October 12, 2007

• Manic manic manic

  So I'd thought I'd give you a taste of what it's like when I get manic. Cos really, it could be mistaken for normal -- I am such a control freak.
  Here we go:
  The words are being typed on this page faster than I can physically get them out -- the spelling errors are horrendous.
  My fingers are pulsing.
  <<If I dint' spell checlk I would be t ypoing like this ai am typing so fast.>>
  I am shouting obscure facts about music and books and other weird stuff (did you know that Duke Ellington's real name was Edward Kennedy Ellington and that a Tiger Snake isn't striped at all necessarily, and that Sting was voted the worst rock (read: popular) lyricist of all time and that my youngest daughter could break your heart in thirty pieces about thirty times a day?) at my husband who is grunting.
  grunting.
  And I am flying, flying, flying.
  My head is full of all these huge ideas, my heart feels fit to burst, and my stomach feels full of butterflies.
  I feel like I could fly. I really do. My breathing is faster than normal. I am listening to the rad
  So obviously, the meds aren't working. I either have to come down off the antidepressants or try something else. Fuck this.
  I really like this high. It's hard to give up.
  Of course, the consequences are that deep awful hole, that black fucking pit with the slippery sides. It get harder and harder to haul myself out of it.
  Not worth it. 
  Not.
  NOT.
  Note to self: call doc on Monday.

  • 7:32 am
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