Losing focus . . . it’s the first sign of change for the worse. It means that I am either stepping up from hypomania into irritable disorientation and rage, or slipping down into useless depression. It doesn’t take me long to figure out which. And the feeling of losing focus, where I’ve been, along with being stuck in a debilitating fatigue, is a terrible thing.
Losing focus is trying to grasp a tendril of smoke that was something else when I reached.
searching among fragmented paths for a way home
fermented clouds soaking the brain
plucking at harp strings of dry wool
bird bashing head against green-glass walls, and frenetic wings continue flapping
slinky nooses around a mind of gleaming burlap in the night
my head hacked on, off, and into . . .
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So, medical procedures coming up. Over and over again, I get tested for various conditions (seldom the same ones) in the hope there’s a treatable explanation for some of my problems. There’s never an answer “Oh yes, you have X,” on these tests, which one should think is great, because I don’t have any of the things wrong. So we’re back to: Yes, bipolar. Yes, clinical depression. But do they explain everything? REALLY? Huh?
My doctor’s got an answer for me every time.
“We’re all getting old.”
Well good for her. She can afford to retire.
OK, this time, her answer was a phone call with test results that were a disturbing list of things that need follow-up. OK, self. Are you satisfied yet? Well, let’s see what happens. In the meantime, I’ll bust out the mood chart and what.
Siege of the Spirit 