I feel like I'm on fire lately. Except, not really.
I realized this morning that in my efforts to figure out what's been going on with my headaches, I've neglected to take my crazy meds. It's only been a couple of days, but for a bipolar person on meds that don't really stay in the system, a couple of days is enough. It is so fucking tempting to dump them. If you knew this feeling, you'd know why.
Those who have known me for a while probably noticed it but didn't say anything. I noticed it today. Life is bright. It's electric. It's not just worth living and beautiful, it's on fire. It is a supernova in an otherwise dark universe. And it's terrifying.
This illness makes me want to cry. It allows me to see a beauty that most don't get to see, but it makes me unable to function as a normal part of society. It makes me crazy. It makes me fucking weird and pushy and obsessive. Mania is not just hyperactivity. Oh no, it's so much more. I'm brilliant and beautiful and remarkable. I'm Mark Twain and Shakespeare and Galileo all rolled into one. I am Liz Phair and Claudia Schiffer and Carey Mulligan. Keep in mind, this is the crazy perspective that I have and not reality. God, I wish it were reality.
But imagine. You're a woman living in this world where it's pretty damn hard to feel good about yourself. You have the media telling you that you're ugly and you have the world telling you that you're stupid. You have something wrong with your brain and that something allows you to NOT feel what the world tells you to feel. That something tells you the exact opposite and sells you a dream so enormous that to live in disbelief is just stupid. Wouldn't you want to feel that way all the time? Wouldn't you want to live in a world where you had an inflated sense of self? If only to feel that way for a moment and have faith in all you do? I sure do.
But . . . the world isn't made for that. The world isn't built to handle the likes of me. I'm an oddball. I'm overbearing and loud and intense and . . . crazy. So I pop another pill. I dull all of that so that I can function and be here with you without driving everyone away. Even a beautiful life is nothing if it is a lonely life. I conform.
And I rail against that conformity. It's hard for sane people to understand that those like me, we can't just "be us". We can't just buck conformity and be ourselves because we only know the weighted ends of the spectrum. We can't be us and be normal at the same time. So we pop pills and become bitter at the idea of conformity, at the idea of normal. All the while desperately seeking normalcy so that we don't end up alone.