Crash and Burn

Hypomania had its wicked fangs in me for 3 days. I ran, skipped and jumped into conversations, meetings and projects to which I did not belong. I laughed and carried on as I fumbled, stumbled and pretty much lost sight of the English language. Words and ideas flew around my mind so fast I could not utter them coherently. No big deal really, because they were simply brilliant. My husband begged me to slow down. I shook my head. My finger. Told him he was jealous. The truth was, I couldn’t. Around 4 hours of sleep per night even w heavy sleep medications I furiously agreed to take. Klonopin in my pocket. In my purse. At my desk. Didn’t do a thing to deconstruct the madness.
I twirled around the city streets. Swiped credit cards. Dazzled strangers. Chatted up acquaintances. Bought 20 candles, set them up in a circle. Lit each one as if I were a fire princess in the Amazon. I stepped into the circle and was transformed and gifted w unseen powers. The heat from the flames sizzled my skin and I felt ecstasy not pain. I conducted a personal ceremony pardoning myself of all my sins.
It was glorious and meaningful. I had arrived. Until that next morning when darkness was blacker than black. I had no words. No thoughts. I could barely move my body. Rolling over was a heroic feat. The noise of the neighborhood, of birds chirping was piercing my brain cells. Sunshine ushered itself through my blinds threatening my insides. The light stabbed my eyeballs and I remembered what pain was. But I couldn’t move. It felt like my mind had been shattered.

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