No wonder I have intermittent ‘delusions’ about existing within a man made video gamesque style matrix reality, God knows I must have died 1000 times by now and yet each time I find myself miraculously resurrected again, rebirthed from the bipolar ashes, guns a blazing or tired and worn but either way somehow always ready just in time for the next big fight.
Even when I give up completely and vigorously wave my white flag at the sky, leaving myself at the mercy of my creator all the while screaming and begging to be reclaimed, released from the inscessency of this insane state of immortality I have found myself in, I survive.
Yes, somehow even then I always manage to live through the darkness, and every. Fucking. Time. For God knows what reason I climb right back up the same manic cliff edge ready to try and fly straight back off it again.
I might rise from those ashes but my Phoenixy wings have surely been clipped because eventually I always succumb to the fierce pull of gravity and crash violently and mind first back into the unforgiving earth. Rinse, repeat.
Tell me, when can I just reach that damn metaphorical jewel thingo that is apparently even beyond the questionably pearly gates of enlightenment, finally shout JUMUNJI !!! And claim reality as my prize?
The titillations, tribulations, vicissitudes, and oxymoronic cogitations of a very lucky and unfortunate Neuroscientist with Bipolar Disorder
It was almost funny.
Torn. Broken. Writer. “For me, writing is an art of converting feelings to words.”
Read between the lines
The ups and downs of my recovery
On Being Creative, A Mother & Bipolar
Stationery Enthusiast & Mental Wellness Advocate
Speaking Out on the Unspeakable
Creative Writing. Book Reviews. Adult Humour.
NOT ALL WHO SUFFER ARE STRONG
Shattering the Magic Mirror