“...consciousness, it seemed, was a succession of separate particles, being carried along on the surface of the deep and steady unconscious flow of life, of time itself, and in fainting, the particles of consciousness simply stopped, and the rest flowed on, until they were restored: but this was the stoppage, the entire disappearance of that deeper flow which left the particles of consciousness suspended,piling up, ready any instant to shatter with nothing to support them.” (pg 51 The Recognitions Gaddis)
Parts flowing on while others stop.
I wake up not knowing what day it is every day. I spend my first few moments after the alarm going off remembering yesterday. In those memories, I figure out where I am in the week, and in turn what today is. And what I need to do. Fridays are my off days now. My anchor for the rest of the week. If I work a Friday, (as I did on Black Friday), my off-ness continues until the next week. A state of daze.
World tilted. Askew. Paranoia.
The sun setting at 3 isn't helping either. Nor the rain earlier in the week.
Or the hereditary bipolar disposition.
So I turn to the Vitamin D. And the Omega 3s. Doing this dance again. Perhaps having another spin around the Effexor XR and Lamitcal come the new year.
It happens like this: my skin feels not my own. What I see out my eyes is not my sight. Things seem hyper-real to the point of the surreal. This is not my beautiful wife.
Same as it ever was.
And during a mixed state, I'm aware of all of this, me and not me happening simultaneously. Two different states of mind. A north and a south. But more of a left and a right. East West. But not ying yang.
I'm more atonal than harmonious these days.
I'm the minor second. The tritone. Over and over and over again. Little kid on piano. Keyboard. With the mom with the headache, screaming. CANT YOU JUST BE QUIET.
I'm both.
Hyperawareness. Hypersensitivity. Either I want Jack to hold me, or I get scared from any friendly touch. Personal space expands to the room. Do not enter without permission. This gets hard when it's a tiny apartment.
My word for next year is “better”.
If only because the alternative is too scary to contemplate.
