So, in my recent degeneration into a Complete Fucking Mess (whereas before I was only Mostly A Mess Most Of The Time) I have developed a person I like to call Crazy Brain.
In all fairness, Crazy Brain probably existed before 2 weeks ago. Actually, Crazy Brain definitely existed before two weeks ago. But as the difference between Kind-Of Sane Brain and Crazy Brain has been so completely polar as of late, it has developed into its own fucking persona.
Crazy Brain thinks self-injury should not only be a regular occurrence, but encourages digging for veins. Crazy Brain thinks it is a good idea, while feeling overwhelmed by a social gathering, to exit said social gathering with a smuggled sharp object and wait to be found in the yard awhile later, in a concerning state. Crazy Brain, god damn it, suggests that carving elaborate designs into your skin while outside in the pouring rain in the middle of the night in a fairly dangerous neighborhood, and then going on a walk, while NO ONE FUCKING KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE, is a Thing You Should Do.
Crazy Brain is Fucking Crazy.
Crazy Brain, it should be said, is different from DEPRESSED BRAIN. Depressed Brain is just Who I Am Mostly All Of The Time and is not altogether prone to self injury and being a complete fucking moron. Crazy Brain isn’t even specifically intent on DYING. Crazy Brain just thinks doing absolutely crazy things in the most harmful way possible is a good idea, and should happen frequently.
Like, most people who get manic episodes that I have seen? They get super energetic and take on really impressive (if impossible) tasks, and are pretty sure they can conquer the world.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a manic episode that didn’t start and end with MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF SELF HARM AND FUCKING UP OF MY ENTIRE LIFE.
My friends and I, in the days after Crazy Brain first took hold, have been treating it like a very poorly behaved two-year-old. “No thank you, Crazy Brain, that’s enough from you,” we say to it. “Hurting yourself is NOT okay, you need to learn how to express yourself in more constructive ways,” says my friend, taking away the utility knife I have managed to dredge up from some-fucking-where.
Crazy Brain is better at finding sharp objects than bomb sniffing dogs are at finding, you know, bombs.
On a happy note, Crazy Brain has calmed the fuck down and I am now no longer in immediate danger of, like, dying from it! So that’s cool. That’s basically why I have relocated to my friends’ place. Didn’t want to stress out mom, friends aren’t going to put up with my Crazy Brain shit, et cetera. It is nice to know that I did not COMPLETELY RUIN EVERYTHING FOREVER. Just some things, for now.
It is comforting to know that Crazy Brain can generally always be told off if you are willing to be stern enough, I guess.