Mania- the other end of bipolar. I always recognized something was wrong when I was really depressed or really angry. All of the other time I was fine- euphoric even. Nothings wrong when you feel that good! I never acknowledged the mania. I never looked into it, I never even thought about it. Why would you change a good mood?
I have always been very social and I love crowds. I also very much liked attention but I never needed it for validation. I'm a party girl and the life of the party. I was always in an incredibly elevated state. It was all a product of the parasite- a survival mechanism is used in order to get through my childhood and young adult years.
I've had a bad past and childhood- I don't care to share it not because I'm ashamed or depressed by it- I don't care about that. Everyone has had a shitty past, especially if you have any sort of behavioral disorders. I don't want to downplay anyone else's shitty past by presenting mine as a unique sob story of epic proportions. I have been through some shit but the one thing I always had that most people didn't was I never felt like a victim. Physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, it didn't matter. I always fought back and I never let myself be or feel like a victim. I ended up pretty angry in my teen years but I feel like that's not a big surprise. It took a lot of therapy but I was able to overcome the damage of what I endured. But never, ever, did I feel like a victim.
Awesome right? I always thought it was until recently. I now realized I was able to feel that way because the bipolar parasite took control and kept me in a perpetual state of mania. Elevated moods, highly productive, narcissistic, unrealistic feelings of self importance, irritability and insanely high levels of energy. Doesn't sound too bad when compared to the opposite end of the bipolar spectrum a lot of people are stuck in.
I didn't give a fuck. It was awesome. I could dance on stage almost naked with tampons attached to my nipples in a burlesque routine at a vampire themed night. I could dance anywhere, to any music, and I was damn good at it. I could- and did- talk to anyone and everyone. I was loud, hilarious, and damn good at making a presence. I could throw huge parties and be the center of attention all night. I always looked the best and the scariest. I was always the sexiest and most daring. What part of that isn't the best shit ever?
It's hollow. It's built on the illusion of self importance and not on actually being important. It's a drug and I loved being that high.
If you're brain is chemically designed to switch moods at the smallest of triggers, then what goes up must come down. And it came down hard every time. I would snap on someone and bash their face in. It wasn't completely undeserved- touching me inappropriately, trying to start shit, or fucking with me. I would get drunk and get into horrible spats with my boyfriend at the time. I would use my venomous words to put him down and feed my ego. It took almost no time at all for me to switch from laughter instantaneously into violence. I never started shit but fuck if I wasn't quick to react to it.
After that high of a level of mania- everything you are and thought you had drops. You're exposed and you hate what you see. You are ashamed at what you've done- especially the harm you do against your loved ones. All your self esteem plummets and you hate everything that you are. You don't want to look into the mirror, you can't face your friends, you can't go to work, you want to crawl away from the whole world. You don't know that person who was chugging beers half naked on table tops from the night before. You don't know the person with the giant deathhawk and giant boots that was queen of the world the night before. You don't know her and you're ashamed of her. If people really knew that girl they would hate her. I did. And that feeling would turn the mania back on in order to pull myself out of that head space.
It wasn't all bad. It's pretty cool to not give a fuck. That is definitely part of who I am. But what I don't give a fuck about is where the signals were mixed. Before I didn't give a fuck if I was arrested, drunk as fuck, in a fight, hungover each day, snapping on people, climbing up buildings, puking onto someone else, was half naked, or anything that most people wouldn't dream of doing. Now in my life I don't give a fuck if people talk shit about me, I don't give a fuck if someone watches me paint/draw/sculpt, I don't give a fuck if I look like shit going out of the house (I got shit to do!), I don't give a fuck my body isn't perfect (use to be an obsession of mine), I don't give a fuck about normal every day tasks that before were impossible. I don't give a fuck how many studs my jacket has on it, I don't give a fuck if my painting isn't going well (I won't give up, I will fix and finish it), I don't give a fuck is someone is criticizing what I'm doing (I will listen and then decide if it's worth listening to), I don't give a fuck that when it comes down to it- I'm no body. I'm capable of so much, that's what I've learned from the mania, but the real me knows where to place the fucks and where to not give them.
I don't regret the person that was created- that's how I survived a shitty childhood. I just wish I had known that was still a sick person under the control of a mental disorder sooner. I wish I knew those times were a huge red flag letting my know about the volatile bipolar state I was it. A warning sign of being unstable.
I could model, I could get on stage and steal the whole show, I could conduct an audience, I could control a room or a whole building with my presence..... but I couldn't go into the grocery store the next day. I would sit in the parking lot having a huge anxiety attack. There were people in there, maybe people I knew- I can't talk to strangers, and I sure as hell can't talk to people I know right now. They expect that other girl, the super awesome entertaining one that never gives a fuck! The girl in the parking lot gives a fuck- she gives way too many fucks. I can't go inside because I'm afraid of what it's going to take to get some ham, or broccoli. Oh the pain I shall have to endure to get some broccoli.
It was pure insanity. I didn't know who I was at any given moment. I was either conquering the world or trying to avoid it at all cost. It was confusing and damaging.
I knew I was awesome but at what level varied day to day. The real me thought I was awesome because of what I was capable of but hadn't accomplished yet. The mania me thought I was awesome because I existed. She didn't give a fuck and she didn't need you to care.
That person was Typhoid. That person was a perpetual state of mania.
That is not who I am.
That was never who I was.
That was the parasite.
I don't regret that time in my life. I met and became good friends with people that I might not have been exposed to other wise. There were a lot of times I leaked through and got to enjoy the attention a little bit. I enjoyed the empire the parasite thought it had built. But it wasn't based on solid ground so it inevitably crumbled.
I'm glad it did. It was created my the parasite in my body and not by who I am.
It was fun and I learned a lot. I especially learned who I'm not.
I am not the queen of a goth/industrial scene.
I am not the queen of drinking.
I am not the queen of the bar scene.
I am not the queen of bar room brawling.
I am not the queen of the party.
I am not the queen of spooky dress up.
I am not the queen of costuming.
I am not the queen of dancing.
I am not Typhoid.
I am sick of the obsession I've had with myself. I'm sick of the mania. If I'm going to be awesome it's because I've done awesome things.
I'm the mad hatter at my own tea party. I recognize nothing but my party, my tea, and my irrational needs. My cups, my chairs, my table.
Mania is not who I am, it's just how I survived.
I'm sick of this party.
I will only set out to do awesome and let that speak for me.
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