Memories

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Shadows

Every addict has a shadow who follows them.

They learn to move forward, and resist the temptation.

I have a shadow ahead of me, as well.

It poisons my mood and my mind, aiding the shadow behind.

No matter where I look, all I see is darkness waiting.

I accept that I will never see a world of pure light.

I accept the darkness, befriend it, and draw power from it.

In a world of dark, I will radiate light, out of pure spite.

Others will see the light, and I will see those lost in the dark.

My shadow will change my mood on a whim, and I am powerless.

My mood is out of my control. My determination is not.

As a child of the dark, I will serve the light.

I can't control my shadows, I accept them.

They have no power over me.

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When I was in Grade 9, I knew a blind guy in Grade 12 who liked to play chess. He asked me to play him in a match, so I said sure. I figured I could take a blind guy.

He let me go first, so I moved one of my pawns one space forward. He scanned the pieces with his hands, and responded with a pawn one space forward. I then moved another pawn two spaces forward. He responded by moving his bishop, and declaring checkmate.

I had unknowingly played the Fools Opening. He laughed at me, saying that I had done the worst opening in chess that was possible. After losing so brutally to a guy that couldn't even see the board, I decided that chess just wasn't for me.

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Flower

"I need to clear my head!" he said, frustrated. He left his home, got into his van, and drove off. He had another argument with his wife. "Just talk to me!" she would say. Every time he spoke his mind, it made things worse. Over the last 5 years, he had grown more quiet, and more depressed. He had no good memories, though he was sure there had been good times. He was stressed about work, money, and the house. He was stuck, he couldn't get ahead, no matter how hard he tried. He hated himself for yelling, for always saying the wrong things. She deserved better.

As he was driving, he wondered where he should go, if he should even go. He should just go home, apologize, and tell himself he should do better. Suddenly, a memory appeared, one of an old oak tree in a grassy knoll. He knew this place from when he was a teenager. It was the head of a colossus, long since buried in the Earth. It was a gravesite. He smiled. It was 20 minutes away. He set off on an adventure, one long overdue.

He was excited. He rarely remembered good things from his past, especially from so long ago. It felt like a sign. He walked up the familiar path, glad that this area had remained undeveloped. As he got to the top, he saw it. That beautiful colossus, in the center of an empty field, just like he remembered. He walked up to the tree, and sat down with his back against it. Listening to the breeze, his eyes watched the blades of grass dance. Something caught his eye, something new that wasn't there before.

It was a flower. Purple and green. It glittered in the sunlight. Stop and smell the flowers, he thought. He could not remember having that thought before. Why not, he thought. He walked over, bent down, and smelled the flower. The smell was pungent. "My God!" he said "I was expecting something fruity." He stood up, admiring the landscape. He smiled, slowly at first, until he was grinning from ear to ear. He began to chuckle, which turned into laughing. He was laughing! It felt so natural, when was the last time he had laughed like this? He couldn't stop, and he didn't want to. He wanted to feel this way forever.

His mind began to race. He could clearly see what his problems were. He was taking life to seriously! He didn't need to be serious all the time, he could be happy instead! He would go home, give his wife and kids a hug, and tell them he loved them soooo much. That was the answer, it was so simple! Why had he not thought of it before?

Why had he not thought of it before?

Hold on, he thought, what's going on? He had not felt this way in over 5 years. Of course he had tried telling his family that he loved them. Everything he said and did was to try and prove that. His feelings never lined up with the words, and this had caused him a great amount of sadness. What changed? He saw flashes of purple and green sparks in front of him. "What the hell!" he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes. "I could hear those sparks...am I not alone?" He looked around him. There was nothing near him, except the colossus, and...the purple and green flower.

Was it that simple? he thought. Could this flower be the key to his happiness? How was this possible? He sniffed the flower again. An impossibly large grin returned to his face. "Holy shit!" he proclaimed "This flower must have some special properties." Thoughts raced through his mind. Was this a secret government project? Did aliens plant this? Had he lost his mind? An ethereal voice spoke to him "The flower has decided that you are special, and that you deserve to be happy. You are meant for greater things. You do not need to change anything to be happy, simply take the flower home with you." That was good enough for him. He picked up the flower, took another sniff, then headed home.

