I explained that a comment about not being able to tell I'm sick tipped me over the edge. That even though often meant as a compliment, I felt a frustration and decided maybe I'm not sick. Maybe it's in my head. Maybe everyone thinks I'm lying. So I abandoned many of my carefully crafted rules. Of course it ended in disaster. Of course it didn't work. The fallout is still bouncing around and leaving me terrified of ever traveling again.
One particular problem keeps popping up. Born in the heights of hypomania, or mania, it bursts and burns so bright that Calvin cannot reason with me. And when I crash, it's still there. Except now I know it is irrational to consume my life. Now I know the toll it's taking. I watch the exhaustion settle in.
"So how can I stop this?" I ask her.
Prevention. Prevention. Prevention. A new cocktail of drugs. Go back to your stringent routines. Take that drug that makes you feel sleepy and hungover. Don't return from trips on a weekday if you plan to work immediately. Do I want to be on a new referral list?
"Thank you for your time. Thanks for not making me a one time appointment."
Return home to devour the only book that makes me feel understood. Explain to Calvin. We have a standoff about meds.
The floors are bothering me again. When I walk on them it's like nails on a chalkboard but ten times worse. I keep evaluating the sounds. Should I go out in public? So agitated I can't think straight. Only Calvin can tell usually. Every vibration. Every sound. Every slight perception of uneven. So angry my head betrays me.
I want to shout. Dance. Call people and tell them things they have no interest or time in hearing. Listen to that one song on repeat. Laugh.
My brain is on fire.
