Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry

Most of the time, I don’t think of my bipolar disorder as mental illness any more than a deaf person sees his or her deafness as a sickness. It is, after all, all I know. There are certainly much more debilitating mental disorders, people who will never function in society despite the best treatments.

But at times like this, I truly feel sick. Terminal, even. For whatever reason, the meds no longer take the edge off. Lethargy and apathy mix like bleach and ammonia, forming a toxic cloud that burns my flesh from the inside out and jumbles up all my thoughts so I can’t think straight, can’t study. Everything is out of focus, confusing. I can no longer will myself to be normal. I can’t talk myself out of the muddy abyss of self-loathing.

Mindfulness practice doesn’t work if your mind is slipping.

 Then there’s the crying. There is nothing wrong, but I can’t stop crying. I mean, give me a fcking break! It’s a purely chemical reaction with no emotional trigger. Wild, gut-wrenching sobs that leave my head pounding and my stomach queasy. More tears than one would think possible. For no reason other than the backward tilt of the chemical teeter-totter in my limbic cortex.

It is at times like these that I don’t even want to leave the house. I don’t even want to move. I can’t even write. I am distracted by adolescent angst and whiny song lyrics, and the disgust that comes from knowing how pathetic I seem, how little I have really changed when it comes down to it.

Slowly, then suddenly…

This shit always sneaks up on me. Looking back, I can see the how things have been progressing for weeks. Not that it matters. There’s little I can do about it, really. Sometimes a change in meds can help, but just as often it just makes it worse. I don’t really want to go through that with my PCP, anyway.

The thing is, it never lasts forever. The trick is being able somehow to keep from screwing things up irrevocably in the meantime. Not an easy thing to manage when apathy weighs me down like hot, wet towels. I know it sounds bizarre, that I don’t care about anything, but I am still aware that at some point I will once again care, so it’s best to keep up.