As my day begins, I am waking every few minutes trying to
hold back time, wanting to stay safe where I am in bed. The alarm rings, and
for a few minutes I struggle to get the sandbags that are my body up and
moving. Anxiety and heaviness force me to have to push to get through my
morning routine. I find no pleasure in it.
As I drive to work, I close the car windows and scream as
loud as I can just to try to free myself from the unrelenting, racing thoughts.
Soon I’ll have to put on the façade that covers the deep depression so I can
interact successfully with colleagues and students. It takes incredible energy
to hold myself together, since I feel myself ready to fragment at any time. I
go through small but paralyzing panic attacks.
I get home after work and try my best to be present to my
family. Still those racing thoughts. There is a constant hope of some relief in
sleep, as disturbed as I know it will be.
At some point, I will experience brief but intense euphoria.
I will have trouble keeping my feet on the ground, and I will briefly feel one
with all of creation. But it won’t happen tomorrow and it won’t last.
That was a bipolar day.
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