A Medium Day

I was so happy. So unbelievably freaking happy, for about a day. It sucks but i know myself well enough to realize that when I get a sudden creative urge…it’s usually a manic high. I take advantage of them because as far as bipolar goes I’m on the less extreme side. Instead of a mania-fest where I sabotage my life with drugs, alcohol, and a refusal to show up to work I just become excessivley driven artisitically and in many ways OCD. I clean the house, paint a room (or three) and draw.The worst thing that results from these manias, other than the inevitable decline, is that I tend to start five million projects and only finish two. This means that until my next high those half painted stairs will be staring at me, wondering why I bothered to rip up all that nasty ass carpet if I was going to leave them a smudgy green color. And one-half of my insert will remain slightly unfinished, requiring only one more coat if I could get myself off my ass long enough to do it. Two hours tops, yet it stairs at me and seems insurmountable most days. Eventually it will get done, either when I’m manic or when I get angry enough at myself to overcome the exhaustion. It happens.I started filming me at my worst, and i guess to really see the difference I need to capture me at my highest. For some reason the video uploads upside down, but it still is effective. I had another car day, and just let lose to the camera. I tried watching it afterwards, but it’s oddly painful. Half the stuff I don’t even remember saying. Then again that happens when I’m manic too. Friends have quoted me before, things that were funny usually, or just crazy. And I have no idea when i said it, but looking back it seems like something that would pop out of my mouth when I’m like that.

Today is a medium day.

For the most part I’m fine, but feeling very doom like. Most times my low days are followed by a night of unpleasant dreams. Nightmares. No wait, not nightmares. Night terrors.

You know, those things where you’re actively hallucinating right after you wake up so you’re like WTF IS ET IN MY BEDROOM! and then you realize it’s not ET but an evil alien here to probe your ass with a spinning didlo of death and you’re like OH FUCK! but then you roll over to wake up your significant other to save him from violent ass probe-age and all he does is steal the covers and drool on your elbow?So you’re sitting there like, excuse me I could be running for my life here, but instead I stopped to save your ass from alien butt sex and all you do is drool??? But when you turn to pull out ninja skills on their alien asses they aren’t there anymore…
This was no different. Except that it was because in reality this shits terrifying.  I woke up shaken and upset, enough that when John first looked at me he asked if I was ok. I wasn’t. Still not, but it fades the longer I’m awake. I’m just grateful that this particular nightmare was less…scarring I guess. Well it was, but in a different way. Normally my nightmares are rape and death ( not alien butt sex). Loved ones disapearing. Last night was a little more mild, and about John, so it helps to wake up and him be laying there holding on to me. It makes my brain realize it was all fake so much faster.


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