Mad As A Hatter

One of three things I wrote while hanging out in the bottom of a bottle for a few days.

 

Hello again people. It is I; the friendly neighborhood crazy person. Crazy might not be accurate, but it seems to be the title thrown around the most. It is one thing to call yourself crazy. It is something else entirely when other people are doing it.

 

 The average man on the street cannot even begin to fathom what it is like being bi-polar. Sure, you can go read up on it, and become something of a critic about how it works, why it works, and the effects on the diseased person and those around them. They cannot however ever truly “get it.” Nor would anyone that has this curse ever want another human to experience it so that they could “get it.”

 

When people first started talking about werewolves I wonder if they were actually talking about people with severe forms of bi-polar disorder. Docile and timid even fearful one day and days later a raging juggernaut of ambition, and determination feeling almost untouchable, unconquerable. Like they could storm the gates of heaven or hell, and return unscathed.

 

Once it passes though they would be left a hollow shell of a person compared to what they had been. Timid, again always fearful that they are trapped in an abyss of sorrow, and emotional torment that would rival anything you might find in hell and Docile for fear of upsetting those they care about, or docile for fear they’ll be abandoned by those they love.

 

This plague can take you to the heights of bliss. You can see all the beauty and love in the world. You can see, and feel compassion, and kindness. A peacefulness of mind that is rare to find even if you are not afflicted with this condition. It can also drag you kicking, screaming, and crying to the darkest corners of your own mind. Where it leaves you to sit cowering in your own self-created personal hell. Where the only things you can find are sadness, loneliness, and self-loathing. A place so dark that some of us never make it back. This never stops, and you can not predict which way you’ll go once the disease decides to have it’s way with you again.

 

It is with you always. Permeating every relationship and tainting everything you do.

It is horrible. It is wonderful. Moreover, it never ever goes away.

Author's Note

I was drunk...