In the Pipe, Five by Five
Bipolar disorder is the human psyche stripped of all regulators, operating at capacities it wasn't really designed to withstand. From the unrelenting blitzkrieg of mania to the introspective freefall of depression, breathe when you can but expect no intermissions. This is perpetual motion.
Every rise, every descent, is carried out with no regard for safety, let alone comfort, so don't bother with the position of your tray-table. Just tilt your seat those subtle two degrees into proper reclining position and try to imagine yourself in whatever paradise you thought you were headed for when you boarded. Once we reach cruising altitude, a variety of spirits will be available to help you forget the reality of being off-course entirely.
You may experience a sense of panic as the aircraft seems to pitch and roll violently in even the slightest turbulence (and sometimes for no reason at all). This is a natural, healthy reaction to near catastrophe, but one that you'll come to hate and suppress. Any fear is chipped away into eventual nothingness under the sustained force of repetition, even fear of death itself.
In the end, an overwhelming exhaustion---first mental, then absolute---will be all that's left. And for everything else that overwhelmed you along the way, from every high-speed technicolor fantasy to the painful imaginings that you couldn't shake for days at a time, you'll eventually realize that this new level of exhaustion you've discovered is the only hound from which there is truly no escape.
After a long and hellish war of attrition just to get here, only now are you finally seeing the face of your true enemy. This one cannot be willed away or dismissed with grinning apathy. It gathered quietly, growing exponentially as you stopped to fool around with so very many things that didn't matter.
Those with severe clinical depression are often lost when they finally descend to a depth beyond their means to escape. Those of us with bipolar face a somewhat different fate. It's not highs or lows themselves that wear you down to surrender, but the strain of being pulled endlessly between the two.
Bipolar disorder is the human psyche stripped of all regulators, operating at capacities it wasn't really designed to withstand. From the unrelenting blitzkrieg of mania to the introspective freefall of depression, breathe when you can but expect no intermissions. This is perpetual motion.
Every rise, every descent, is carried out with no regard for safety, let alone comfort, so don't bother with the position of your tray-table. Just tilt your seat those subtle two degrees into proper reclining position and try to imagine yourself in whatever paradise you thought you were headed for when you boarded. Once we reach cruising altitude, a variety of spirits will be available to help you forget the reality of being off-course entirely.
You may experience a sense of panic as the aircraft seems to pitch and roll violently in even the slightest turbulence (and sometimes for no reason at all). This is a natural, healthy reaction to near catastrophe, but one that you'll come to hate and suppress. Any fear is chipped away into eventual nothingness under the sustained force of repetition, even fear of death itself.
In the end, an overwhelming exhaustion---first mental, then absolute---will be all that's left. And for everything else that overwhelmed you along the way, from every high-speed technicolor fantasy to the painful imaginings that you couldn't shake for days at a time, you'll eventually realize that this new level of exhaustion you've discovered is the only hound from which there is truly no escape.
After a long and hellish war of attrition just to get here, only now are you finally seeing the face of your true enemy. This one cannot be willed away or dismissed with grinning apathy. It gathered quietly, growing exponentially as you stopped to fool around with so very many things that didn't matter.
Those with severe clinical depression are often lost when they finally descend to a depth beyond their means to escape. Those of us with bipolar face a somewhat different fate. It's not highs or lows themselves that wear you down to surrender, but the strain of being pulled endlessly between the two.
Yes, sad that the Art of War is raped so thoroughly and frequently, but can you expect any less from internet communique? Graphics Gone Wild...hmm. Damn your noctambulistic self...wish you'd write a fucking book, rarely have I been so entertained by words. In fact, I have gone from reading several hours daily to not at all in an effort to "uneducate" myself. Thus far it has been an enlightening success. Without further ado, I'll leave your page sans additional idiotic commentary.
[Edited on Jul 16, 2005 12:01PM]
[Edited on Jul 16, 2005 5:19PM]