It starts with the sleeping.

I was falling asleep at 11 p.m. Then at midnight.

One night I’m watching television and suddenly it’s 2 a.m.

Oh, well. I’ll catch up tomorrow night, go to bed early.

The next night it’s 3 a.m. I thought it was midnight, but the clock says 3. I’m not even tired.

Huh.

I don’t have work tomorrow. It’s no big deal.

I wake at 11:30. I start my day.

I go to bed at 5 a.m. Ugh, whoops. I gotta get better with my time. Get on a sleep schedule.

I’m not really that tired, just yawning. Just a little irritated. Just need a little sleep, it’s not that bad, it’s fine.

Oh. Wait.

I’m writing. Writing in my journal — so happy, so in love, life getting on the right track, big things ahead. I’m writing notes, outlines on my laptop, the story finally coming together. Days and days and I’m writing so much. I’m writing scenes, typing and typing and the words just flowing and suddenly I look up and it’s 10 p.m. and whoops I never ate dinner, how am I not hungry?

Mania.

I recognize it. Or hypomania, I guess, technically.

The sleep doesn’t come but neither does the fatigue, and the words just flow, and the apartment stays clean, and my life is all coming together and everything is on track. Days and days and everything is done and everything is clean. It’s not so bad. I’ll just make it work for me. This will be awesome while it lasts. Just ride it out!

I’ve got a new life plan I’ve been working on. I’ve mapped out ten years! I’ll pay off my debt, and then get that surgery, and then go to Greece. I researched the whole trip and made a Pinterest board and a savings plan. It’s all coming together.

I’m blogging. It all comes so easily, the pieces falling into place. I do the laundry, three loads in one day, and while it runs I wash all the dishes and cook the meals for both of us for four days, lunches and dinners and my oatmeal breakfasts. I already went to the grocery store yesterday. The fridge is stocked, the pantry full. A place for everything and everything in its place. The sunlight fills the living room through the sliding glass door. My heart lifts as I walk through the door every day after work.

I’m not tired, might as well stay up until he gets home. Maybe we can do something, or maybe just talk about our schedules for the weekend. I wonder when we can go out and do something again. Is he off the same day as me? We could go to the city, or go hiking. I know I’ll have just driven three hours the day before, but it’s not a big deal. It’s not like I don’t have the energy.

Wait, it’s midnight. Did I eat dinner? I don’t remember. I ate that rice… I think that was at 3. Does that count as dinner? I should probably make some popcorn or something, I’m kinda hungry.

Next day, day off. It’s too distracting, all this quiet while I’m trying to work. I open three windows on my laptop — one for the three sites I need to update my budget tracker, one for my story notes, one for my new diet research. I pick a food documentary on the tv to play while I’m working. I jump back and forth between notes and television.

Is meat really that bad for you?? I’d better google it. I open thirteen tabs. Does processed meat really increase chances of cancer? What counts as processed meat? Vegetarian vs. vegan. Vegan diet and health. Vegan diet inflammation. Vegan gluten free endometriosis. Vegan gluten free pcos.

I open a new document. I make a list. Vegan nutrients and minerals. I can’t let my iron levels get too low, or my zinc. I’ll need calcium, and magnesium to absorb the calcium. I’ll have to take B12 supplements. Is it worth it? Does a supplement pill count as medication? It’s still a pill. I’ll have to talk to the doctor about how we’ll cut back my bipolar meds when I see her next month. I wish I could see her earlier. I’m so ready to be who I was before the meds. I mean, it got bad, but only when there was big life stuff happening. Life is good now! I have a job and a boyfriend and an apartment. It’s all stable. I’m writing and swimming and doing yoga, and I’m getting back to who I was before. I want to read more, I can’t deal with this brain fog. Meds are only supposed to be for like short-term stuff anyway. Right? Pretty sure I read that. I’ll be fine. I can’t wait to get off all my meds. Natural living, that’ll be great. Maybe the endo pain will finally go away. Maybe I should start swimming more.

I could start a new vegan podcast! Well that would take a lot of editing, and I hate podcasts. A new blog? I did just start that wedding blog last month, that didn’t go very well. I mean, I am manic. Maybe I shouldn’t start new projects, sleep on it a while at least. See if this vegan thing sticks. I’ll just write about it on my new regular blog. That’ll be a good balance.

I keep a daily activity log now, so I use my time better. I’m doing really great at keeping balance. Writing, housework, job, boyfriend. It’s all coming together.

I should get back into that show he wanted me to watch. Where was I, season two?

It’s my day off. I wake at 1 p.m. I start with food. I’ll watch an episode as I eat and then put it on my laptop while I do the cleaning and stuff, and then when that’s done I’ll write a couple chapters and finally post the updates.

