musings on myself
Life is this twisted web of emotions that I can't separate.My moods are worse than a nightmare rollercoaster ride and it leaves me insanely tired thirsting for some rest like a teenager on E.I'm like a cracked out whore wanting more more.But only when I'm high.When I'm high so far up in the clouds that the teeniest teeniest dot could be a skycraper then all's well in the world and I couldn't give a rats ass about anything else but maintaining that high.Aaah but any crack whore will tell you when the supplier is dryer than a desert the low will come.The crushing low.The gutteral moan in the back of the throat low.The under the blanket please please don't bother me low.The bleak gray sky raining dark clouds chillin to the bone low.These two extremes.Like the cliched ying and yang.Except it's really not all that cliche becuase it exists.The dark and light.The pain and the laughter and the tears.The anxiety prone low.The worrying low.The constant panic attack low.The everything is wrong with the world I might as well kill myself low.The low I don't ever want to get to again but without the low there is no high.It has to be both or nothing at all.So I flirt dangerously with mania and depression.Walk along a tight rope teetering from one end to the other never really being satisfied with one or the other.right now as I write this I'm sitting comfortably in the middle.No mania and no depression.Yet I'm scared.Becuase at any moment one or the other will rear it's ugly head.I don't want to be fucking dependent on psychotic drugs.I don't like what it does to me.I lose myself.Who I am.It changes my personality completely.So I have stopped taking my medicine and I'm fine right now.Nothing has gone wrong.But how long will it last?I mean to be truthful I still cut myself.Makes no sense.I don't do it because I'm stressed.I dropped a class so I'm only taking nine credits.And I only work ten to fifteen hours a week.So it's not stress.I just do it.For no reason.Like I'll be sitting and just compulsively open my desk drawer and take out the piece of glass and scratch it across my skin.And it feels good.The pain feels sooo good.Makes no sense I know.I try to throw it away.But I can't do it.I had to stop going to therapy becuase I can't afford it.But honestly I don't think it was going to help all that much.We spoke of things I already knew about myself.That I'm self destructive.That I don't trust people.That I keep things bottled up inside.That I live in my head too much.I know all that.It's part of the suppose disorder that I have.But I really don't want to believe that I'm Bipolar.I just don't buy it.Anxiety sure.But Bipolar seems so drastic.It scares the crap out of me.I'd rather consider myself eccentric.A weirdo.A nerd.A geek even.A complete freak of nature.That's a lot more holistic than Bipolar disorder.That's saying I'm fucked up against my wishes.That I have no choice in the matter.That when I feel like killing myself it's my disease talking and not me.When I feel like I can do anything in the world it's not really true,it's the disease again.So then when am I really me?When do I make the decisions about myself?I just refuse to accept that I'm helpless.That I need the aid of a psychiatrist and a therapist and a social worker and a behavioral therapist just to function.And lets not forget the Pharmacuetical companies.I need them as well.That's insane don't you think?completely insane.Unbelievable even.I have to learn how to cope without medicine.How to live the best way I know how and to glean whatever happiness I can glean from this life that I live.

take a chunk out