Ever wondered what bipolar feels like? Picture having the most perfect chocolate sundae, cream, sprinkles and flake, all that jazz. But you don't get to taste it, no matter how many people try their best for force that spoon ever closer to your quivering lips, longing for a taste of that. The food idea being an excellent example of my crazy turn this murky Monday afternoon. Simply choosing what or where to eat led to the neglect of food at all. Wanting the family to eat together, if cooked the same meal, if not let's go out and have a good time. I 'proppa fancied' a pizza. It's delicious, and I know just the place to divulge my high calorie tendency, believe me I've broken diets before! Mum didn't fancy it. I know I'll make us a Quesadilla, cheese, chicken, onions and peppers with a Tomato purée in a corn wrap cook on a griddle. With a salad garnish, of course. Mum didn't fancy it. Well, I'm out of fresh ideas, and mum didn't have any cards up her sleeve. I fall away engrossed by whatever meaningless dribble was on TV. Some news article about a dog who now has wheels instead of legs. You shut the words out and have a good ol' chuckle at the idea of this poor dogs squeaky wheeled life. Mum chirps up "come on then, let's go out". But I knew she didn't want to go out, she was doing that for me. She's so kind my mum. Pause. Mums next attempt "I'll make you that Quesadilla then". But I didn't want to eat alone. What if it tasted crap? Inside I beat myself up. I convinced myself I was causing this woman pain and distress over dinner. I convinced myself that I'm making a big deal over a little meal. I convinced myself this was something to be angry about. I close my eyes, I cover my hands over my eyes, I turn away from my beautiful mother so I don't have to catch her eye. I do this when I'm down. Solitary and all that, makes hiding away much easier. My heart was racing, I was tearing myself apart from the inside. Questioning every decision id made today. Telling myself I'm lesser. telling myself I'm stupid. I have ruined dinner and as such I should punish myself by not eating. The only logical outcome. Well, to a depressive at a time where he's lost all connection to the real world it is. I lay and I pretend to sleep for 2 hours. But really I'm crying dry tears and screaming silent words, it's not dinner it's me. But I can't stop it. I can't help it. Beating myself up is chiselling away at my mums appetite, I know she's waiting for me to make a move, so we can enjoy dinner together. Okay, advice givers of the world. The phrase "don't blame yourself", incorrect, we chose the paths we follow and we create every lasting move that we make be it physical or mental. You hold the cards. Other people can influence your decisions, but the final call is in your hands. I made a mistake, the reason I turned was my fault. The internal death I felt, now that is the mental illness!
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