Coming into Reality

There’s this funny phase after you recover from something like alcoholic infused bipolar disorder: You have to live like everyone else!

I swear, in 24 years since I had my first episode, the debauchery, thrills, life or death scenarios, I was never nearly as challenged as this.

I have to clean my room now. I, apparently, have to finish college and find some sort of employment. This is odd.

Life was a blur of living in altered states of reality, ones that demanded that either the unreal were happening or reality was so impossible that it was so impossible death was a valid option.

It’s not like that, it’s utterly boring but the stability and predictability of it all is unreal. It’s like I’m stepping into a portal of an alternate universe that everyone else has been living in my entire life.

I’m actually pretty excited. As I get acclimated to this monotony of existence, I’m thrilled because for the first time I feel a semblance of power over my life. The things that I have lived through may have been because I wanted them, but what I wanted or what I did were never really up to me.

Having mental illness is like being possessed. I really understand the phrase “the devil made me do it” instead it’s more like “my dopamine and serotonin receptors were on overload” or “I was so completely and utterly devoid of all energy so I couldn’t do [fill in the essential but inane task]”

What’s funny is that today, there are more people who understand the concept of possession than neurochemistry.

Funny world we live in.

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