Life is getting dark again. The pain of depression, the knowledge that my mind and my own self can bring me to my knees is hard. It makes it hard to get out of bed, it makes it hard to feel the purpose of this life; yet it won’t bring tears as that is too easy of a solution and too honest of a response.
I wish that I could no without a doubt that I will get back up again. I wish I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I could show them what I am really made of. I have felt this darkness before and I will go much further on this journey before it is over. But I want to believe that I am right here despite the map no longer accurately showing me the way. But despite the knowledge that I have been here, I can’t guarantee anyone that they haven’t seen the last of me.
When we talk of darkness that is this full, this all-encompassing, when the light is so far away from my own heart, it is hard to remember that I will again find my way through. There isn’t any promises that I won’t find myself looking at the blood flowing through my veins or I won’t find myself in a position that promises oblivion with a side of flying. I can’t believe for even a moment that cutting my self to find the pain isn’t the solution. I can’t cry, but I must find a way to let go.
Because if I don’t let go of the darkness, if my mind and my soul can’t find its way, than the easy becomes the answer. The easy means laying down my head with the knowledge that there is no one to save me. The easy means finding for myself the answers to questions no one wants to ask. The easy means letting it all go for the feeling of true peace.
I know that this darkness is a disease but it feels so real as to be normal. I can’t bring myself to find a reason to crawl out of the hole this is. Despite the fact I know that it, like most things in my life, is honest defeat; I can’t find my way to push harder. I can’t give myself any hope – when I have been let down so many times before.
Being bipolar means you recognize that defeat is your standard operating procedure. Having a disease of the mind means that you know without a shadow of a doubt that the worse is more prevalent than the better. There isn’t a day that goes by that the purpose of the disease stays just out of your reach. So you suffer. So you expect. So you understand that the darkness while not your fault, is yours to bear.
There are no poets writing songs of hope and love that will move you to another world. There are no artists that can paint for you the destruction that is gained by the loss of hope. And there are no instruments that will ultimately give you the strength to fly to the safety of someone’s arms.
Being bipolar means you recognize defeat, but it also means that your brain gives you the knowledge not only of the darkness you have but the light that you will never have. Most people don’t have the knowledge of the ying and yang, the opposite plains of existence that can’t be seen at the same time; weight is usually only felt by one side. But those with mental disease know intimately both sides of the equation – the light and the darkness, the light and the heavy. It comes as a part of the disease; a part that it difficult to live with.
I would rather know only the sunshine or only the darkness. Because by knowing the very different we are constantly bombarded with the truth of the other. In our highs we know what comes afterwards. In our lows, it is impossible to remember that there is a way to the other side that is held up in our mind as if it is the garden of all dreams.
I know where I am today, I can feel it and I can see it. I talk myself out of chaining myself to this depression each and every second of this day. I talk myself out of walking away from the truth because I know to find that new truth, the old one must follow me. I know that I can’t escape the need to be alone, to crawl into my own soul; but I live with the knowledge that I can.
I wish I could use whatever would get me through the night. I wish that I could find for myself that single point between the two planes that will allow me to live like those around me find so easy to do. I wish that I could find that medium that will give me a moments respite from the devil and the angel. I wish I could find the middle that has no goals to win but no ends to lose.
Today will be another day of rain. It will flood into my soul and reminded that each breath is my choice. It will remind me that no matter how much I wish to not feel the darkness nor the light; I don’t have a choice. The rain will bathe my soul and keep the darkness from rising to the surface and allowing me to finally be weightless enough to fly.