The next episode auto-plays. Eh, it’s my day off. I’ll enjoy myself, watch another one. The story plays on, and on.

I hit pause. I run to the bathroom. Play.

It’s starting to get dark in here. I glance up, around. It’s getting dark outside. What time is it? Crap, 9:30? I never ate dinner. I was gonna clean the bathroom, and do the dishes, and vacuum. It’s probably a little late to vacuum with these thin walls and the neighbors. I could do the dishes, at least. I’ll eat something and then do the dishes. I can be done by 10.

The dishes are done at 11:17. I never got the bathroom clean. Oh well, I can do it after work tomorrow. No big deal. I should probably go to bed, but I’m not really tired. I’ll organize the bookshelf, then go to bed. I put on a YouTube video to watch while I sort the books. It autoplays into two more. It’s 12:40. The books are still scattered on the floor. I pause the video to gather them up. I’ll just sort them tomorrow. I go to bed.

Two days pass. I don’t remember what I did.

Did I wash the dishes? No. I think I cooked — yeah, cause I needed lunch for work Thursday.

Where did I leave off on that show? I think he was- no, wait, that was season three, I’m on season five now. Haha, guess I shouldn’t binge after 2 a.m.

My activity log leaves off at 12:30 p.m. three days ago. Eh, it’s not that important anyway.

My to-do list hasn’t changed all week. The dishes are taking over the kitchen. I have no clean t-shirts. I have no clean spoons. I’ll take care of those things tomorrow, after work.

I come home from work. My feet ache. I’m so tired. I’ll just sit down for a little rest, drink some tea before doing the dishes.

It grows dark outside. There’s no real food left. I’m so tired. I eat popcorn for dinner. I sit up awhile so eating before bed doesn’t give me heartburn. I open my laptop to work on something. I check my email five times in an hour and scroll Facebook in between. I don’t end up working on anything. My brain’s all fuzzy anyway. I close the laptop and go to bed.

I wake at noon. I have work at 1:30. I can’t think straight. The dishes are dirty. The laundry is dirty. There’s stuff, stuff, stuff, all over the living room. I recognize it. Those towels go in the kitchen, that necklace goes in the bedroom. That bottle needs to be put back in the bathroom cabinet. I know where it all goes. I’ll pick it up as soon as I have the chance, it won’t take long, but not right now. There’s too much. First I need to do the dishes. Damn, I’m so tired. After work, first dishes, then whatever else.

I come home from work. It’s late, already 10. I’m so tired, so tired. What do I need to do? I don’t remember. I look around the room. I don’t see anything, eyes glaze over the room. So tired. So so much stuff, so many things to do. It doesn’t matter, I’ll just get up in the morning to do it. The kitchen is crowded with dishes. It makes ugly shivers crawl up and down my spine. I’m down to my last bra. I have to do laundry tomorrow. I’m so tired. I wash my face, brush my teeth — crap, my meds, gotta take my meds — collapse on the mattress. I fall asleep at 11.

I wake up at 10. I’ve got to get up.

10:30. I gotta get up. I’ve got work in three hours, gotta get some stuff done.

11. Seriously, get out of bed. Just stand up, eat, take a shower. Then worry about the rest, we’ll figure out the rest after food and clothes.

11:30. If you don’t get up now you won’t get anything done.

12:30. Okay well you’ve at least got to get up now, absolutely now, so you can go to work. Just eat something, okay? Eat something, and then we’ll take the next step.

The voice in my head that is me and the voice in my head that is also me are arguing. You’ve got to get moving, hurry up already. I’m up. I’ll eat. That’s what matters. Eat, shower, work. Don’t worry about anything else. Ugh, you were supposed to do the dishes today. We don’t even have any clean bowls left! You know how he hates the dishes piled up. It’s your job to do them, that’s the arrangement, remember? You have to hold up your end, that’s fair. We’ll do the dishes after work tonight. Don’t worry about that now. Just get ready for work, then we’ll think about what’s next. There’s so much to do after work. No way we can get it all done today. We’ve got to do the dishes and the laundry at least. Just prioritize. Do the dishes, and maybe a load of the necessary laundry. The rest can wait for your day off. One step at a time. You haven’t cleaned the bathroom in weeks. This is disgusting. It’s not a priority. This looks totally gross. You should at least clean the toilet. When I have time, later. Not today. I can’t believe you’ve just been watching tv this week. What have you even gotten done? It doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything about that now. I’ll just make a new plan with the time I have today and tomorrow and my day off, and get it done then. This is a mess. Why didn’t you do any of this yesterday? The day before? What does the plot of that show even matter? When did you last do any writing, anyway? Shut up. Your readers are waiting. You said you’d post like five times a week now. Shut up. How is that life plan going to work if you don’t do any of it this week? You can’t just put it all off forever, you’ve got to write and clean to keep up. Not right now, shut up.

