ON FINDING RATIONALITY — Where It Once Seemed There Was None.

Reflection from April 21st, 2008 @ Age 26


I remember Jen telling me one day that sometimes she just gets furious with Ronnie over something so small because that’s just what people do sometimes.  This was in response to my deafening rage over my mother moving my heating pad from the upstairs couch to other various locations in the house.  And in a sense I think she’s right, everyone does get like that—get to that point, sometimes.  The difference, however, is that with mentally healthy people I’m willing to bet 99.9% of the time there is some finite, concrete occurrence or stressor that precipitates said behavior.  That’s the difference because when you’re bipolar, there’s nothing to pin the rage to except perhaps a lifelong struggle with mental illness.  The difference when you’re bipolar is that nothing precipitates or begets such passionate, all-encompassing feelings.  There is no rationality to the matter.  There is no hidden cause we’re just too stubborn or unprepared to look at.  There’s just thin air and emotion out the wazoo for no particular reason.  That’s the maddening part.  That’s the part that cannot be felt and therefore cannot be explained to those who have not suffered from manic depression.  That’s the difference.


Ohh you would loathe to feel as ugly as do I on this boring ass day.  I have about ten face blemishes all at the same time, which never happens except here I am with another goddamn allergic reaction.  Well anyways, less than an ugly hour left to go.  Bobby hasn’t written.  I’m waiting for my fix, don’t you see?


At Pizza Hut again.  You can always tell I’m cycling when I repeat repeat repeat things.  Coffee drinks, movies, songs, food stuffs—you name it, I’ve repeated it.


One of the most important characteristics of mania that is commonly left out of symptoms lists is an overwhelming sense of urgency.  As in, I feel an overwhelming sense of urgency that Bobby write me back, because waiting for Bobby to write me back is pure agony.  On the flip side, though I must admit, is that when Bobby does write me, and especially when Bobby writes me and says shit like “I would love nothing more than for you to come visit me,” I’m in pure ecstasy.  And not just right then, when I read the email and all, but for days I walk around with a stupid grin slapped across my face, just higher than a kite could fly.  So there’s the downside and the upside, as there is with bipolar, but with the upside, with mania—the overwhelming sense of urgency is an important characteristic to remember.