Usually such a thing is punctuated with a spike in my mood. Yes I go fluttering about like a butterfly hummingbird mutant on Meth but I feel good.
Only it doesn’t always work that way. Occasionally (thank the universe) not usually I get all the mania without the joy. Insomnia, loss of appetite, heightened sex drive all spiced up with the thousand and one thoughts trying to cram through my “think hole” all at once but no lift in mood. In fact when this happens I often find myself very stabby and self loathing instead.
Nothing like a thousand and one unique thoughts berating you for being an undesirable useless failure, a pompous ungrateful twat , a thoughtless selfish prat undeserving of anything good in her life, etc.
Anyway I’m sure you get the picture. I sure as hell do and just wish my brain would s.t.f.u.
I guess I am simply not going to get a break from myself this time. External bullshit not helping.
Funny though, my best friend told me the other day how proud she was of me for handling all this stress so well.
I laughed because it doesn’t feel like I’m doing so hot. But she reminded me how she watched and worried the last time I became unemployed 5 years ago. She confirmed I am nowhere as bad off as then.
I really needed that reminder.
I haven’t spiraled towards self destruction yet. So yeah that’s progress.
Well sex actually.
Its one of the numerous keys I found linking me over and over to the bipolar spectrum. Its amazing what too much dopamine can do to a system.
Of course its more than just that I realize so much more and I have done my reading. But in many ways I am biologically a sex fiend. Much of my chemistry points to it. Heightened sensitivities, thrill seeking behavior, masochism with a high threshold for pain, extremely shortened sexual refraction period I.e. physical recovery after orgasm. Much of this ties back directly to chemistry and much of it specific to dopamine levels.
And to put a finer point and at the risk of being crude in my own blog; I love to fuck.
It really is a wonder I’m not a nymphomaniac in the truly psychiatric sense. I guess that is one more item to add to my gratitude list.
Feel the fire beneath my skin. The way the heat ripples from my core into my extremities is maddening; leaving in its wake a cringing ache. It starts, a tickle between my shoulders like a bead of sweat rolling. I twitch, trying to shake loose the sensation only to feel it settle in deeper, crawling down my spine, and out along my shoulder blades. The ache building , sinking into my muscles, into my bones. It’s coming, the shift and I am helpless to stop it.
I cut the lights, draw the blinds and disrobe. No sense in ruining a perfectly good set of clothes, or of having someone peer in my windows as the change takes me. As it will take me, as it always does. The pain lashes through me as the first sets of tissue begin to unbind, I am literally coming apart. The sounds fill my tiny apartment like rifle shots and wet, shredding cloth. I fall but do not feel the floor catch me, the agony of the transition obliterates all else.
My flesh runs like wax under a blow torch, a scent not unlike heated copper fills the small space. I am soundlessly screaming as my vocal chords detach and realign to fit themselves to my sinuous neck. The sounds of my newly formed spinal column snapping into place like a string of fireworks reverberates off the walls. I am numb now, immune to the torture of my nervous system but the shift is not quite complete.
Tearing loose from my back and sides like the vast expanses of canvas on some strange sea going vessel my wings sprout forth. They knock the walls and scrape the ceiling before I can get them under control, sending a few items tumbling from shelves and pictures bounced crooked in their frames. I had really hoped to be outside when this took place. We are not always allowed the luxury of a chosen location however. My freshly hatched membranes sting from the abrasions received from the stucco stippled ceiling.
For “romantic” relationship thoughts or advice.
I have given up on it entirely. Well at least given up on the societal norm of such connections.
Now I have said that I give up in the past. But always with some sappy part holding out hoping and feeling sad about not having “the spouse/boyfriend /partner/whatever “.
But today in conversation with a friend about this exact topic I told her I’ve given up on the whole mess and you know what? There wasn’t a single sappy twinge. Not an ounce of self pity about my situation. In fact when I said it, it felt good.
I have given up on the reality of a standard issue “love life” and am completely at home with that.
However I must admit now as I did to my friend today …. I am so grateful I have someone to have sex with. 🙂
Some things I prefer not to give up.
But I finally did some things that at least give some semblance that I’m taking care of myself. I showered and washed my hair.
Then made myself some tuna fish and toast.
It has not been a good day but not as bad as yesterday.
So that’s something.
I have never been very good at optimism.
But I am doing my best
I know it is the epitome of selfish to harbor this fantasy of drifting to sleep and never waking. But I can’t help it.
The craving for peace and calm without pain. Everyone wants an easy solution at some point in their lives. I am no exception.
I know the repetitious carrying on about the hurting is tedious. My apologies. But just think how it’s monotonous to read imagine how much worse it is to live through.
Crying has made my head ache,sinus passages are pounding. Nothing quite like sobbing off and on for hours without any external reason.
Stress is really working me over good.
I feel like I’m going to explode.
So crawling into bed again. Pulling some plushies in tight and covers over my head.
Send a small prayer to the universe that tomorrow is a better day.
Well if you want me to tell you about some over the top, mind blowing, extravaganza of emotional heights. Some pinnacle of “heart” and mind experience.
Butteflies in the stomach, can’t eat, can’t sleep, dizzy, sweeping, palms sweating, this is the one I’ll love forever….
I don’t know what that kind of love is.
See for me, I have found that those sensations are a lie, they aren’t love.
That is my brain’s chemical dump of dopamine, endorphins and other such mess. It isn’t a real emotion.
I have felt it. Hell I feel a version of it whenever I’m manic, or after a really good fuck. But no, that isn’t love.
Love is a state of selflessness. It is not clinging, or greedy or possessive. Love watches the joys of our friends, family and partners without an ounce of envy. Love is wanting the best for our loved ones even if that means walking away.
It isn’t the obsessive nonsense that movies make it out to be. It doesn’t fix or solve all our problems.
But if you love and are loved then you should be grateful, because its a truly precious thing.