Processing Unreliable Brain Activity

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Today I'm wondering whomst the fuck I have to carry out a blood sacrifice to, just to have back a taste of what's normal again. 

Photo by Paweł Czerwiński on Unsplash


I exist simultaneously in a state of euphoria and agony. I wonder whether it's really a good thing that I'm more aware of my mood swings now, or of my focus shifts. Wasn't it better to have continued living in a nameless, churning well of misery? 

Well, no. I know the answer is no. And on most days, I still consider diagnoses to be a positive thing. On most days, I'm still glad that I can see mood shifts and focus shifts as they happen, and work on them. 

Today isn't most days. Today I'm sick and tired of being me. 

Today I'm recovering. Recovering from a day where my head wouldn't stop spinning no matter what I did. A day where I swayed up and down the road like I was drunk out of my mind, without touching a drop. A day where I hid from my goals and responsibilities and felt like the world's worst coward. 

Today I'm letting myself nap when I need to, but instead of much-needed rest, I get intense, vivid depression dreams. 

Today I'm recovering after three days of being put through the wringer. Three days of my brain showing me the best slideshow in the world - just images one after the next of every single person who has ever rejected me. Three days of yearning after intimacy lost, with no softer reminders of their glaring failures to mellow the harshness of being alone. 

Today I'm wondering why I have to keep doing this cycle of meds and side effects, and then lack of meds and worsening symptoms, and then back to meds again. 

I'm wondering why I have to keep doing this cycle of failure and loss, of attempts to crawl back some of the edge I've lost. 

Today I'm wondering whomst the fuck I have to carry out a blood sacrifice to, just to have back a taste of what's normal again. 

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