlled, open forum. This means that anyone can join, anyone can post, but that I am going to be monitoring every contribution in accordance with strict aesthetic standards. I prefer well-written, properly considered essays over gibberish that fails to edify this condition to those without context.
I have had some wild times while technically suffering a major Manic episode with Psychotic features. I have enjoyed everything but the ultimate break with my waking reality. Mostly, I haven't liked running into the brick wall of involuntary/voluntary hospitalization. I haven't liked forcing this thing on my family, and subsequently allowing them to view me through the foggy lens of their prejudices regarding the mentally ill. Still, I know I've seen and felt things they never will. For the most part, my diagnosis has been the best thing that ever happened to me. I can attribute my behaviour to an illness. I can pass off my predilection for Absurdist rants as part of a higher disorder I can hardly control. But, I don't do this. Manic-Depression is not an excuse for being an asshole to people who just happen to be caught in the cross hairs of one's afflicted perceptions.
I don't feel that I can speak openly about this illness because so few have a context by which to include it. I like to equate my soaring moments to Icarus' flight toward the sun and his subsequent descent into the raucous cold of despair. The unwelcome sea offers a perfect metaphor for the inevitable crash. The heights are so intensely felt that the only recourse the body has is to provide an equally intense voyage into the jaws of the abyss. Oh, but the heights once scaled...