Necro[keely]a
05-19-2009, 12:53 PM
I wrote this a while ago, just after I was diagnosed with Bipolar Affective Disorder. It's probably my favourite piece of writing.
Thoughts?
I often wonder what exactly it is that causes you to cycle the way you do, to plague my sanity the way that you do. Do you even realise what you put me through daily, even hourly?
It starts with the mania pulsating through the inside of you. Throbbing through every cell, every atom in your near transparent body. Your entire being is the rapids that accompany tide change. Your nerves are on fire, outstretched and receptive to every whisper, any hint of motion near you. Touch is amplified. Every caress penetrates your soul; the meeting of skin is amazing, raising goose bumps and teasing your thoughts. The silent breath around you sinking into your mind, and it’s all you can hear. It feels like your heart has released hundreds of butterflies into the cavities of your body, brushing against the walls of your organs and lifting your blood, bubbling and palpitating in your muscles. Disjointed, jumbled thoughts race through your mind and cross your eyesight – blinding flashes scaring you as they pass. Every flicker is new, unexplored and waiting. But you can’t stop, can’t concentrate long enough to devote these new discoveries any attention. It slips away and disappears as fast as it captivates you. Focus is elusive. Distraction carries you from thought to word to action without warning. You’re lost in your own mind, so caught up in your thoughts, racing them with your words to see which can spill out faster. You begin conversation with me, jumping from topic to topic. An endless flow of words spill from your tongue and scramble themselves in the air where you’re standing, swirling themselves around your head. They sound so vital yet mean nothing, make no sense. There is fascination in everything. The way the light filters through the bars, the feel of the cold floor on your skin, the sound of your incoherent words spitting against the walls to meet your careless graffiti. The texture of these plain white walls is everything you dream and want and need, and you want to see, feel, know, experience everything as it rushes by you, only seconds too fast to catch and hold. You blink. You breathe.
You lose your breath as your heart plummets into your chest. It leaving only a gaping hole beneath the lump lodged in your throat, keeping you from ever finding that breath.
Your mind stops, an abrupt, painful halt, deafening you and erasing every thought and sense you could reach out and touch only minutes before. You stand frozen and all the brilliant fascinating colours, sounds are fading from the world before your eyes. The dial turns slowly and everything is sucked into lifeless greys, monotonous and depressing. The twitching bugs inside you have fallen flapping, dying, dead. Their corpses accumulate, filling in your vacant cavities, pressing on your lungs and slowly captivating your heart, your being. They fill your throat. You choke on them as they poison and paralyse your tongue. Your brain floating black and still in your skull, only waiting for the end. It falls, sliding down the walls of bone and sinking low. The world is repulsive. They tell you so, the voices surrounding your lifeless brain. Nothing is worth it. They tell you so. Screaming in anguish and abuse, incoherent sentences with the underlying tones of hate. You are nothing and you can barely move. These thick emotions are grey and blurry around the edges, like a black dog out of the corner of your eye. Sound is muffled and you can hardly make out the dog barking as the tide comes in. Everything is muted, echoing slowly and softly through your head, meeting your shriveled nerves to dive beneath the surface where your skin still tingles slightly with hope, somewhere deep and distracted. You’re bleeding on the inside, drowning in, not out, the voices in your head. You’re drowning in all that you are, forever fighting the magnetic force pulling you lower. You don’t care about anything, least of all me. You pick up pieces of broken glass, smashed and scattered from the mosaic of my mind. You release the blood, spilling it over and under your sadness. You blink. You breathe.
(I'm not too sure whether this belongs here or in Shrink Wrap, feel free to move it if necessary.)
Thoughts?
I often wonder what exactly it is that causes you to cycle the way you do, to plague my sanity the way that you do. Do you even realise what you put me through daily, even hourly?
It starts with the mania pulsating through the inside of you. Throbbing through every cell, every atom in your near transparent body. Your entire being is the rapids that accompany tide change. Your nerves are on fire, outstretched and receptive to every whisper, any hint of motion near you. Touch is amplified. Every caress penetrates your soul; the meeting of skin is amazing, raising goose bumps and teasing your thoughts. The silent breath around you sinking into your mind, and it’s all you can hear. It feels like your heart has released hundreds of butterflies into the cavities of your body, brushing against the walls of your organs and lifting your blood, bubbling and palpitating in your muscles. Disjointed, jumbled thoughts race through your mind and cross your eyesight – blinding flashes scaring you as they pass. Every flicker is new, unexplored and waiting. But you can’t stop, can’t concentrate long enough to devote these new discoveries any attention. It slips away and disappears as fast as it captivates you. Focus is elusive. Distraction carries you from thought to word to action without warning. You’re lost in your own mind, so caught up in your thoughts, racing them with your words to see which can spill out faster. You begin conversation with me, jumping from topic to topic. An endless flow of words spill from your tongue and scramble themselves in the air where you’re standing, swirling themselves around your head. They sound so vital yet mean nothing, make no sense. There is fascination in everything. The way the light filters through the bars, the feel of the cold floor on your skin, the sound of your incoherent words spitting against the walls to meet your careless graffiti. The texture of these plain white walls is everything you dream and want and need, and you want to see, feel, know, experience everything as it rushes by you, only seconds too fast to catch and hold. You blink. You breathe.
You lose your breath as your heart plummets into your chest. It leaving only a gaping hole beneath the lump lodged in your throat, keeping you from ever finding that breath.
Your mind stops, an abrupt, painful halt, deafening you and erasing every thought and sense you could reach out and touch only minutes before. You stand frozen and all the brilliant fascinating colours, sounds are fading from the world before your eyes. The dial turns slowly and everything is sucked into lifeless greys, monotonous and depressing. The twitching bugs inside you have fallen flapping, dying, dead. Their corpses accumulate, filling in your vacant cavities, pressing on your lungs and slowly captivating your heart, your being. They fill your throat. You choke on them as they poison and paralyse your tongue. Your brain floating black and still in your skull, only waiting for the end. It falls, sliding down the walls of bone and sinking low. The world is repulsive. They tell you so, the voices surrounding your lifeless brain. Nothing is worth it. They tell you so. Screaming in anguish and abuse, incoherent sentences with the underlying tones of hate. You are nothing and you can barely move. These thick emotions are grey and blurry around the edges, like a black dog out of the corner of your eye. Sound is muffled and you can hardly make out the dog barking as the tide comes in. Everything is muted, echoing slowly and softly through your head, meeting your shriveled nerves to dive beneath the surface where your skin still tingles slightly with hope, somewhere deep and distracted. You’re bleeding on the inside, drowning in, not out, the voices in your head. You’re drowning in all that you are, forever fighting the magnetic force pulling you lower. You don’t care about anything, least of all me. You pick up pieces of broken glass, smashed and scattered from the mosaic of my mind. You release the blood, spilling it over and under your sadness. You blink. You breathe.
(I'm not too sure whether this belongs here or in Shrink Wrap, feel free to move it if necessary.)