Madness is my friend

I have never gone surfing. Not once in my life. I was a prairie girl, where the hell would I surf? And the first time I swam naked in the ocean with a bunch of lesbians, I was so terrified of sinking into the deep depths that I didn’t even realize how sexy that whole escapade was until I wrote it here.

So I’m not really cut out for surfing. But I watch it and I imagine that surfing would feel a lot like riding madness. It’s scary, yet exciting, it’s sometimes dangerous, and there’s always the undertow.

I have been on a nearly lifelong journey to try and accept my madness. It’s difficult. It’s such a pervasive disability, and yet there can be long stretches of stability. And the creativity is addictive. Hypomania is just a hard thing to stop, because it feels so good. And let’s not forget the wanting to snuff it moments. I hate those.

I like that I can think in a different way than other people. It gives one an advantage sometimes. Sometimes it’s really a barrier.

Being manic feels like having every electrical appliance on in the house. Watching every channel at once. Fast urgent thoughts coming out like bumper cars, all crashing into each other. I think people are usually more scared of mania than depression, even very serious depression. People notice when I’m manic. People don’t notice when I’m depressed. Sometimes they even say I’m cheerful.

In some ways it feels bad ass, because you’re the pariahs of society. In some ways it sucks, because you’re the pariahs of society.

By the way, whenever comments are turned off from now on, it’s just because some jerk left a blogspam that I can’t erase.

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