Thursday, May 28, 2015

This Is The Manic

I guess this anxiety is a good thing in some ways. A Sleeping Giant that awakes from a slumber on an unexpected evening, or afternoon. Oh, and how upset and grumpy he is.

I once overheard a teacher from high school talking about how many, extroverted comedians were on antidepressants. This was years before the whole Robin Williams thing. " They always stop taking their meds because it interferes with their creativity." She said to the class. "Why would they want to stop the manic?"

That took root in me.

This mental game kills me. It hurts me. It flares up so wildly and quickly that I dont even have time to assess or understand what is happening. One moment I'm fine. Then the next, Im choking on air and feel the world spinning out of control and all I need is COLD air. Maybe outside will do the trick. Maybe just running away. Maybe buying a random plane ticket to Alaska and disappearing. No, no, no, that where the Mcandless kid went and died. Shit. I dont want to die. I cant go there. Ok, somewhere warm then. Dammit, Im still in this house. Why haven't I left yet. Get up, walk around. Run your fingers through your hair. Ok ok, ok. Just breathe. You can't breath because of your asthma. Great. Now this is how it ends. Gasping for air alone in my apartment. No. Youre ok. Its fine. Its just one of those nights. oh, Ive been through this before. Ok, hot shower, glass of milk, maybe pushups? A walk?  ugh, just do Morgan! Dammit just do something, you idiot!

And just like that the spiral down envelops me and I feel like a car crash.  It just hits so hard. So out of nowhere.

There is a good thing that happens though, It makes me want to write. And I truly love to write.

Just like an earthqauke after the big shake, small tremors can last for hours and even days after. With depression and especially anxiety, after the initial onslaught of uncomfortable feelings,  one might gain a little composure but sure enough, you can count on those unruling aftershocks.

In these moments, my brain, my heart, are so filled with emotions that the only logical seemingly thing to do, is to get it on paper. To type. To express.  Somehow maybe my chaos is another's comfort. They just might relate to, or possibly understand a sliver of how Morgan's chemical imbalance ticks.  Maybe, just maybe they might realize how screwed up he is, or how strong he is to deal with this. Not only to deal with this, but deal with it alone. Hundreds of miles by himself, he still drags himself to the hot shower to relax his body. "There's some connection with the body and the mind" he thinks. "Calm the body, calm the mind."

Some times it does work. Other times. It simply does not.

Oh my friends. My family. That is the sleeping giant of a curse I carry.  This is the Manic.