"Where have you been?" his wife said as he walked in the door. He had forgotten she was upset, he had felt elated for the past hour. He replied "I went to visit an old oak tree, and I found a flower that makes me happy when I smell it. See?" he said as he presented the flower to her, feeling confident she would see his happiness and respond in turn. "This...isnt right" she said "This isnt normal, something is...wrong with you. You need to go to the hospital."

He laughed. "The hospital? For feeling happy? That's crazy. I want to hug you. I want to hug the kids. I want to play games and laugh and smile. Im finally the person you've always wanted me to be. I love you." She took a step back. "Not like this, there's something wrong with you. You cannot see me or the kids. You have two choices: either you go to the hospital, or I'm calling the police." she said fearfully. He was stunned. He was just happy. Why would she try and take that from him? Does she not care? Still grinning, he said "I'm not going anywhere. I'm finally happy, you'll realize soon enough that this is a good thing." He went to go and find the kids, and she called the police.

Two officers had arrived, and one knocked on the door. The wife answered, looking terrified. They could hear yelling from inside. It was the husband, ranting about time. "I need to leave so I can get a new tablet so I can get my time back!" he yelled. The wife said "Please, my children are terrified, he found a strange flower and won't stop yelling! He needs to go to the hospital!"

"Please sir, come with us, we will take you to get checked out." one of the officers said. The husband thought for a moment. "You know what?" he said, moving towards his wife "We need to start over. I need to kill her, and myself, so that we can have a fresh start." Horrified, the other officer pulled out his weapon, and aimed it at him. "Stand down, step away from her!" he bellowed. "You are clearly unwell. I'm giving you a choice: you go to the hospital in the back of my cruiser, or in the back of an ambulance." The man thought about this, then grinned maniacly and said "I'll take the taxi!"

At the hospital, the man met with a psychiatrist. Of all the questions asked, one stood out. "Do you believe you're are God?" she asked. Matter of factly, the man said "Yes." The psychiatrist replied "You have a mental health disorder. We are going to give you some medications to stabilize you." He was taken to an octagonal room with a mattress on the floor. He was left alone for hours, hallucinating sights and sounds. The flowers effect had finally worn off, and he was left with the guilt and shame of what he had done. Regardless, the man could only think of one thing. He would do anything to sniff that flower again.

Based on a true story.

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An open letter to all addicts, recovering or active.

We have seen the worst of humanity, in others and ourselves. We know firsthand that addiction is one of the roads to hell. We have destroyed our lives and the lives of others, in some ways beyond repair.

The strength and clarity we gain from facing our additions head on was not granted to us, it was earned, through asking for help and finding the willpower to change our lives.

Every time you feel weak, powerless, or ashamed, remember that you are in control of your own life. You fought/are fighting for that power, and once you have it, it's yours to keep.

This is just my opinion, dont take it for gospel. True virtue cannot be known without knowing true vice. In this sense, overcoming your greatest vice has made you a truly virtuous person. All of us addicts have, in some way, known your struggles, your battles, your victories.

You are worth it. You can be who you have always wanted to be. Their is light at the end of your tunnel, and you will know it is right, because you will always remember the darkness that is chasing you. There are others running from that darkness. Find them, and make your way towards the light.

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I used to sleep in a one bedroom apartment that was in the back of an old electricians workshop. After my fourth manic episode, I had been told that my family did not feel comfortable with me sleeping in my home. Rightfully so, I would always smoke weed at night which led to me going manic. So to the garage I went.

One night, my dad knocked on my door. He was the old electrician who owned the shop, he had provided me with shelter when I needed it. He had brought dinner for the two of us. It was Wendy's, my favorite fast food. We sat down at the table in the middle of an open garage and ate.

