The Second Spheres

Posted on March 23, 2006 in Bipolar Disorder Memory

I’ve been feeling pretty good, so good that the notion of stopping my meds seems like a natural course of action. Mind you I’ve followed a lot of natural courses of action that led me to catastrophe, so I am not deceiving myself. Lithobid and Lamictal shall remain important food supplements in this man’s diet.

Roiling memories do not trouble me now. You can only easily drink cups of water from the past that taste of moods like you are in now. Being stable, I don’t remember much about the manias or about the depressions. Just the rare, satisfied times.

This could explain why so many bipolars resolve to skip the meds. They just don’t remember the accursed moments when they fell from the top of a white alder into a stony bog.

My life stretches behind me like a taut silk scarf. What I see now is a long, bouyant fabric down which I have walked to get here. Silk’s strong stuff. It holds. You can tightrope walk on a narrow knit strand. And it seems like I did just that because there are many holes along the way. Each orifice represents an episode, a time when I sizzled or oozed off the silken pathway into a different dimension. In those places, I remember all the other times I felt suicidal or grandiose. From my present aerie at the hanging end of the scarf, I can only hear the breathy whispers of my second spheres.