I need to get a grip on myself or else I’ll lose anything I hold dear; my sanity amongst it. The turmoil my mind leaves me in within this devilishly corrosive lifestyle is deafening. Although the truth bears a silence only the mouse in a corner of an abandoned crypt could speak. Each time I let the mental illness take my actions hostage it’s a danger to anyone around except myself because the sweet relief of it is that when I’m going through this devilish psychosis, I actually feel normal. If there is such a thing…
Everyone else around me seems to notice I’m a bit off at first, but it’s not until they ask me to do something selfless that I go off the hinges and barricade my healthy mind in a cage surrounded my minions poking and prodding my saneness; brain set to explode.
“Honey! Can you grab my phone for me,” she asks ever so delicately. How could she say it harmfully, she’s a rose only 95 pounds soaking wet with a voice of amber glistening in the autumn breeze. Who would turn their trust against her? Well. I have more than once, as I sit here and beg for forgiveness inside the mind that wreaked the mayhem of tyranny!
But my mind perceives any act outside other than what I’m currently such a horrid thing to be. The peak of my anger starts to heighten when I'm thrown out of my "rhythm." But keeping up with the living, souls of the just, I have to keep from exploding while I hear in the moment moment evil approaches. I now let loose the cannon of fury—known as my widespread, eager to brute, mouth—to the tune of an AC/DC record playing meticulously backwards; Satan. “Ahhhh!” I scream, no words. Just "Ah!" While she takes a step back, glaring, ready to run. She is my wife, but I am now not the man that she once married.
My mental illness has taken me hostage and the barrel I seek, looking down it's ripened and loaded, cocked, ready to explode. While all the meanwhile I purposefully—or so my mind has planted the seed to believe—head towards where she left her cell-phone, flailing my arms and screaming bloody murder from the top of my lungs. I’m completely unaware that I look like a jackass, out of the norm, and being swallowed whole by a fever. My brain feels swollen and I’m not sure I can control this level of psychosis for long without doing something completely ignorant.
I wouldn’t trust myself behind the wheel of a car at this point but how else would she get to work? I swerve in and out of lanes and the debauchery ensues. I am quite literally belting my lungs out to try to rid myself of this clogging migraine as it worsens, while she pleads, “Don’t make me cry before work!”
I don't mean to hurt anyone I love, especially the one I vowed to protect, but the control is in the hands of some-”thing” else. While all the time her touch usually is what soothes me most. It takes me out of the madness and reminds me that I might just have something beautiful to live for. It’s not so cynical when she grabs my arms and desperately tries to get through to me, “I love you…” while my mind’s spinning starts to slow, I slightly, but thankfully, make sense of it. “I love you, too.”
It may sound crazy and in fact it may be that this is all I needed to calm me down, but the truth of it is that I blamed her all the while for starting "it," when love is nothing but doing a simple favor for no reason at all, anyways. Right? "Selfish bastard!" I think to myself, while succumbing to self-defeating behavior...
The cell-phone, the drive to work, the soft touch of her hand on mine graduating up to a rub of the back of my neck. Finally, the tension would lesson, but I'm still unsure why psychosis had taken grip of my life so eagerly in the prior moments. And now it has left, with no reason to explain myself, all I have left is a simple, “I’m sorry,” and “I’ll try not to do it again.”
Confusion has struck, "Dum, Dum, Dumb…" But, why try and why not promise? Because the disease of insanity is one of repetition and I have no promise for it to end, although that is the one singular thing I would truly wish for. I could not wish this for myself, but for those I love around me. Because when I’m in the midst of psychosis it’s relieving the inner demons, it’s taken care of the instability my mind is struggling with, and ultimately feels completely normal to “let go!” But hey, the rest of the world doesn’t know that, now do they?
There is no making sense of it and I shouldn’t try because I may trigger myself into another battle. The only sense I can make of it, is to tell you the complete and utter truth behind my blackened eyes.
I am sick and tired of this and I’m sure I’ll lose more of my mind as the years go on, but dear God I will pray to you… don’t let me lose my wife or loved one’s in the process! This would be the biggest defeat and my passive aggressive suicidal tendencies may just become too much too bare if I were left to deal with a psychotic rant in my solitude. On my knees, I beg!
So, what am I to do when therapy is no cure and the looney bin is more than welcoming to me in the past but no present or future reclamation besides Thorazine and a staff throwing their arms up in confusion…?
"What next doctor? His tolerance is insatiable!"
I try to exercise, maybe finding solace in an attempt for positive outlets and better routines. But the adrenaline that seemed to help at first is now making my symptoms worse while mania now makes me a life captor. I’m left alone to deal with this illness that isn’t just a rant or a rave, here nor there. But, tis something that I silently build in my systematic chaos until I am to burst into complete psychosis, yet again. Ah, the desperation of repetition. Insanity I am truly your heathen, a cruel slave to the game, with only another cyclic aptitude to grip my mind once more, and once more again. Will you forever haunt me, or can I find a way out of my mental illness?
Lord, where are you now? Because all I see are stars dulling and no sign of a brighter future in front of me as the tunnel thickens with rot and moldy behaviors. Rather, now, the destitution of a laid to rest coal mine where I dig myself a deeper hole, I become less and less, whole. This is my insanity, this is my life, this is mental illness 101.