About Me

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I am a young college student in New England trying to find my path towards a career in literature. I am also trying to find my path in the maze that is Bipolar depression and mood disorder. I believe that there is something divine in the pain of life, and I have great hope and love for those sufferers.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

'I'm alright, don't I seem to be?'

It's difficult to get sympathy from people for a thing no one is really sure exists. No doctor can point to an x-ray and say "there, that, it needs to come out." I have no test results to show my condition, to hand to someone so they can making clucking noises and hug me and say "we'll get through this together". Indeed, what exactly am I going through? This disappearing act called "Bipolar 1,2, or 3" or simply "mood disorder". The latter which conjures up images of a blond house wife in flowing robes throwing her bonbons across the room and collapsing on a fainting couch with a tear-stained face.

No, it's nothing like that.

But it's always there, you see. And I can't get rid of it.

Oh god, if I could just rip it out. If I could pry it's claws away from my soul...they dig so deep, and The Pain brings me to my knees and stops my breath. I squeeze my hands together to stop from screaming. But it's swallowed my voice, so I let go my grip. I stare ahead in horror, alone on the floor, soaking my space in tears. The Pain, please God, The Pain is too much, I won't make it this time. I shake my head and rock back and forth like a mother over the body of her dead child. All at once I am mourning and dying and falling into the pit of Hell here in my very room. Suddenly my skin is so heavy on my bones, it's so heavy and my bones are breaking and I have to get out of my skin before I crumble into pieces. My clothes are covered in Pain and I can't stand them and my skin is crushing my bones. I can hear it now, my soul is giving away I can feel it tearing...The Pain, I can't stand it I've got to rip it out I tell you I've got to get it out oh God......


And then my memory is gone until the next day. I know I am still alive because I can hear the noises of my home. I know it must have all been in my head, because no one has rushed me to the hospital. This realization amazes me. How did I survive The Pain then? Didn't anyone look on in fear and desperation? Didn't anyone cry at the sight of me in Pain? Did no one lift me from the floor and carry me to help? No. No one did. No one heard. No one saw.

So I move carefully out of bed, naively expecting a wound to bleed, and bones to crack. Nothing happens, I'm together with no flesh missing. Slowly the memory of The Pain fades as I make my way back to life. But it will be back. I know it will be back. It always is. And I can't get rid of it.

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