There Is, In The End, The Letting

My God! People Say. You Have So Much Self-control! And Later: My God. You're So, So Sick. When People Say This, They Turn Their Heads, You've Won Your Little Game. You Have Proven Your Thesis That No-body-loves-me-every-body-hates-me, Guess-i'll-just-eat-worms. You Get To Sink Back Into Your Hospital Bed, Shrieking With Righteous Indignation. See? You Get To Say. I Knew You'd Give Up On Me. I Knew You'd Leave.

I Have A Type Of Bipolar That Swings Up And Down All Day Long. There Are Significant Mood Swings Within A Day, Within A Week, Within A Month. I Go Through At Least Four Major Episodes A Year. That's Really The Definition Of Bipolar Rapid Cycle. But I Have Ultra-rapid, So I Have Tiny Little Episodes All Day Long.

It's Really Interesting To Me How All Of Us Can Experience The Exact Same Event, And Yet Come Away With Wildly Disparate Interpretations Of What Happened. We Each Have Totally Different Ideas Of What Was Said, What Was Intended, And What Really Took Place.

My Relationships With Both My Mother And Father Are Good. We Spent Several Difficult Years Hashing Over The Problems And The Past, And Worked Out A Fairly Solid Middle Ground. I Wouldn't Say My Relationship With Either Of Them - They're No Longer Together - Is Exactly Typical, But That Would Be Difficult After All We Went Through.

You Wake Up One Morning And There It Is, Sitting In An Old Plaid Bathrobe In Your Kitchen, Unpleasant And Unshaved. You Look At It, Heart Sinking. Madness Is A Rotten Guest.