I am in the middle of a hurricane. Yeah. Fun. I live on the East Coast, a good hour and half from the beach, but it found us anyway.
That is like my mental illness. I can be stable (far from the beach) and an episode will find me anyway. And sometimes I can’t explain it. I am just hit and hit hard. I can be debilitated. Nothing interests me, except maybe death. I don’t like to talk. I have no words to write. I don’t care about taking care of myself – showering, eating, etc. I don’t want to go anywhere, do anything. And I hate myself and my illness.
It can also attack me in other ways. Panic attacks without warning. Manic episodes during which I do a lot of shit I shouldn’t, and later regret. Sigh. It is what it is. It is an illness.
It is flooding outside. Just another storm, right?