So this is it, My life.

It's obvious that i am confused. There are others like me, scattered across the world in every place. Some more so than others. At first i thought it was my fault. Sometimes i still do, my convictions seem to be few and a change in mood seems to influence everything from knowing to not knowing, like the wind my mood blows. I can't believe my diagnosis, even though i have lived through the proof of it and agree with it and know it. It sits without words. In my urge to make myself understood i have to think in terms of people and things, words and meanings. Its so hard to describe something that does not exist within any of these things.

So this is it, the way i live. Loaded on pharma, I waste my days because i can not think of a better way. It seems this is the state preferred by the others. In this way, if i keep my stress low and my thoughts numb, i could get a job if i wanted. Only just under the skin is a valve and if i scratch at it i am bombarded with a salty, wet, shaking mess. Mess cannot talk or think. But numbed and steady i am still angry and still confused. Its the backlash of this that gets me close to the polars, Ready to live and wanting to die.

I started to feel like a victim. I was happy to be dragged to a doctor, was relieved when i was moved home and it was all right to spend my moments trying to pull together enough to just be. It got hard, when my windy-mood would tell my body to do things and i couldn't remember them, when i was in my head so clearly that the tears i shed did not indicate any wanting or relief.

 when i needed people to love me and support me and found only empty spaces of the friends i didn't have as the relationships i had cultivated could not withstand or understand the nature of this wind. And i thought it so simple! I thought it a matter of finding the problem and searching for the answers. and perhaps it is.

Once again writing took far more energy than i expected and now has to be cut short. I feel so boxed in right now.