Manic Tuesdays

I was so ampted yesterday.  Scary so.  Mom’s funny, she’s telling me that I was scary manic with a really crazy pitch in my laugh.  I was talking loud, and I was talking quickly and yea, I was doing the whole Dug impression (Squirrel!).  But I was able to sit back and be quiet, though I was constantly twitching my glutes muscles to the beat on the radio.  So, I wasn’t that bad considering how bad mania can be.  My sister was in the car and finally turned around and said “Will you please shut up, just for a little bit.”  She was stressing and I feel bad that I was that bad.

I was terrified by the end of the day that the partner for mania is depression.  I understand the bi-polar construct in that the mania burns off the serotonin on the brain and then you’re left with the arid aftertaste of depression.  It’s kind of what I do to myself when I write too long too many days in a row.  I don’t have the good sense to write in moderation.  I’m kind of an idiot that way.  My fear was a little unwarranted this morning.  I chose to sleep in because, in theory, it was my day off. (Day off seems to be a long running joke these days.)  However, right now, I feel like I could go to sleep if I just closed my eyes.

I have to say what really helped was sitting down and talking to another writer/artist.   My friend C is like my construct of what an adult should be.  She doesn’t get sucked into the drama and she told me something priceless.  She has manic days and that it’s perfectly normal for people who are introspective and are aware of their own inner-conversations they feel these things and worry about things more so than the non-writer/artist.  And if I’m worried about being too manic, I’m okay.  People who are truly locked in a manic phase don’t take the time to wonder if they’re too manic.

I’m okay.  I’m not crazy.  I’m just a writer getting back in touch with her emotions.  However, there is this joke about how you can’t tell the difference between a schizophrenic staring at the window and talking to them selves or a writer staring at a window and talking to themselves.  Kinda scary huh.

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