Usually, there is a direct corelation between my mood and what is going on around in my world, but lately, things have been, well, quiet. Non eventful. Mom saw her doctor who is sending her for scans in November (our little 3 month window has opened up wider for a few weeks), but no real "news". A follow up of sorts. So there was no real reason to get anxious.
but i am, and it's rough.
I have not swung this high or low in many many months. I'm thinking back to maybe a year, or two? And I'm not even taking the extra Welburtin that the doc prescribed to me. I don't even want to think what that would be like. When i tried it two years ago, I was flying into walls, and if i decided to augment my dose now, i might fly off of buildings or bridges.
so i try to put one foot in front of the other but I can't help but to be very nervous that at any moment, my manic instinct will kick in and i'll be running in the other direction, well, actually, with no direction in particular, in circles perhaps, until i collapse into a heavy weeping mess, looking to get lost in the spaces between horrible thoughts of suicide and exalted grandeur.
last night, I happened to stumble upon the movie - Control.
I had watched the whole film about a year ago, and it still affects me deeply. An instant vivid snap into a time in my life when death was a welcome respite from the exhausting whirling orbit of fear and elation that i lived every moment of every day for months on end. The fact that it is so breathtakingly beautiful to look at did not help to pull me away from not watching it, but as a result, i regressed to the tender age of 16, when life should have been full of promise and possibilities, but was devoid of life and hope, and where suicide was the only path to calm and rest.
15 minutes was all it took, and time began to warp.
And what i find odd was that my regression into these dark memories began during the point in the movie when the band is actually doing quite well; their career is taking off, interest in their music is growing, and the young men from Manchester are still filled with hope and optimism.
Just like i was once, a long long time ago.
"you know, E, the thought of suicide is never far enough in my brain. It's always "this" close to moving into the liquid plasma of my current existence. It's never far enough, and that scares me."
i silently wept as he lay on the couch. He was too buzzed after a night of jamming with the guys to truly grasp what i was saying, and I am not angry at him for that; it's the exact opposite - I feel sorry for him that he has to live with such a ticking time bomb.
when i was 16, Ian Curtis' deep oily crooning of life left unfinished resonated with something almost primal in my soul. Beyond the words, beyond the tempo, a mysterious and macabre comfort connected me to him. He got to complete what he wanted to end before i did. Each song is a testament to this.
Sometimes i am thankful for that, sometimes i envy him for beating me to the finish line.
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