Humpty Dumpty

I don’t know what causes bipolar to break through and change your brain chemicals overnight. Maybe it’s not an overnight process. Maybe it’s been there all along, sleeping, dormant, waiting for you to have some trauma, some event that gives it an invitation to the party and it suddenly shows up. No RSVP. Just there, on your doorstep.

And once it has arrived, it is one of the worst party guests you’ll ever meet. Worse than a drunk uncle, or an ass who is trying pick you up and you cannot escape from their attention.

Say you were split, you were split in fragments
And none of the pieces would talk to you
Wouldn’t you want to be who you had been
Well baby I want that too

-Aimee Mann, Humpty Dumpty

Once it hit me, I wanted nothing more than to be who I had been. I know reasons why it exploded in my head, all of a sudden. I was in a horribly abusive relationship. I owned my own business (with the ass who tortured me), and while highly successful, it was also terribly stressful and did not allow me to write, as I had been promised it would give me when we first began. A business is like a child, one that takes so much energy and attention, and knowing I never wanted children, I was taken aback by the amount of care it took, in order to succeed.

So better take the keys and drive forever
Staying won’t put these futures back together
All the perfect drugs and superheros
Wouldn’t be enough to bring me up to zero

I remember sitting on the flagstones of my house as the desert sun poured down on me and staring – simply staring at the nothingness in front of me even though the landscape was spread out before me. Afraid of everything and everyone. I could not answer the phone, I could not leave the house (unless he was there, and then I would take the keys and drive forever – to get away from him, but to also contemplate driving into a crevasse or a tree and ending it all). I hated the way my body felt – all wrong and tied up in knots that would not come undone. I wanted to peel the skin from my bones – that is how raw I felt. I told my sister this, and all she said was “oh shit”. She has borderline personality disorder, so she could understand to a degree the depths I was sinking to, but she has also tried, multiple times, to kill herself so advice from her was not taken seriously. I just needed someone who could understand the pain. Or at least who was willing to listen to me describe it.

Because that is what it is. Pain. Deep bone aching pain. Brain damaging pain. You cannot think straight. You become paranoid. Every sound makes you jump. It might not be as physically awful as cancer or another disease that eats away at your body, but it feels far worse than I would imagine these other diseases. Especially because the medical industry seems more dialed in with treating physical ailments rather than mental ones.

The ass got angry with me. Furious is actually a better word. He had his own issues, but it is so common for others to project their own shit on top of someone who is obviously struggling with their personal demons. Being with him was torture and I knew if I didn’t get out, I would die – by my own hand or losing myself to a life that was constant hell.

So get out while you can
Get out while you can
Baby I’m pouring quick sand
And sinking is all I have planned
So better just go

I think I did everything in my power – the limited power and energy I had left – to make him want to leave me. But some men do not want to go. They become leeches and want to consume everything that is YOU. He was one of these. It did not matter that I was falling apart. It didn’t matter that I was no longer “the girl you once put your faith in.
Just someone who looks like me.”

He couldn’t understand. No one could. That is what is so isolating about this disease. Unless you have a good doctor, or a friend who is suffering the from the same illness, NO ONE understands. Hell, even the doctors don’t understand. I’m sure they’d like to, but they can’t. Only people like us can. And we suffer, daily. We worry, daily. We wonder, daily, what the next minute, hour, day, week, year will hold. We wonder if we will be here in a year, a month. We wonder what fucked up things our brains will tell us to do to escape the constant harassment from our disease. And we all do plenty of fucked up things. I am sure we all have laundry lists.

But don’t we all want to be that girl (or guy) who someone puts their faith in? Isn’t that love, and the end goal of human life? Yet, for us, it’s all a facade because at some point the truth will come out. We’ll get busted for being different, difficult, damaged. Even though we are not.

It just simply feels like this, most days:

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put baby together again
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put baby together again

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put baby together again
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put baby together again

© Sorrow & Kindness


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