Mania makes you nostalgic for what has never been. The confidence of the familiar with the wonder of something new.
It’s like when a toddler decides to talk in full sentences. Surprising, fast, careless, stumbling. But totally sure.
It’s often calm on the surface. Other than the speech. The only tell to what’s rippling, roiling, boiling underneath.
That’s why with a surety you talk at 100 mph, you feel you’re the smartest person in the room.
Your mind always awake. Like caffeine. Coursing constantly for days.
What’s sleep but an inconvenience to keep your body from collapsing.
As you get less and less you feel dissociated but never sluggish. Life’s on autopilot. Nothing can bring you down. So pieces of your day start missing.
But it doesn’t matter when you feel like this.
You gloss over the growing agitation. The itching, the crawling in your mind.
You take it all the stimulus at first. All of it. Wondrous, bright, colorful, loud. And you take it all in. A volume in your voice to match.
Over time it builds on the raw nerve. The perfect sunshine, that street noise, it becomes too much. It's a raw nerve. A shirt feels cold, ice, then sharp, rough on skin. Children, friends, become grating.
So you fade out more and more.
Until darkness comes at night. And you legs kick, your skin crawls, you're compelled to do something.
So I write. A lot. So much. Most never makes it past a draft. Most suck. So you start over. And over. And over again. Compulsively. Notepads on your phones. Unpublished drafts on a blog. Notebook upon notebook, legal pads. Striving to find a groove.
Sometimes it strikes, you just go for hours. Or even minutes. Concise. Quick. Sure.
That surety is the thread that drives mania along with the speed. Those two things together. That's the heart of mania.
And it can drive your activity. Every waking moment, and you have so many.
It's not restful.
There's few ways to cope.
The compulsions, the drives, the impulses. They have to be controlled.
Writing, takes both you and them hostage for a moment. It clears everything away.
For a few moments, maybe even an hour. It's the closest to peace in the race. The most purpose to add. Harnessing the speed, the surety for something higher.
And where there's purpose, there's meaning. That can bring hope. Light. Through the discomfort, the scatter. That's sure to follow the darkness that comes when this is all over.
It's what I'm holding on to.
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