Self Perception

Whipped off this little self-portrait the other morning. It shows , I think, me in the state that I find myself in: somewhere in between hypomanic and depressed, with the slight smirk that I often use to fight back tears. I’m leaning towards hoping for the hypomanic; considering that a far better alternative than the blackness of depression. When you’re in the depressive episodes it sometimes hurts so much that it hurts to breathe when you’re in the worst of it. Movement, just simple movements, are like torture. Forget about food- food has no taste whatsoever. You always try and place some mental distance between yourself and your last memory of a depressive episode- it makes it kind of like it might have happened to someone else. I have quite a lot banging around in my head lately and it is all bringing forth all the paranoia and depressive moods that characterize a bad, bad cycle. It’s at times like these that the specter of suicidal ideations are the most prevalent, they like to lurk in the background like little opportunistic trolls- though so far they’ve been quiet and produce calming thoughts- a soothing thing, really. I can easily see why people do it; it would be sorely tempting to just step off this carousel and finish with the soul-draining cycles once and for all. I suppose that’s what pushes most to do it; just the sheer exhaustion. I’m taking extra Klonopin to sort of quiet my paranoia and jumpiness, and it’s helping in some small measure. The God’s honest truth is that I feel only a few degrees away from wearing a hospital gown and being in the locked ward today; all for some, odd, gray reason that I can‘t perceive. I think of painting and colors that yesterday inspired me are today unexciting and lifeless. I think of working on one of my writing assignments or contributing to my ongoing novel and I feel like crying, the words just seem so hopeless. In terms of sleep-I’m having no interruptions, but feel unrested even after a good ten hours. The irony is that in a few days or weeks all this will look like alien scrawl-something written by some other person writing with their left hand and these won’t be my emotions at all. I’ll just try to turn in early tonight, maybe try to read something, take an extra sleeping pill, and hope for a better tomorrow.