Wild Clawing

Please forgive me if this post is not very coherent.  My mind is spinning as I try to grasp all that I am thinking and feeling.  There is high probability the words won’t come out just as they should.

A few weeks ago I was wondering what ever drove me to go to the hospital.  How could I make that choice to be in a sterile, unfeeling place?  Why separate myself from all that I know and love?  I could not grasp why I had done so.

Unfortunately today, I remember.

Please don’t get me wrong, I don’t need to be in the hospital.  But I now remember why I went, why I did need to be there.

There is a clawing feeling at the edges of my mind.  A desperation to understand what is going on.  A desperation to be free.  It makes me cry, it makes me want to scream.  Desperately.  It makes me want to run and hide someplace safe, but there is no such place.  I’m not safe.  The demons are inside my mind, torturing me.

And there is this mockery.  I have to pretend to be okay.  To be someone I am not.  And it is an awful lie.  I am not okay.  I need that to be known.  I need my husband to know that.  But it sounds so lame when I try to tell someone.

I abhor being someone I am not.  I hate the pretending.  But I don’t know what else to do.  It upsets my girls when I don’t have it all together.  It befuddles my husband when I can’t explain it.  It just sounds ridiculous when I try to tell someone what is going on.

So here’s to another day of doing what I need to for my girls, keeping busy to outrun the torture, and feeling like a fake.

Excuse my french, but bipolar is a nasty bitch.