I put on chapstick. I was trying to put on lotion. Wait, what?

Now your sleep schedule is completely screwed up. See what happens? You have got to go to bed earlier, Emily. Look, I will tonight, okay? Shut up.

The voices are faster now, louder now, starting to shout.

I sit on the couch. What was I doing? I need to get moving, I’ll be late. But I needed something. Wait, I have socks in my hand. Right. Put on socks. Put on shoes. And those dishes are going to take FOREVER. If you’d just done them every other day like you’d planned you wouldn’t even be in this mess. Shut up. One foot at a time. Socks. Shoes. Okay, stand up.

Pack my lunch. Put the container in my bag. My hand slips, I drop it. It hits the floor. The bang is too loud, I flinch. I can’t get the paper towel to fold around the spoon right. Damnit! My fingers are all fumbley. My eyes burn.

The voices become like television noise, the channel all fuzzy black and white so much louder than the ones you were flipping through before and the remote is stuck and you can’t turn it down and you can’t change it back dishes laundry sleep what are you even doing with your life gonna be late to work what is the point shut up, shut up, shut up shut up shut up

I grab my head with my hands, squeeze my eyes shut, smack my forehead, shouting to shut up shut up shut up

I start to cry.

I’m crashing. Shattering.

I call in sick to work. I stutter.

This is pathetic. There’s not even anything wrong with me. I mean, there is. You’re sick. I’ve been managing this for like five years now, I can’t be calling in so last minute, it’s irresponsible. You can’t even stand up off the couch. I need the money. You wouldn’t make it two hours before breaking down and being sent home anyway. Yeah. I need to do the dishes anyway… I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Just take a break. Take some deep breaths. Call someone, talk to someone. Maybe also your doctor. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that. In a minute.

I blink, blink, blink. Stinging heat, wet eyes. Blink, blink. Sniff.

I wish I could wave a magic wand and get rid of the dishes. Or at least have a dishwasher. I could probably muster the energy to at least load a dishwasher. That was my lifesaver at the last place.

Not important now. Focus. I can do this. I don’t have work at least.

I can’t do this. I gasp in a single sob.

What will he think? Will he understand? Maybe. It’s irresponsible to call off work. You just missed a week earlier this month. This is selfish.

What would Mom think? I have responsibilities. I need the money. But I can’t. I just can’t. Everyone knows you hate this job. They’ll all think you’re taking advantage of the chance to skip work. No they won’t. They know I’m sick. Yeah, but not that sick. You can’t just keep being sick forever all the time, you’ve gotta snap out of it sometime. They’ll understand. I was good for a few weeks there. I just need, like, a day. Or this week. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. Just today, just do today. Sleep more. Call Mom. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Just breathe.

Three days pass.

I go to work on one.

I call in sick the next.

What would Mom think? What if you lose your job? You’re letting your team down. Everyone will question if you’re really sick. You don’t even have any proof. I don’t leave the apartment. What if someone sees me at the store, at the restaurant, and I look fine? I can’t let them see me if I look okay.

I stare in the mirror at night. Deep breaths. This sucks. You can’t go off your meds. Yeah. I know. We should probably increase them, really. Yeah. Take care of yourself.

What if this is my life forever?

What if I lose my job?

What if I have to live off disability? What if my relationships all end and I get older and I can’t keep jobs and I can’t afford doctors and then I’m in shitty poor housing going into debt just to eat because the government doesn’t pay enough for me to live and if I get a job I lose disability? I know so many of those stories.

It’s so unfair.

Unfair to have bipolar. Unfair to have no cure. Unfair to have no treatment. Only medicine, medicine not made for me, medicine used trial-and-error for its side effects until the effects wear off and we up and up and add another and keep changing because there really isn’t any better. There won’t ever be any better. Not for me.

I don’t look sick. I can just eat better. I’ll swim more. I’ll do more yoga. I can learn, I can get better. I can make myself better.

No. That’s what I thought before. No, that’s not how it works. You just have to accept that you’re sick and learn to accept the help you need.

But what will people think?

My head. Ohhhh, my head. I hold it between my hands.

Why can’t it shut off? Why won’t it shut up?

It runs in bed at night so I can’t sleep and it runs at work so I can’t focus and I just worry and worry and I keep catching myself holding tension and breathing shallow and it runs at home so I turn on television to make it go away a while and it runs during reading so I can’t read, that sucks, always on until I turn on the tv but of course then nothing gets done which just makes it all worse I wish it would just shut up.

…I wish they could understand.

I just want it all to go away.

I want to be better.

I want to be different.

I live and work to make myself less sick and make myself less sick to stay alive and work, work to feed and clean and then have nothing left after so what’s even the point

what’s even the point

Depression.

I don’t know what time it is. It doesn’t matter.