I, often think of electrical terms like ground wire or hot wire. I know it seems odd to think of wires and electricity. As one who suffers from Bipolar I and Borderline, it kind of reminds of wires. Cross them and bad things can happen. So, I have to find my “ground” wire. My ground wires are books and writing. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. But I needed a creative outlet. A wire that sparks imagination. To go where no writer dares to go.
Writing, for me, has grounded me. It takes all my anger, hurt, sadness, and laughter from me. It puts all those emotions in books. Every hurt, disappointment, fear, love, hate and everything that I’ve felt through the years; goes into writing. The night terrors are still there and feel completely real, but lately, they have calmed down. I’m not screaming or crying as much when I wake up from a terrible dream. That is my unconscious mind handling all my fears for me. My mind never seems to sleep, when my body sleeps. It keeps going strong at 100 mph down a freeway. With rapid thoughts, swirling around my brain, non-stop. Funny enough, I often dream of bad car accidents or airplane crashes. You’re on a plane and it does a nosedive into a forest. You wake up before the plane or car crashes. Those dreams come and go. It does full my generalized anxiety disorder. “I don’t feel like getting in a car or a plane today.” And then when you get in a car, you feel that knot in your stomach, you feel like throwing up, your hands shake, and you avoid all the major roadways. You take the safest route home. Sure, gas is an issue, but at least you’re safe. I don’t like that clammy feeling. I’m the palest driver, you ever saw. I back away two car lengths and drive a minimal speed. Not too fast and not too slow. Not in my Bipolar Mania days, did I ever drive slow. But the mania is settling. The BPD outbursts are shorter and getting more infrequent. I’m having less and less bouts of anger. Instead of days, it’s only lasting ten minutes of pure anger.
I’m fine until I have Bipolar Mania and BPD hit at the same time. I didn’t want to be in my own skin. I wanted to rip my skin off me. Those days suck. You don’t know whether to cry, laugh, or scream. It’s all those emotions entangled together. They call that a “mixed state.” Kind of like eggs. Over-easy or over-done. You’re in the middle. I warned my husband in advance. He left me to my own devices. I couldn’t do anything that day. I couldn’t read and I couldn’t write a sentence. I was clawing at myself, feeling frustrated that my brain didn’t want to cooperate with me. Let me feel something! Let me feel one emotion, dammit! I don’t have these episodes often, but they do happen. Add Borderline and it’s fuel for the fire.
Today, I’m grounded. I can think critically and clearly. I don’t have that angst built up inside of me. This is the calmest I’ve been in a while. Maybe it’s the calm before another storm? But my storms are becoming less frequent. I don’t know if that has to do with age. Maybe your brain slows down? I used to be a fast reader, but I want to take in information slow. After becoming a writer, I want to see what this author’s purpose is, and why they wrote a book. I’m analyzing more and digesting more knowledge.
When I write, it’s like the sentences light up for me. Maybe it’s a Bipolar thing? It’s like the sentences, form together, and click into place for me. I’m trying to be more careful with my prepositions, pronouns, nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, and gerunds. It’s becoming clearer now and my mind wants that. It feeds off that in a positive way.
What is Borderline doing? She’s sitting in the corner and she’s quiet. She’s letting me live. She wants to fight, but she’s tame today. With more people praising my work, she’s eased off a ton. Bipolar is jumping around and dancing. She’s happy. Bipolar wants me to live and not become a victim. She has taken many writers’ lives over the years.
I used to roar non-stop like a lion. But now, I’ve turned into a bouncing cub. A cub that wants more books and to write more books. A cub that’s thirsty for knowledge. While terror and fear plague the world, I’ve kept my nose in a book. It’s saving me from my self-destructive issues. This is the calmest I’ve felt in a long time. The chip is off my shoulder. I love this new me and I hope she lasts. At least, I found my ground wire.