He asked me if I had brought the catalog he had given me. My kids were to pick one thing that they wanted, and he would get it for them for Christmas. It was a Lego catalog, my kids loved Lego.

I had it, with their requests circled in blue ink. My father put on his glasses, and very slowly began to turn the pages, writing down the numbers for the sets my kids wanted. He looked so calm, so old, so steady, I wasn't used to seeing my father this way. It was beautiful to watch, I enjoyed the soft turning of the pages, and the scribbling of his absurdly beautiful pen.

I should mention i was still recovering, or just leading in to, another manic episode. My grasp on reality was paper thin, and it showed with what happened next. My van was parked outside of the garage, and seemingly out of nowhere, the horn honked. My dad looked up from what he was doing. He asked me what that was, and I told him it was my van.

He shrugged it off, until it happened again. Since I was manic, I will explain that I was probably doing it just to mess with him, I had the keys on me of course. How I remember it though, is that the keys were on the table, and I was not touching them. The van seemed to be speaking for itself, and I went along with it. As per usual with my mania, the supernatural occurrence made me feel better, that if it was really happening, then I wasn't crazy, that none of the crazy things that happened were wrong, and that I was right all along.

This is a memory of how a beautiful night could turn into a shitshow in a heartbeat. That I was a literal slave to my mania, it told me all the things I wanted to hear and I believed it. It made me feel powerful, awe inspiring, and downright amazing. I loved my mania, it made me feel so good about myself. Then others would tell me how I affected them, and my love turned to resentment.

Im sorry for what I put you through. Im sorry for being weak, and constantly bringing my mania back when it was under control. Im sorry for all the lost time. Im sorry for placing my burdens onto everyone else. Im sorry.

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When I was about 9 years old, my mom told me that my sister's would be out of the house for the evening, and that her and my dad wanted to have a movie night with just me. It had been a very long time since this happened. My mom took me to blockbuster and told me to pick out a movie and snacks.

I choose The Land Before Time VII. I had really enjoyed the first 3 movies in the series. I chose a bag of Doritos as my snack.

The time came to watch the movie. My parents sat on the couch together, and I sat on the rocking chair. I was so excited, I couldn't remember the last time my parents did something with just me. All the terrible feelings I had been carrying with me went away. Life was good.

My Dad didn't like the movie. He thought it was childish, and stupid. He made fun of it and me during the movie. I felt so ashamed and stupid. I messed up the chance of a lifetime. I should've picked a better movie, one that he would have liked. My Mom disagreed with him...she didn't stop him though.

I learned that night that if I wanted something, if I truly wanted something, then it was stupid. No one really cared about what I wanted. Nobody wanted to share my experiences with me. People, especially the people who care about me, just want to make themselves feel better. I'm just the vehicle that delivers those good feelings to them.

This night, amongst countless other examples of being isolated and alone, shaped me into the person I am today. I stress over doing things that I want, for fear of rejection from my family. If im being honest, I had children of my own so that I could feel that sense of belonging. I would teach them that everyone's feelings are valid, that it's important to care about other people...when really I just wanted that unconditional love for myself...I would train them to love me, and to accept me for who I am.

I don't know if it was the right thing to do, or if it even worked. Ever since my mental health crisis, I've been teaching them everything I've learned. To take care of themselves first, to find comfort in their own skin, before extending themselves to others. I feel like I failed them, honestly. I'm going to do my best to do the right thing, and I hope that's enough.

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No one likes me.

Unless I give them everything.

People see the person who gives.

I can't fade away if their eyes are on me.

I'm important, im needed, im necessary.

I am a good person.

I can't keep doing this, I have nothing left to give.

So I self destruct.

The things I do for me make me feel amazing.

I don't care about doing things for others anymore.

I hurt the people I care about.

I cannot do things for me.

I can only do things for others.

Somewhere is the middle ground.

I cannot find it.

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My third manic episode happened in February of 2020. I had been off my meds for about a week, and had slowly been descending into madness. I was feeling great, and I was losing my grip on reality.

