I wasn’t sure if I would be back but as fate would have it my auto renewal subscription to this site, well, it auto renewed, so here I am, with stories to tell and scars to show from the battles I have fought.
Where do I begin?
No, seriously…. where in the hell do I begin?!
It’s around 7 am and I am currently listening to Bohemian Rhapsody at a rather unconventional sound level for this time of the morning.
I’ve been caterwauling to music since 6 am.
My neighbors must hate me. Between the hysterical crying that is unpredictable at best and my attempts to “sing” , which to be honest sounds like I’m being murdered, but it’s a necessary process to release the pain inside.
Since last we met, our heroine was on her way up up up… and away she went into the psychiatric hospital for 12 days.
They gave her high doses of a zombie pill that made her go low low low.
She suffered with the low, tallying up the days into her arm.
All the while she screamed and screamed for help but she was already seen as crazy, so her screams were silenced with the introduction of zombie med 2.
This caused our heroine to sleep. She was in a deep sleep through day and night. Morning would come and she would take the zombie pills and sleep more. Then she would be woken to eat, take zombie pill 2, and sleep would find her again until the next day and so on.
After almost a year of sleep, the heroine decided that she had to fight to break the magic spell. Sleep wasn’t life, or at least a life she wanted, but by this point she had so much zombie poison in her that she was once again returned to the psychiatric hospital.
In between these two visits she battled a satanist but her greatest adversary would come much later.
Slowly the zombie pills were drained from her blood and they were replaced with “build a normie” pills.
Let’s take a side step here for a moment out of disassociationville and talk real.
I was starting to get better, very slowly. But something happened. Something that would trigger a landslide like no other.
Now is the time I’m going to disassociate again…
Our heroine met her adversary one day. She knew there was trouble. She could feel it, but it was brushed away by others as paranoia. After all our heroines biggest downfall is herself and her mind.
Unfortunately, our heroine was right and when it came time to battle she was too weak to fight her nemesis.
Nothingness is her companion. There is no joy, no satisfaction, no hope. Nothing but nothing.
Medication no longer works and my only options now are to try unconventional forms of fighting medication resistant bipolar. I’m going to try trans magnetic brain stimulation.
I’d like to say I’m hopeful but at this point I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I turned 40 this year. I look around and I see others living life. I want to know what that’s like. I want to be able to leave the house without being in a constant panic that I am away from home and where anything can happen.
I don’t know who I am anymore and that’s going to have to be ok until I can find myself again.
Whenever I find myself in this healing journey I hope she is a strong, confident, full of self love, and maybe she will bring joy to others.
Only way to go is up because any lower and I’ll be dead.
Just A Girl In A Whirl 