It wasn’t all that long ago that I didn’t know him. Oh, I knew he was always around, but for whatever reason, he left me alone. Sometimes, I wish I could go back. It was easier then. Nowadays, when he is at his nastiest, I think to myself, That’s it. I’m done. I don’t need this.
Then I realize what a sacrifice I’d be making. Because a lot of the time, the payback is worth it. A lot of the time, I’m feeling good, to paraphrase James Brown.
If I had to guess what manic-depressive disorder felt like, I’d guess something close to this. Happy as hell one minute, down in the dumps the next.
What I’ve come to realize is that even when I think I’ve finally gotten my head on straight, and have banished him forever, he’s there. Even things are good and I’m patting myself on the back, thinking, “You go, Girl,” he’s there. Lurking in the shadows, skulking about in the dark recesses, he’s there and waiting. Just waiting for me to let my guard down. Just waiting for me to feel comfortable. Just waiting for me to get just a bit too hubristic. And then, wham! I’m covered in green slime.