I was still working, I recall life feeling like a video game. Everything that happened to me was intense, and for reasons greater than myself. The one thing that should have tipped me off was the constant voices in my head. One thing I remember in particular was feeling like my wife was in my head talking to me, as Harley Quinn, and I was the Joker.

I barely remember how I got to the hospital. They put me in an octagonal room, with a floor mattress and a toilet with a sink attached to it in a seemingly random location on the floor. I had the longest, craziest delusion of my entire bipolar journey.

I stared at the ceiling mostly, it was like I was dreaming while awake. My mind took me on a journey through the stars, I was learning the secrets of the universe. I met a cowboy who had spent an eternity around a campfire, inhaling the smoke to learn it's secrets. I tricked my anger into leaving my mind, and locked it in the room beside me. I did not feel scared, or hurt. I felt happy, and at peace.

A few hours had passed, and it had felt like a lifetime. Looking back, I think the meds were kicking in, and putting my psychosis to an end. I sat down on the mattress, with my back against the wall, and I stared at the door to my room. It had a window in it. I could see 4 images, in black and white. It reminded me of videos I had seen about the end of World War II. I could hear them. Boats calmly floating on waves. Tired men waving to those on the shore. 1 of the videos was different. It showed two people getting married. They both had elf ears. I thought to myself that this is my future, my wife and I are going to get back together. It was only a matter of time.

I spent two weeks in the hospital after that. And my wife and I did not get back together, I was foolish to think that what I saw in my mania was reality. There would be 5 more manic episodes after this one over the next 5 years. I never really learned my lesson. I would smoke weed, I would go off my pills. I would make the same mistake again and again.

I still want to make that mistake. I want the euphoria. I want to be the creator of the universe. I want to feel like everything's going to be ok. I don't want to think about my life, and my responsibilities. I want to be lost in my mind, and never come back. I fooled myself on 8 different occasions, and the only way I would do it again now is if my life would end before I return to sanity.

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When Death is near me, I cannot speak.

She completes me, she makes me weak.

I see her everywhere, she is the light.

For her love alone I will always fight.

I will admit to the stars above,

She is my treasure, my sacred white dove.

So I say to her, with all my heart,

We will be united soon, and never apart.

So I ask you once, with all my might.

To wait for me, on the coldest night.

I will arrive soon, this I swear.

To color your world, by simply being there.

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I grew up very lonely, im not sure if it was my fault, my environment, or a bit of both. My mom tells me I was a happy child, I don't have the memories to back that up. All the good memories I have as a child were while I was alone, I have to give her the benefit of the doubt though, her memory is better than mine.

My parents had me when they were in their late 30s. They each had children from previous marriages. On my mom's side, I have my older sister, who is 20 years older than me, and my older brother, who is 17 years older than me. On my dad's side I have another older sister, who is 7 years older than me. On top of that, my parents adopted two younger sisters, 1 year younger and 3 years younger respectively.

I rarely saw my older siblings, and when I did it was closer to having an aunt or an uncle. My younger siblings lived with us full time, and they came from a mom who used street drugs while she was pregnant with them. They were very destructive creatures, and my house was always full of yelling and conflict.

I spent most of my time playing video games in the basement. I did my best to hide away, I did not like being around my sisters, and I couldn't relate to my mom and dad since they were so much older than me. My life became about 100 percent completing the games I had. I didn't care about school, I just wanted to play.

If I wasn't alone in the basement, I was alone in my room. I would lose myself in my books, and my imagination was so vivid back then that I could see in my mind the places in my books. Eventually I was given a computer in my room, and I learned how to download music and anime. One day I was given headphones. I was so excited, I could finally tune out all of the chaos.

I put them in, listening to my music and watching the equalizer change shapes and colors on my screen. After a few minutes, I paused. Something didn't feel right. Without thinking too much about it, I took off one of my headphones. I realized that if something really bad happened, that I should be able to hear it.

