Bipolar Unplugged: Tues 8 November 2011

9:14pm

275mg

In my normal mood, I always wish I’d written when I were depressed.

Well here I am.

My mind is numb. Nothing is interesting. I might as well do nothing. I’d lie here and stare at the wall, and that would do. But of course, it’s better to keep doing…to fend it off, rather than just give in. And I do always regret not writing. And so now I write.

But there isn’t much to say. What do you say when your mind has no thoughts? At least, it feels that way. The thoughts I do have are mainly “it’s too much effort”. My clinical interview…I don’t want to do it. I don’t see how I can do it. I want to pull out. Tell them I’m not coming. Refuse to go. I know that’s illogical. But that’s the way it is.

My exam is Thursday. I don’t care about it. I know I should. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I can hear my future self despairing at the result. But none of that matters. Because I can’t do it. I’ve tried. I sat there for five hours. I read 12 pages. Twelve A5 sized pieces of paper. Maybe they were double-sided. I don’t remember. And that’s the point, I don’t remember!

I don’t even want to go. I know I will. But I don’t see the point. I can’t achieve a good result now. It’s too late. Not enough study. Not enough. How can I when my mind is closed for business? How can I do anything when I am not really here?

Right now it feels like I’m tired. Not just my body, but my entire mind. It feels like I’m straining to even think.  My mind hurts for the effort of this. With every word my brain tissue disintegrates. With every moment my brain becomes smaller and smaller, until it is no more. My face is expressionless. Emotionless. Flat. It doesn’t look sad. It just looks empty. Really empty. Hollow. Is there anyone in there?

It feels like I could quite simply lie here and never move again. Probably fall asleep. Sleep would be good. Just to get away from this. But in a way this isn’t really unpleasant. It just is. And that is what is odd about these states. I’m not fighting against it. I’m not depressed about being depressed. I’m not worried. I feel nothing. I am nothing. Just one pinhead in a giant pin cushion. One of billions. The world wouldn’t notice if I were gone.

But I’m not suicidal. I have no desire to kill myself. I simply have no desire at all. Decisions are easy because I don’t care. Ask me a question and I’ll tell you the answer. Do you want peas? No. Do you want to go to the movies? No. Do you want to play a game? No. Do you? Do you? Do you? No. I don’t.

I’ve lost my appetite. I mean my mind has. Not my body. My body was hungry, it is hungry. So I made myself cook. I wasn’t going to. But I did. I figured, from those depression adverts on tv that I should. Maybe it would help. It did for a moment. I felt good I had accomplished it. For a moment. And then that moment vanished. But my mind says, who cares? Why eat? What’s the point? It’s too complicated. Just sit. And wait. And let your body waste away like your brain.

It was the thought of washing the potatoes that put me off. That was almost enough to stop me. I didn’t think I could do it. It seems like….well an insurmountable task to wash four potatoes. And not even big potatoes. Small potatoes. All I had to do was wash them and then put them in the microwave, and then in the oven. That was it. Transport them from one place to another. Too much effort. Standing. Waiting. Scrubbing. Water on my hands.

I liked my steak when I ate it. At least food still tastes.

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