Maybe it’s just me. I feel psychotic. Like I want to hurt someone. Like I want to hurt you, because you’re happy and I’m not. I don’t mean physically, but I want you to feel pain when you read my words or see my face, like I do with yours. I feel the venom seeping out of my fingertips, but I can’t stop it. I did this, but a part of me wants you to suffer for the mistakes we both made. It isn’t even relevant anymore, and deep down I wish you all the happiness in the world. But it pushes me over the edge to see you happy while I’m miserable with myself. The situation is so different from before. I have my support. I have my plans. I have it all. Why can’t I be happy too? Why were we miserable together and now you’re ok and I’m not? Somewhere in there under the murky waters of my irrational and seemingly uncontrollable thoughts, there is this part of me that realizes that none of it was really real. For whatever reason every time I try to detach myself, I become so afraid of cutting the ties that I start all over again. I really believe I’m crazy. You were a symptom of my mania/depression/psychosis, but even after being somewhat more clear I have this insane feeling like I need to cling to this fragile thread that exists between us. Or maybe I hallucinated it all. Maybe I’m delusional and I made the mistake of taking it for something more than it was. I hate thinking of myself that way, but I really have come to believe that everything that was, was the result of a grand delusion, the result of me being very,very sick in the head. I don’t think I want you to ever be my therapist. I may be more fucked up than either of us ever realized. Good night.
P.S. I don’t want it back, I just want to move forward and try to forget how it felt for that time, even if it wasn’t real. Even if me feeling good about myself for once screwed up everything for everyone close to me. I would be afraid to feel that good all the time. I wouldn’t trust myself not to spread the feeling like a very contagious and deadly disease. Unfortunately for me, there seems to be no middle ground. Only that roller coaster ride of up and down, never stopping, always moving, unstable, ever changing. I wouldn’t even say that there is a fine line for me between stable and mania or depression. I don’t know what stable feels like. I either feel hyper and up. Or I just feel like I’m here, but question whether I really exist. I don’t really feel happy or sad. A lot of the time I don’t really feel anything at all, alternating with feeling everything too much and all at once to the point that it’s so overwhelming I feel like I have to shut down to stop it all from invading and overloading my brain.
Maybe all this is just the rambling of a very sleepy girl who took Seroquel 2 1/2 hours ago and is barely keeping her eyes open to write this. I seem to feel more insightful when I get that woozy medicated kind of feel. The seroquel is the only medicine that I definitely KNOW whether I’ve taken it or not. Any way. This no longer has any point. (If it every did in the first place) Must. Sleep.