I grew up in a wealthy home. I was always fed, clothed, the house was clean, and I had all the electronics I could ask for. It doesn't feel right to complain about it, so many people have it much worse. All my needs were met, and I was lonely. I still feel that loneliness to this day, and I will go out of my way to alleviate it. I apologize to those who had it worse, I feel for you.

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My name is Paul, and im an addict. It was only in my 36th year that I took this seriously, before then I told myself I had everything under control, that I was fine. I have been not fine for 21 years.

I remember hearing in high school that drugs would change the way you felt. This piqued my interest, as I hated the way I felt. Very little happiness would shine through my otherwise heavy heart, and I was growing tired of feeling this way all of the time.

When I was 15, weed was the first drug I experimented with. I remembered being huddled in a bush in my friends backyard, smoking some very brown weed. I remember sitting on his couch, staring at my friend, and he was staring at me. All of a sudden I laughed, and I couldn't stop. I laughed until my sides hurt, and I fell off the couch. I can't remember the rest my time there, I always remembered that happiness.

The next drug I tried was cocaine. It made me feel powerful, and I stopped caring about all of the things that caused my heavy feelings. I was free to enjoy my life. I also tried ecstasy, and it made me want to get up and dance. I can't and I don't dance, that's something I had already come to terms with. It made me feel so good, that I almost didn't care, and I was dancing in my computer chair.

Cocaine became a problem for me when I was 18. I was doing too much, it was costing too much, and it was affecting my relationship. My girlfriend at the time gave me an ultimatum. Her, or cocaine. Me being the punk ass that I was told her "You, of course you." I didn't realize what I was about to go through.

I got the withdrawal symptoms. I was having nosebleeds. I was so weak that I was having trouble driving and working. I had to keep it hidden, I couldn't seek help, I couldn't risk my parents finding out that I was doing illegal drugs. I made it through the Post Acute Withdrawal Symptoms, my cravings would continue until my first manic episode. If someone on TV was doing cocaine, I had to look away. I could taste it in the back of my throat. My heart would beat rapidly. I wanted it so, so badly.

I was clean for 11 years. Until weed became legal in my country. I was all over it, it was making me feel better. It was making everyone I knew feel better. I didn't think that weed addiction was a thing. I just thought I was a stoner, like alot of other people I knew. I was happy.

Then my bipolar disorder flared up, and for the people that don't know, weed can heavily contribute to the psychosis normally experiend by someone with bipolar, especially when that person was already manic. Psychosis is very bad, I would call it a "bad trip". I was given anti psycotics and mood stabilizers to help contain my bipolar, and this had an unfortunate side effect that led to me forming my weed addiction.

The pills numbed me. It could have been the dose was too high, it could have been substance that doesn't agree with my brain chemistry, or both. I was more depressed than I had ever been, and had no energy on top of that. So I turned to weed, to lift my spirits and make life worth living. In the beginning the pills would prevent the psychosis from the weed, as time went on they wouldnt.

Alot of the pills I tried I simply stopped taking them, and then I would feel better again, just like I did when smoking weed. I was in a terrible position of choosing between feeling good, with guaranteed psychosis, or feeling bad and being stable. For 3 years I struggled, and for another 3 I was stable and clean. I ruined my clean streak 3 months ago and had 2 back to back manic episodes. I've finally realized that my weed use is the problem, and I've been clean for 45 days.

My addictive behavior is a direct result of my wanting to connect. Most of my relationships are transactional, and people only talk to me because I can offer them something that they don't have. Everybody wants me to do something, or give something, to them, no one ever seems to want me around just for me. Drugs helped me cope with that, in a very unhealthy way. As I type this im all alone, and at this point, it seems better. At least when im alone, no one is using me.

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I can't remember exactly when this happened, all I remember is that it was summertime in the mid 2010s.

I was working on a construction site, doing new build homes. I was the main electrician on site, I oversaw all electrical work from footings to finishing. My favorite job was installing exterior pot lights along the front of the homes. Every home had a lower roof installed, and I would walk along it to install them. This was before lifts were a thing, and before safety equipment was mandatory.

