Still manic…  had hoped it was relenting…  such foolish hope.  I should know better.  This hasn’t screwed me over nearly enough to be done, yet.  You’d think Charlie would be more patient – he knows what causes this, and he knows I a trying.  He gets impatient with my mood swings, and the emotional extremes – like I can control it (I do as much as I can), and he certainly doesn’t help by acting like that).

There doesn’t seem to be any help today.  Everyone’s caught up in their own bullsh*t.  Maria isn’t answering her phone.  Neither is Anna, and we were supposed to touch base.  Jordan and I are supposed to catch up at some point.  He’s at a moster match, or some damn thing (he plays some game involving monsters – he plays a lot of games, actually, but I think he’s playing with monsters, right now). 

Mixed episodes are hell.  Feeling sadness during mania.  The bombardment of thoughts and feelings that cut and ache and ache and humiliate…  there’s so much pain locked up in these memories, and sometimes, my brain just makes me flip through the pages of my own story, whether I want to or not – actually, I almost never want to.  I used to have a way out.  A way to stop feeling…  I would still know it was there, but it couldn’t hurt me.  But, my escape had about a billion built in flaws.  Heroin might’ve seemed like a decent alternative to suicide (instead of dying, one just stops feeling, at times – a compromise, of sorts), but really, in the long run, that life going on and on, stretched out in front of me as far as I can see, that scares me a hell of a lot more than dying.  But, I guess, I’ve never had a healthy fear of death.  That’s part of how I got here.  It’s not like I WANT to die.  Not most of the time, anyway…  the longer this sad/manic thing goes on, the more I get hit with impulses that could end badly.  I’ll feel like I hate myself so much I want to cut myself, or burn myself, or I’ll start thinking that this is all so hopeless, and my mind will throw so many hopeless, devastated, broken thoughts and feelings at me at once, that the next thing I know, I catch myself on the verge of stepping into speeding oncoming traffic on Sheridan Road.  And, it’s not like I’m just not paying attention – that happens sometimes, too, because I daydream, and smoke too much pot, but this is different.  I actually just want to make all the noise inside – all the percussion of thoughts, bouncing off the walls of my mind, and all the awareness of so much wrong and so much suffering, plus a wealth of traumas, mistakes, and humiliations on parade – I just want to make it stop.  I’ve been steps away from trying before I even realized what I was doing.  I’ve also had my phone in my hand, flipping through numbers, before I even realized that I was headed for my dealer.  I think this is the state of mind that is going to break me, if I am going to break.  If I can get through this sh*t, while I am still waiting on meds, then I can get through anything my mind can cough out at me.  The PTSD’s been taking it’s best shot, on and off, since I gave up H.  Now, the BPD is in top form, and clinging to the worst case scenario.  I won’t f@cking buckle.  I know that’s where a good part of this tension and aggravation are coming from – my bpdy crying out for it’s quick fix.  I won’t give in that easy. 

I am going to beat this thing. 

This isn’t going to destroy me. 

Sometimes, I’m afraid it already has, but I can’t think like that.  There is still enough left of me to keep fighting, and that’s what I have to do.

It’s easier when I am talking to someone or with someone.  Then, I can focus on them.  I can follow the train of thought of the conversation, and even joke around and feel happy.  Talking to friends or going out on silly little adventures really does help a lot.

A good friend of mine hurt my feelings earlier.

Anyway, Jordan’s here, gotta run.  More later…