Bipolar Rhythms: The Downward Spiral
Knowing What’s Coming and Being Powerless to Stop It.
I’m on the downward slope. I’ve been on it for a few weeks now. This one feels different. Heavier. Like slogging through deep mud. Deep swamp mud. With that sharp, pungent smell of rotting detritus and animal carcasses.
I remember this feeling — this unnamable dread. I wish I didn’t because it makes the anticipation of the coming storm much more stressful.
It feels different this time. I am heavier. My heart is less resilient. My knees and shoulders are stiffer under the weight of the load. The weight of the years has worn down my resolve. Proximity to the finish line has weakened me.
It’s not that I don’t know if I will make it through. It’s that I don’t know if I want to. Behind my resolute mask of defiance, I struggle to see beyond the feeling of futility. The pull of gravity is weighing me down, pulling me into the earth.
So, I will board up the windows, put sandbags around access/egress points, fill the bathtub with water, ensure I have Maruchan, the bar is stocked, and I have a full supply of meds. Let my wife know what’s coming so she isn’t blindsided. And check my stash of unmentionable necessities.
Fuck…