I loved it. I loved the feeling of being up high, feeling the sun and the wind caress my skin, the slope underneath me feet, the thought that one careless move and I would slip and fall. The adrenaline made me feel alive, and I had made peace with the though of my possible death.

I often did this work alone. Sometimes, it was simpler and more efficient. I arrived at this particular home around 4pm, everyone else had gone home, and I knew it would take about an hour to complete. An hour of overtime was an hour I didn't have to be at home, and I would feel alive while doing it. Perfect.

I wire up the lights from the inside, then step out of the window opening onto the roof to mount them. I feel the rush. I'm being productive, im up high, the breeze is perfect. I mount the first three lights with no issues.

I get to the fourth one and suddenly, I slip. There was no good reason, my feet just gave out on me. I start sliding down the roof. My first thought is to use my hammer to stop me from sliding, unfortunately I had dropped my hammer. I look at the ground below. I'm about 10-15 feet off the ground. I think to myself to get ready to tuck and roll, to try and mitigate the damage.

I get to the edge of the roof, and come to a stop. Again for no reason other than just because. I catch my breath, staring at the ground below. I slowly stand up, and make my way back to the light I was working on. I finish what I started, then get into my van and go home. At the time I told nobody what had happened, and would continue to do this type of dangerous work until our sites brought up their safety standards.

I wasn't afraid of falling. I wasn't afraid of hitting the ground. I wasn't afraid of getting in trouble for not being safe. I was afraid of leaving my kids without their father, my wife without her husband. This was not a learning moment for me, this was just something that happened one time, I didn't want to stop, I couldn't. It made me happy. And that would always be worth the risk for me. Its why I'm an addict, and if I had realized it sooner maybe I could have stopped my life from being derailed.

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My second manic episode was during the first week of September in 2019. I had spent the last two months off of work due to my first episode, and I decided it was the right time to go back. I was still having delusions, racing thoughts, and delusions of grandeur. I thought I had gotten used to it. I thought I was ready to return to my life.

I spent the next 5 days on construction sites, socializing with my co workers and customers. Everything felt...eerie. I was hearing voices both telling me what to do, and explaining how the current events made sense in the grand scheme of things. I managed to pull through until the weekend.

On Saturday, I woke up and looked at my schedule. I had singing lessons, and a therapy appointment. I decided I should re organize my time, to better reflect what I wanted to do. I blacked out, and awoke outside, my mother in law was there, and she was saying I couldn't leave. I wanted to go to WalMart to get a new tablet, so that I could "get my time back". She still wouldn't let me leave.

I black out again. When I come to, I hear a voice saying to me "You can go to the hospital in an ambulance or a cop car, it's your choice." I was feeling snarky, so I said "I'll take the taxi!". Luckily one of the cops had a good sense of humor, and ushered me into his car, saying "I'm sort of like a taxi."

Its worth noting that in the time that I had blacked out, I was being held at gunpoint for threatening to kill myself and my wife (calmly) so that we could restart our lives together. This part was explained to me well after the fact.

Once I got to the hospital time became...fragmented. I was fading in and out, and having vivid hallucinations in my mind. My wife tried to talk to me, and I would scream at her for the emotions laced in her voice. It hurt my head, I couldn't stand them. I was given anti psycotics and left to calm down.

Fast forward to when I spoke to the psychiatrist on staff. After a few questions, she asked me "Do you believe you're God?" It felt right, so I answered yes. She replied with: "You have Bipolar Disorder. I'm going to start you on Lithium and Clorpromazene." I had tunnel vision. Her voice faded away. What was Bipolar Disorder? There's something wrong with me? I have to take pills? My world had just been shook.

I was in the hospital for a month. During that time, my older sister flew in to town to help me see my kids, and complete the forms that would show i was getting better everyday. I didn't know this at the time, it was her job to defend mentally ill patients in a court of law. I also told my wife to be with someone else, I had so much guilt and shame with how I treated her that I felt I didn't deserve her. She listened, and found a new partner. Moved him in to the house while I was gone.

