Monday, January 12, 2009

It's always when I'm well.

It always seems that the times I have to deal with the most bullshit are the times I'm the most mentally stable.

If I have financial troubles, I only ever have to deal with them when I'm primarily well. If I have administrative shit I have to deal with it's always separate from any of my mental health issues. It sometimes makes me wish for mania. It leads to depressions and makes me wish I had the free expansive feelings of madness.

I'm not sure which comes first, the depression or the troubles that seem to occur when I'm mentally allright. I know they somehow go hand in hand. It's hard to not see the world as uncaring and vengeful when you're in some sort of dire straights or another.

I know it's chemical, the cycle between depression and and mania and everywhere inbetween, but I can't help but feel that the swings are tied into heightened understanding of the situation one is in. If you realise it doesn't matter, and you really can do just about anything, then mania is the natural response. This fiery passion which drives you to produce and to fuck and to drink. It is the response to a world where the fates look down on you favourably, and the machinations of ill will have no affect on you.

And Depression is the natural response to a world in which existence may mean nothing, and the fates snarl at you with contempt.

I like that imagery, the fates. It sounds so much better than biology, or chemistry. It sounds so much better than saying that an intellectual depression goes along with a chemical one so well because of the sad determinism of neurochemistry.

The image of the three hags, looking down on us and seeing the weave of time, it makes one feel that even though nothing higher cares, at least something is watching.

Being seen in ones' pain is more bearable when it can be seen by some other entity, someone who isn't susceptible to the cruel march of time.

Along with this nicer, more hyperbolic expression comes another point. The epic proportions that invoking the fates suggests, feel applicable. Like Byron before me, I feel that the crude temperament that I've inherited lends itself to the epic, the legendary.

The expanse of experience that I have felt, and am likely to feel to a greater extent in the future (episodes get more severe with time in nigh all cases) is not sufficiently explained by a prosaic tale. It is only the epic form, that deals with so many gods and the fates of men which seems to best explain the life of one who has felt these deliciously, sometimes terrifyingly, powerful manias, and these soul-sucking, dark, depressions.

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