Friday, April 22, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 16

I come to and I’m sitting on our couch from my mom’s house back in high school. Mom is in the kitchen making breakfast and my step-dad strikes up a conversation with me. My parents appear and sound normal but there’s something off, something I can’t quite put my finger on, something just isn’t right. I make my way down our hallway and past our giant oval window front door and upstairs. Halfway up my brother is kneeling on the stairs praying and this strikes me as completely out of the ordinary. I look up and at the top of our stairs there is a crucifix with Jesus that I’ve never seen; something is definitely up. I make my way into my parent’s room and they chase in behind me yelling at me not to go into the closet as their outward familiar appearances morph slowly away. I find my grey plastic storage box in their closet and open it up. All my past sentimental belongings are inside and I dig to the bottom where I find a letter from my girlfriend in Atlanta still folded up exactly as she had given it to me when I left for Denver. I take it and walk hastily down stairs past my “parents”, past the crucifix, past my kneeling brother, and past the giant oval window shaped front door. Only to stop suddenly as a message now appears on the window, just like when I was a kid and would breathe on it and steam it up and write messages except now it read:

God loves you

It’s about at this point that I wake up (good thing because shit was getting weird). I was visiting my sis when this dreamed occurred in November of 2008 about 6 or so months after my first episode. The tremors (my fancy word for my manic symptoms after the episode) had passed and now I was dealing with depression for the first time in my life (and not very well if I say so myself). I was an overmedicated zombie on Abilify and Depokene and trying to deal with the side-effects of my “medicine” (BTW am I the only one who sees an issue that a “medicine” that has a side-effect of making you want to kill yourself probably really shouldn’t be called “medicine” at all).

So I have this dream and a few interesting things occur (in real life this time). First I had been struggling with a painful back at this time because it seems I keep a lot of stress back their; and needless to say at this point of my life I had some stress. Well when I woke up the pain was gone, and stayed gone (well for a little bit at least, it didn’t cure my bipolar disorder but helped for awhile) and I had a sudden realization that I could quit my “meds” and I probably should; which I did and it probably was a good call (the whole suicidal thoughts thing remember). Those two things were interesting to say the least, but the letter I found more intriguing and the reason I probably think this is because I recently just found it during my move.

After smelling it for a few seconds or maybe a little longer (weird I know but it still smells like her, damn she smelled good) I opened it up, sat down, and read about the guy I used to be. I think the part that grabbed me the most is when she mentioned that I wasn’t the type of guy that wears his emotions on his sleeve or talks about it. I stopped reading for a second and tried to take that in because now I’m totally opposite (mood disorder, blog, sharing my crazy emotions with the world, you get the jist). I’m still trying to process it but I think it’s a good thing, this change in me but I think I could have done without the crazy dreams (nah, I like those too).

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

No comments:

Post a Comment