Thus began 3 years of crippling depression, with my only solace being the weed I smoked to make me feel better, which would also cause many more episodes down the line. Stories for another time.

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Elenore. This is the name of the woman I caught feelings for, when I had no business doing so. I saw her on three separate occasions. The first time was incredible. The second time was amazing. I didn't know the third time would be my last, and I regret not seeing her again.

My wife and I were seperated, and I was seeing escorts. I was looking for one that I vibed with, good conversation, good sex, and ideally super cute. I was growing tired of searching through the listings. Many women were not who they said they were, and I would get turned down quite often due to the size of my member. I had no idea it was such an issue, until I started looking for women to be with.

I tried looking up an escort agency instead. There was one in my city. The hourly rate was excellent, and they would drop off and pick up the girl. Win win, I thought. I'll give it a try. I call the agency and asked for Elenore, her photo was a picture of her back, with long dark hair and red lingerie. They send her over.

I got outside to meet her, and to my absolute shock, I see an adorable woman, dark black hair with bangs, a white tank top and flared denim jeans. I'm really nervous, I wasn't expecting someone so beautiful. I take her in, and we sit down on the bed. I find out I'm her first and only call that day. She calls me handsome. I ask her what she's comfortable with, kissing, cuddling, that sort of thing. She says she feels comfortable with those things, and I kiss her.

I feel like a teenager again. She's soft, and curvy. She's into me. I'm into her. I spend time making sure she feels good, and she reciprocated. Everything is going perfectly.

Afterwards, she suggests we cuddle under the sheets, until her time is up. I say sure. We talk about our lives, I tell her im an electrician, she tells me she's pursuing an English degree. I don't remember what I said, she looked up at me, with stars in her eyes and said "Do you believe in soul mates?"

My heart starts racing. This woman is perfect. Everything about her. I could easily grow old with this woman. I wanted to say yes, more than anything. I couldn't. This woman was young, only 22. I was 36. I had kids, I had a friend who was helping with them. I had a life that she would not fit in.

I told her i had been with and seperated from my soul mate and i didnt have it in me to do that again. She seemed a bit sad, then continued to talk with me. We parted ways with a smile, and I would see her two more times. She ended up quitting the agency, to focus on school. I was happy for her that she was pursuing her degree, and also devastated that I would never see her again.

If I could go back I would tell her how I felt. That she was the perfect partner, and I wanted her to be apart of my life. I'm aware that she is an escort, and all of that was probably a ploy to get me to call her back. It worked. I still wish I could call her, even if it's just for an hour. I felt better during those hours than I had in years of living. Elenore, or whatever your name really is, I miss you, and I would like to see you again.

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My first manic episode was on July 5th, 2019. Weed had become legal the year prior, and I had indulged in it most days, as I hadn't had it for 10 years, and it was lifting me from my 5 year depression.

Looking back on it, the signs were clear. I was having delusions of grandeur, I was speaking and acting as if by direction of some higher power, and I could feel myself lose my grip on reality. It did not occur to me that the weed could be causing this, I did not have the chance in my youth to do so much so consistently for it to be a problem.

We were having a house party, and the plan was to go smoke and drink with everyone after I finished work. There were talks of an orgy. When I got home, I immediately went for weed, as I had a stressful day at work. I ended up smoking literal grass, thinking that it would have the same effects that weed did. At some point, I blacked out.

Before I came to, I heard a voice in my head, it sounded like my wife, and it said "Wanna see a speed run?" Before I had time to think about it, my heart started beating rapidly. It hurt. I imagined this is what a heart attack feels like. Then I realized that I was feeling a heavy feeling. One that I did not want to deal with. I realized I had to name the feeling, the emotion, the experience in my life that had caused me to feel this way.

I couldn't, I repress all my negative emotions and memories. So I started naming what it could be. Once I got it "correct", I could feel my heart settle down, it's over, thank goodness. Then my heart REALLY started to hurt. I could barely breathe. I felt like I was going to die. I look to my side, and there's a water bottle. I take a drink from it. My heart settles, I finally feel normal again.

