Terminally Unique or Terminally Ill?

I HAVEN'T written for ages because I was too depressed to bother to get up and make it this far from my house to the internet cafe. What happened is, I spent a week or so barely sleeping at all. I felt a bit "high" because I was obsessed with Brazil and going to Brazil and living in Brazil and speaking Portuguese. Which I am not normally.

People seem bemused by my last post, but you have to bear in mind I was very miserable when I wrote it, and could not imagine ever feeling any better. So I write about "wanting to get clean" and then say but I will never be happy when I am clean! what this means is I want to get clean and then I want to die! I spent most of the past month angrily plotting suicide and musing on what a deception it is to feel "normal" and how anybody who wants to live is delusional and has been absolutely conned.

Do I really think I'm terminally unique? I mean, yes I am as a person. We all are. But as a manic-depressive junkie, am I unique?

Well most junkies are NOT clinically manic-depressive and I AM. So that does cause a complete comprehension-block in certain circumstances. For one thing, I have learned from the current popular culture to view unhappiness as a kind of illness. And manic depression always has been regarded as an illness. And so when I am feeling REALLY unhappy a kind of schism becomes apparent in me, where I feel ill and will sometimes think "I'm ill" but at the same time I'm locked up in my own head with somebody who I really hate and I will beat this person up severely for claiming to be ill and tell him EXCUSES EXCUSES. ALL YOU EVER MAKE IS EXCUSES. GET A LIFE. BETTER STILL GET A DEATH.

I think all addicts know misery and that many know clinical depression. But my problem, medically, as far as I know is NOT just clinical depression, it's manic depression and that causes a constant shift in self-esteem that is very disconcerting and difficult to live with. In fact the last time I went to see my doctor I was determined to demand one of those agreements that states that should I ever become seriously ill, through any cause I want to be allowed to die. "Unfortunately" my mood brightened considerably a couple of days before the appointment and so my dearly-held desire slipped away from me...

Brooding brooding. I keep brooding brooding. Or planning. Planning planning.  I have so many bright ideas in my head. I call them ambitions. Probably if I told you them you'd consider them ideas above my station.

The "brooding" comes in because I want to know HOW to make these dreams come true. Even in the most elementary sense.

I'm no longer obsessed with getting "clean" because the obsession with drugs has receded, just as high tide beomes low. So I no longer care the way I once did...

I was seized by this feeling the other night, like I'd downed far too much black coffee. And wondered why this strange internal reslessness. Then I happened to glance out of the window (which was wide open as I've installed a satellite indoors that the pigeons flap in and perch on) and the moon was FULL. In fact it was just waning, but I'm convinced the moon's effect on the brain is strongest when first waning. Just as highest summer and bitterest midwinter come AFTER the solstice so the bipolar part of the brain begins to itch the most AFTER full moon.

Mmmm. Binky says I'm starting to act manic. It's true my sleep cycle is all over the place but a skewed sleep-cycle is not mania (though it may be a sign of impending mania). I don't think I'm manic. Just because I turn impressionist a lot these days and talk in loud Scottish accents  doesn't mean I'm "high". I'm normal. I'm just a person stuck in the bogs of Heroin Addiction looking for a rung up. Rungs rungs! Somebody help me please! Where are rungs for sale?!