Pangs

"Falling, yes I am falling, and she keeps calling me back again."

It started last Friday night, and has not let go. I have no more meds, and the BPD/ADHD is firing on all 27 thousand cylinders. It's a strange feeling, emanating from what feels like my spine, radiating outward and around to my sides. Akin to goosebumps, and yet noticeably different.

My hands tremble slightly when I hold them out. My mind is racing with things I want to do. Play guitar, go for a drive (Arizona is close by and new adventure never tasted so great!), type, read, read what? History. Wikipedia. Google the news, and enter random words. All these things last a period of a few minutes at most, then they cycle. I want to play pool, guitar. I want to drive. I want to go for a run (damned meniscus tear!), I want to see the beach!!!

I'm out of control. Sure, it doesn't look like it, but I'm a loaded gun with a well-oiled hammer ready to slip and fire at the slightest jarring. I know that I should find a room with a lock, snip my battery cable so that I cannot drive, and buckle down for the inevitable crash. But it gets unbearable. How do you wrestle your own conscience? How do you tell yourself that you cannot have that candy? That you cannot drink a nice glass of cold water, when you feel soooo thirsty?

What I saw as me being responsible, being sane and safe (to the point that everyone around me has been saying I am a "white sock" - trust me it doesn't matter what it means so long as you believe that they are wrong. Dead wrong.). I even convinced myself these past days that I was cured. Who needs meds when I can be sensible and responsible. Quiet, safe, and caring? Surely not me...right?

Wrong.

It feels like the goosebump feeling right before the goosebumps actually appear. I remember the doctor describing it once. She called it "euphoria". There is a reason it is so friggin awesome, its addictive. Your own brain betrays you, sells you out for a hit of its own drug. And what happens to me tomorrow? The day after I go Tyler Durden and throw myself at the wall of fate? What happens when I lose myself and have to pick up the pieces?

I have no job. I have no future. I managed to convince myself things were going to be okay in my life, and that illusion has finally been exposed as a watercolor painting on a plate glass window. The obvious thing here is that I was suffering my depression and masking it with what looked like calm composure. I lied to myself. I did well. I have managed not to drink for 7 days and act like I would act if cured. But I am not cured. I will never be cured. I will always be this failure, this mistake of biology and circumstance.

And so I go. My knees are shaking now. Its building in me, and I can just feel it. I feel like a kid who is right outside the entrance of an amusement park. Like a teenager who is right outside the front door of his first date. I feel like I just got that great job, and am driving in my convertible sports-car, stereo blaring a favorite song and singing at the top of my lungs. I feel like I could do anything right now. Anything.