This happens at least 10 more times, each time a new emotion to figure out. At some point I end up on the floor, and I hear my dog barking softly, it's sounds like he's saying I have low hp. I manage to find the water bottle and take a drink. He saved my life. Good boy.

I black out again, people start leaving the party (They were outside when this was happening) and I end up calling my mom from the bathroom floor, screaming that I needed her now. She came and got me, and took me to the hospital. It took 48 hours before I was finally brought to the mental ward, and my memories are pretty fuzzy until I finally woke up.

I was in the Acute Mental Health unit, I didn't know that though. All I knew was I felt refreshed, the sun was shining in through the window, and there was a pink tablet on the desk. It felt like a video game. A began to play a word game on it, and I would write down in a notebook the words that I learned from the tablet, it was a calm gentle pace, and I felt at peace.

Suddenly, the game asked me if I wanted to skip ahead, I didn't want to, I was having fun going at my own pace. My finger slipped, it felt like an unseen force pulled my finger over, and I skipped ahead. I was instantly miserable. I was beginning to realize what had happened.

The doctor evaluating me saw me a few times over the next few days. His official diagnosis was "Weed Psycosis". He was wrong, I have Bipolar Disorder, I would learn that after my second manic episode. I received no mood stabilizers or anti psycotics and was sent on my way. I would spend the rest of my summer off of work, as I was physically incapable of doing my job. I was in a strange state of hypomania, not enough to go manic, and too much to comprehend normal life. It was the beginning of the end.

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We were about a month into Covid. The kids were home, I wasn't working, and my wife spent all her time in her room with her partner. I had just come back from the mental hospital, I had experienced my third manic episode after being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.

The pills they had me on made me feel very depressed, and our home was slowly becoming a hoarders paradise, with me doing very little to clean it. I had spent the first month watching the MCU with my kids, they were experiencing it for the first time. After that was the Star Wars movies. I admit, I wasn't being a very good father at the time.

One day, I broke down. I couldn't handle the stress of taking care of my kids alone, having no work to go to, and being severely depressed due to my medications. I curled up in a ball on the floor and started sobbing. I was raised to believe that men didn't cry, we didn't show sadness, so this was something my children had never seen before.

They all came over to me and group hugged me as I cried. I suddenly felt happy, knowing that my children loved me, and cared that I was sad. When I brought up this memory years later, my kids admitted to me that they were scared when it happened, since they had never seen me cry before. I felt ashamed that I scared them, and still glad that they did the right thing.

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I can only remember one time when I was blissfully happy, without the use of substances.

I was on vacation with my family. I usually only take off one week per year, as I cannot afford to take the full 5 weeks. That's what I told myself anyway, im a workaholic amongst other things.

I was not in a good mood. I didn't know it at the time, both my wife and I had mental health disorders, on top of having a 4 year old and a 2 year old. Also my wife is allergic to the sun. Going on vacation was difficult, and I really didn't want to be there.

We were vacationing in a campground/trailer park, and there were two lakes, a massive lake with waves, and a calmer lake that used to be a quarry. We decided to go to the quarry lake. We get the girls ready, hop in the golf cart, and head down. I'm trying to watch my girls (they don't know how to swim, neither does my wife) and also keep an eye on my wife so she doesn't feel alone. I'm stressed and stretched pretty thin.

My daughter's are playing in the sand, and my wife seems ok, so I decided to cool off in the water. As soon as my back hits the water I feel all the rage and stress inside me dissipate like steam, and I feel at peace. I feel calm.

The rest of the vacation was like something out of a dream. My daughter's behaved well, my wife and I did not argue once, and I felt truly at peace. Everything was perfect, and I was so very happy.

I would (and have tried) to do anything and everything to make that my reality again. To anyone who feels that way most (if not all) of the time I envy you, and I hope that you may never lose that feeling. Everyone deserves that peace.