Awake! What time is it? 8:15, maybe if I hurry I can only be an hour late to work. Time for breakfast, 100mg of Sertraline, a multivitamin, now wait for it. There it is, that tingling in the back of my head that slowly creeps forward until it reaches my eyes. My eyelids close just slightly and a sense of calm and drowsiness cover me. There it is, that little bit of motivation I have stuffed somewhere in the back of my head. I feel that little blue pill pulling it out of the deepest crevices of my psyche. I've got to get to the car before the full effect reaches me. The drive to work is a blur, bits and pieces of a road I drive everyday, overpasses, exits, traffic, I am a passenger on this journey.
Ok, safe at work, the hardest part of my day is over, lets get to my office so I can lay my head down. Spinning, spinning, stop.
Awake! What time is? 10:30, I wonder how many times Season has come in to get me to finish something for him? Two more hours until I can walk out of here and wipe the guilt from my conscience. The clock doesn't have numbers now, just a countdown until I take those three small yellow pills. Curved just so perfect from the factory that you can feel the machine that pressed them. The machine churns out pill after pill of mind altering bite sized snacks.
Is that machine my new owner? Its hard to tell which thoughts are mine now and which are visions of the pill. Seroquel, what a cute little name. As calm and smooth of a pill name as I've ever heard. But to me it screams bipolar disorder. A constant reminder of the fight I put up with myself, of the efforts and winnings lost to a vicious cycle of self-hate and torment. What else will I sacrifice today in order to fulfill the appetite of discontent? Whose feelings will I feed to the whirlwind of uncertainty and anger? Its sad that I can anticipate these thoughts, once they were simply my reality. My grasp of this cycle continues to fail me.
Here it comes again, that sinking feeling in my chest, the irresistible urge to stay in the sheets. I rather like these black ones, they reflect my mood very well. Of course I know in 6 hours I'll bitch about having to look at these glum, empty, black-as-night sheets and wonder why the fuck I bought them. But right now they offer tranquility, a peaceful break from the anger I'll feel towards them later.
Maybe that's the hardest part, knowing that nothing will ever be comforting to me all the time. Something that enhances me and brings out the best is only doomed to fall in the path of my temper at a later date. I set the dominoes up everyday just so I can walk in and knock them down before I retire. These tiny pillars of self-esteem, confidence, satisfaction, motivation, calm; they all stand on the slightest of edges waiting for me to exhale hard enough to send them crashing to the ground again. And I will...
Breathing is so simple, such an effortless endeavor on the outside, but such a battle on the inside. The cycle is so fine tuned, so right, that it functions even outside of my conscience. I breathe in: hope, certainty, love, like a flood rushing over my mind. But I know that I can only hold that breath for so long. The fresh oxygen that brought so much ability will degrade and my body will expel the waste, exhale: wrath, anxiety, fear, jealousy, like a flood pours out from me.
Why this cycle? It is so easy, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in. Friends fail to see the depth of my heartache, I want to sail on smoother water, know that tomorrow I can reach out and love, not fear waking again to fight back the uncertainty that is myself. But this is the body I was born with. For as much as I cherish my mind and the sharpness and ability it has given me it has cursed me, sent me on this course of ever changing horizons. Time passes in a straight line, but not I, my path is crooked everyday. Its sad to recognize such deep problems, it means I have been but a witness instead of a participant in my time on Earth so far.
I can feel it now, my right leg won't stop bouncing, its only a matter of time before it reaches my head. Those black sheets scream of failure now to see what's good in my life. Creeping slowly up my back, I need to go run around outside and have a cigarette, come on dog, get your frisbee.
What time is it? Only 7, that means I have to wait 3 more hours before my cute little yellow pills can be taken. Seroquel, damn I can't believe it sounds so charming, but every one of them packs a sinister little secret. Nasty fuckers, you hide it so well to. Am I me or are you me? What exactly is it that you do up there in my head? Fucking assholes.
Shit, what time is it? 11? Take 'em now before its too late, they're already gonna knock you out til 9, what will work say? Can you even tell people at work? Fuck 'em, they'll just judge, everyone does. I'm a crazy person, right? At least I'm a damn good looking crazy person, that's gotta count for something. I'll be sure to cash that in on my next downward spiral. Seroquel, what a cute name.
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