Writing Assignment 1, Draft 2

Before I begin writing about my emotional experience, I believe that I should write a quick introduction. Mental illness is an extremely serious issue. There is nothing funny about it. By posting this for all to read, I am trusting that who ever may choose to read this will not take advantage of this information. On the contrary, please don't feel sorry for me. I'm not looking for attention, I'm just telling it like it is. This is what makes me emotional, because this is what used to control my emotions.

The Monster

Lying on my bed, staring at the clock. It's moving, but me? I'm lying here in this one moment in time, mind is racing but there's no time to think. The thoughts in my head, like race cars speeding down the track, going right by me. I can't see them. But I see their colors. I try to slow them down. I relax my mind until I can filter the thoughts, take the time to inspect each one. The first, is of last night. Hormones racing, why so many? This doesn't happen when I'm grey. Grey is in between high and low. I'm about to touch the moon I'm so high, as I slip out the downstairs window. I think I'm going crazy, as I get in the car. And then mom calls his phone. From mine, which I left at home. So I get home and ring the door bell at one in the morning. Their voices don't even penetrate my brain, they just slip right over my forehead, and I am coming down. The high I had only minutes ago is slipping away. Slipping into sleep....

The Monster took me while I was sleeping. He's bringing me down with him. The monster is what makes me think my next thought. I look at the window. I see another kind of escape, different from the night before. A total escape; from the second floor window. As I open the window, take off the screen, I perch on the window sill, looking down , heart racing. I'm shaking. Do I really want to do this? I do, but I can't. I lay back down, until my mom comes in and I tell her. I tell her that I almost jumped out the window. Yes I want to kill myself. It's not my fault, I'm so trapped. I'm trapped inside my own skin, the mania and the monster controlling me. The high and the low programming me like a robot.

From the ER, to the ambulance was a long ride on the stretcher, mother's tears pouring down her face like there was no tomorrow. Why is she crying? I'm the one who has the problem. As they push me into the ambulance, I wave goodbye. I think about why I'm here. The monster. Why did it all start? The mania. My inability to control my impulses, and the plunges I took into the icy blue madness some call depression. You put these two together and you have Bipolar Disorder. And I knew all along but no one would listen to the one actually feeling the pain.

Yeah, I knew. I knew the humiliation I felt when word got out about me being a slut. I knew the frustration of not being able to take everything back. And yes, I even knew the devistation of depression.

As I took my first steps into the Dominion Psychiatric Hospital in Falls Church, Virginia, I wasn't sure what to think. I'm now official crazy, a nut job. Yeah, I'm in the nut house. But when I woke up, I got my first dose of lithium, a powerful drug to treat bipolar disorder. It calmed the chemicals in my brain. Controling me. And this gave me hope. Odd isn’t it, that something taking away your freedom could give you hope. But in this strange, twisted world, anything is possible. So by controlling my emotions, keeping them under control, I was set free. Now, I just had to find the soul that I never had before. Who I was, just wasn't me. It was the monster, and the mania. It was madness, and I was escaping. In a way that I couldn't have even thought of without some serious help. Who am I? It was time to find out, for the first time, in 14 years.