Dear [my psychiatrist]:
I concede. I have spent the past month and a half in my usual autumn state of irrational hypomania: craving sex, feeling disgusted by food, making irrational and impulsive decisions, feeling numb, doing stupid things, ripping apart hard fought for progress, etc. And as usual, I didn\’t see it because I could write it off as being situational. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it goes hand in hand. The world may never know, much like the mystery of the Blow Pop.
But I spent the past two days without one of my medications because Medicaid was being a dickhead and wouldn\’t let me refill my prescription. That could be the catalyst. Or maybe not. It is hard to say. All that is certain is that today has been a rollercoaster; it has been hard to make the tears stop. Everything I haven\’t felt for the past few months, I\’m suddenly feeling at least a glimpse of today. I feel like I\’m going to throw up.
Inside my head I am pounding on the panic button. I am looking everywhere for stop, rewind, or fast forward. Anything to get rid of this. Anything to get rid of now. Anything to get rid of me…because I\’m never going to become anything other than this wreck, this mess, this fuck-up, if I can\’t make it stop happening. If I can\’t stop myself from being me.
But I\’m not going to tell you I know this, doctor. Because telling you means I admit defeat: it means I admit to being wrong and to still being a fuck-up. And I\’m supposed to be passed all that now. So I\’m just going to pretend this never happened, pop my pills, and wait, because this, too, shall pass.
Good night, doctor.
