Oops, you’ve gone down hard into serious depression again haven’t you Mr Bipolar?
Didn’t sleep for days and jammed some bad things into your body. Did some bad things to your relationship too. You haven’t eaten. The rent is late. Not sure if you still have a job. Got strangers calling you. The dog’s forgotten who you are and, it would seem, you’ve forgotten who you are too.
Take a quick look around, you’re in that place now. The walls are closing in. And strangely the walls are white this time. There’s dutiful men and women shuffling around giving you pills and testing your blood pressure. Anxiety is sharping in like a butterfly knife now, slicing you to ribbons, and you can’t connect with your soul. So, what are we going to do with you?
You need to Phoenix.
Again.
Please, will you entertain me for a moment? Okay great. You and I both know there really are no rules when you’re in this place. It’s anarchy really. You’re all alone. The Docs can’t get inside you. No-one can ease your pain except you. Your mind is yours. No-one else’s. So just for shits and giggles can we follow my little method for dealing with these things? Actually it’s not really a method, it’s just what we did last time we were in the black. It seemed to work quite well. Great, you’re a good sport.
Okay so we’re going to kick off with the whole guilt thing. Let’s run through everything you did and I want you to feel shit about it for awhile. Okay you can go now. You did what? Oh my God. You minx. Oh no, you are terrible. That’s outrageous. Okay enough. Now spend a few minutes feeling guilty about it. I’ll tell you when to stop. Okay stop.
I have a secret. Guilt is the enemy. I wonder whether it takes those of us with mental health issues more than anything else. Guilt paralyses and it demonizes. Your feelings of guilt will strip joy from your relationships and your work and trash your recovery. We can’t have that, because we’ve already agreed, you need to Phoenix. Okay, rant is over.
Now we need to come to an agreement about how beautiful you are. Shoosh with all that negative crap, because I’m talking. Of course you have those outrageously magnetic eyes. It’s like you are part cat. The sexy part I mean. And you have that dewy brown skin that makes it look like you have arrived from some exotic Middle Eastern Kingdom. And you smell like cinnamon and honey, by the way.
But that’s not what we’re talking about. No. No. No. No. No. Sugarplum. We’re going freediving here, down into the deep, where only ghosts and angels dare to travel. Into your essential beauty. Where dark and light dance by candlelight and bloodshed. What is it that we know about you? Pardon? Did you say you’re weak? You’ve had enough? Now, now, hold your horses Precious. I’m searching for an appropriate term, but there is only one word entering my head and it’s crass. Did you say what is it? Well, the word is Bollocks.
Yes, Bollocks.
Sweetheart, if you can remove yourself from this diabolical moment for one red-hot second and you take the time to reflect on your life, I’m quite sure that you will agree, that you are harder than a coffin nail. Yes, sorry to mention coffins, but I love this rarely used British line. You are harder than a coffin nail. Yes you are. Stop disagreeing with me. I’m lovely too, but I am also the slightly more sociopathic and narcissistic portion of our personality. Ugly personality traits I agree. But I’m necessary to get through these little messes we make.
How many times have we been in the hole since we started getting these bipolar moods when we were about 16? Did you say 50? I was thinking it was much higher than that but I’m happy to use it as a round number. How many times have you wanted to pull the pin and abandon ship? About 50? How many times have you actually tried? About 12. Well damn. See what I mean. You’ve been to Hell 50 times and you’ve only tried to walk directly into the flames a dozen times. Like I said, you are a harder than a coffin nail.
And that there is your true beauty from where I’m sitting. You are a thing of strength, endurance and defiance. You are tested my Honeybunch. You have run the gauntlet and you are tested. Like no-one else I know. Have a guess what?
You are still here. I’m going to say it again…
You. Are. Still. Here.
I’m going to finish with this little spray and then you are going to bed and tomorrow will be our day of the Phoenix.
Now listen, we have done the black and we have done the white. It’s just lucky that for reasons beyond our comprehension and beyond our control, that we don’t own a white flag, and if you still think that we do, after 50 rounds in Hell, then I humbly suggest you walk outside, lay that flag gently on a fire and dance around it in circles, while you pound your mouth with your cupped hands and make ominous songs to announce your rebirth. Because there is no place in our lives for giving in. And we won’t be giving in.
Now go to sleep sweet darling.
I’m going to call upon the Phoenix.
—
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