Yesterday, I had a subtle reminder of how my highs almost always turn bad. The feeling of ‘I f*****g love my life’ turned in to racing thoughts so complex I just didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do with myself.
I wanted to do everything but nothing at the same time = Extreme irritability. And so I slowly started to dissociate from the world around me.
My mind had completely shut down on me, when The Boy came home and took one look at me curled up on the living room floor and said ‘I think it’s time you had some sleep.’
So we decided that it was straight to bed for some induced sleep for me, and out came the Promethazine tablets for a double dose. Sometimes I forget just how valuable sleep is to the mind, and in the past few weeks mine was slowly going crazy from the lack of it. After half an hour of uncontrollable rocking back and fourth from how uncomfortable this bad energy was in my body, I finally rocked my mind to sleep.
Three hours later I was made to get up, head up the street to The Boy’s parents and eat dinner. Another downside of coming out of hypomania is realising that or the past few weeks I’ve hardly eaten ( – I’ve not needed to, when you have unlimited neurochemical energy then who needs food??), more of I’d forgotten to eat, my mind had clearly been too busy to even consider having three meals a day. I struggled bad, trying to communicate with everyone around me whilst I tried to ingest a Sunday dinner. I think I must have fallen asleep about three times, having a strong coffee certainly didn’t help either, it just morphed in my hands in to a big mug of comfort. Pure torture. I remember just before I left a comment was passed towards me from a family member that went along the lines of “Are you going to see your doctor this week?”
No, I just want to sleep.
Besides, they will put me on Lithium.
I got home, got on the couch and crashed. Woke up at 11pm, dazed around for an hour and then crashed again – until the 7am wake up call.
No matter how many times I will use my own methods to purposely get me down from my high, I am never prepared for what comes afterwards. The Black Dog hung over me again. I forget what it is like to crash hard after an episode of being up in the clouds. I can’t physical feel my heart beating anymore. Each colour – the world – doesn’t seem bright and full of life. My perspective on life is flipped on to it’s side – everything I previously thought I had control of just slips out of my fingers. Panic, anxiety. I can’t face the world, the future terrifies me. I can barely step outside, social interaction is too unbearable. I’m tired.
I need her back. My Wolf has gone and I need her here – she’s the strong one and I can’t do this without her. I feel like a part of me is missing when she’s ran off in to the night.
I’m not depressed – I’m mourning.
I hope this doesn’t last and this comedown is just a temporary result of my stupid self-medicating habits. However nice it was to get a bit of sleep, hands up right now I’d take that self-destructive side of me back, no matter if it risks her chipping in to my life and destroying it bit by bit. At least that side of me feels something.