Waiting for Kafka

I am in constant preparation for the next bout of episodes. I always hope that episodes will be of the long kind as they’re much more gentle on my body and mind (though still incredibly destructive) but those are an increasingly distant memory. Unfortunately for me I rapid cycle and rarely do anything else and, at times, I move up a notch to the ultradian cycling that makes me hover over the act of committing suicide for far too long.

When I look as though I’m coping I’m not I’m making sure I have clean clothes, clean bedding, food in the freezer and a reasonably tidy home because when it all comes crashing down (as inevitably does) I am thrown into the canal of self destruct by the thug that is Bipolar Disorder.

I give away far less online (and in real life come to think about it) about what actually passes through my mind so my decline tends to go unnoticed and the ravages of my darkest and unnaturally brightest hours can pass people by.

I don’t think it helps that I’m naturally up beat and, some of you will find this hard to believe, good natured and even tempered. In periods of illness, particularly in time of crisis and episodes that peak and plunge with speed that light would be envious of I try to keep my cool and say nothing until I suddenly feel my back against a wall. If you’ve missed my invisible signals then the fierceness of my reaction will astound and terrify you.

Today is a bad day. I can’t concentrate on much and writing this is taking up time when I could be doing something else but there are things that I have to get out of my head in order to move forward even a small way. I have to keep on moving, I can’t move backwards, I won’t move backwards though Manic Depression will bully me into a corner and refuse to let me go far too often.

I’m going to have a mug of tea, look at my family tree and reassure myself that my home isn’t in a poor state and that with a little effort everything will be back in the vague place it belongs in before I go to bed tonight.

In the meantime I dwell on things, my mind pulls up obsessive thoughts that I would never dare share with anybody and I wait to be assaulted.

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The reference to Kafka is, that apart from being my favourite writer, there was a study that concluded that reading his working can help improvements in cognitive functioning when learning new tasks and I am forever learning new ways to cope and/or manage the vile illness that has been forced upon me.