I’m an all or nothing person
I’m not a nothing person
I’m an all person
I wrote this a few days ago during a few hours of inexplicable agitation and rage… I thought you might quite enjoy it (guess who’s in the clutches of a mixed episode).
I guess I need to go back to not simply enjoying the good times, because it only seems to make the subsequent crash worse. How fucked, that life is more bearable when lived in a sort of depressive twilight zone.
Fuck continuous cycling, fuck ultradian cycling, fuck mixed episodes, fuck psychosis and fuck bi-fucking-polar fucking affective fucking disorder. Fuck the biomarkers and the trauma and whatever other causes the researchers don’t quite find. Fuck science for knowing so fucking little about the brain. Fuck the money I don’t have, but need to spend on the treatment that doesn’t appear to be working. Fuck the fucking meds and their fucking side effects. Fuck vomiting, diarrhoea Fuck people’s fuckwitted beliefs and attitudes towards people with bipolar. Fuck the people with cyclothymia who think they can fucking preach to the rest of us about the fucking benefits of bipolar. Fuck the stupid amount of time it takes to diagnose the fucking disorder and fuck the prognosis for getting so much worse when it hasn’t been treated. Fuck all of the damage I’ve ever caused and sustained along the way. Fuck the social awkwardness, the anxiety and everything that comes with them. Fuck restless leg syndrome, fuck migraines and fuck the fucking word co-morbid. Fuck anyone who’s ever rolled their eyes at suicide. Fuck this rage that arrives out of nowhere, fuck the amount of work that’s needed to fail to control emotions, fuck the fact that a good mood is dangerous. Fuck the people who say it’s manageable and you definitely will get stable. Fuck celebrities for the fuckall they do apart from making the same fucking statement about their bipolar that everyone else does, and then leaping aboard the attention seeking awareness train instead of ever attempting to do something about a fucking cure. Fuck all the academics in their grant-lined ivory fucking towers and the meaningless fucking papers they write. Fuck everyone who profits far more than they can ever spend, from sickness and fuck society for encouraging it. Fuck the brain damage, fuck the memory problems and fuck the fact that medical professionals usually minimise it when they tell you about it. Fuck bipolar for making everything so fucking difficult.
Fuck. My. Life.
OK, what did I forget to fuck?
The melancholic is sad, afraid; he isolates himself and cries, he thinks… about death… he exaggerates his evils and his faults… and his illness; he thinks himself a terrible sinner… he feels desperate. (Posidonius 135-51 BC)