Bipolar Disorder

Manic Butterflies

woman s face
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The sitting.

But then there’s the movement.

And how can I not mention the mental buzzing.

There’s the lethargy, and exhaustion, but at the same time a desire to run, to run like the wind and to not stop until your legs give out and you topple over, face planting onto the hot, dirty pavement.

Yet, I sit.

I think. Think thoughts.

I should do this.

I should do that.

I shouldn’t of done that or said those things.

While thinking there’s all these things that I think I could be doing, or should be doing, that my brain is telling me to do, but I sit, nearly paralyzed.

It’s a physical paralysis as my mind keeps going and going, running and running, leaping and bounding over hurdles, yet my body remains still, still on the outside.

Under my skin, deep within my skin throughout my muscles there is a muted chatter.  A movement where nothing seems to quiet.  I refer to it as the butterflies.  They live within me and are never quiet or still.  I sit and I do not move and like a baby in the womb, they move about with their own destination in place.

It is torture.

One may think that the inability to be still is a godsend, the answer to getting all they’re to dos done in one day.  But it is not, it is in no way a godsend.

The inability to concentrate.  To not be able to think long enough to compose a well thought out sentence.  It does not bring joy but sadness and despair.  There is literal pain felt through the body when trying to control one’s unquenchable desire to move, especially when one is exhausted.

Loved ones and friends offer to help.  And there’s nothing that they can do.

A big, sincere, long hug left me with tears streaming down my face last night.  The realization that he feels just as powerless as I do, breaking my heart, again.

There are birthdays to celebrate and mothers to shower with love.  I do not have the time nor the energy to have a manic episode.  Yet here it is front and center, present….. Major Mania reporting for duty.

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