It's three in the morning and I've never been so inspired.
I just came back from a run - I'm not sure how long I went for considering how meaningless time is to me at the moment - but I'm so inspired. I'm pacing around my room, fingers gripping the sides of my sweatpants, a million thoughts racing through my mind. I get a picture - a vision, an idea - and then I'm flipping over the back of my desk chair and opening up my computer, fingers impatiently tapping the desk as I wait for a new document to load.
It's been two weeks since I've been off the pills, and things have never been so amazing. So enlightening. My eyes are open and I love it. The pills were holding me back, and it's so evident now that I wonder why I ever allowed them to restrain me. I've never felt so free - so smart, so open to the true workings of my mind.
I groan in annoyance at the pinwheel on my screen, a half-completed document resting on the screen in front of me. I slam the top of my laptop down and pull open drawers, laughing when one drawer completely slides out of the desk and falls onto the floor, papers and objects rolling out of it like ideas are practically rolling out of me. I pull open a bottom drawer and rip out a notebook, tearing open to the first page.
There's a pan in between my fingers and my hand is sweeping across the page, ink spilling out words before my mind has time to process what exactly they mean. I'm not too sure what I'm writing - maybe an action, a thriller, maybe a play - but I know it will be amazing. I know what is coming from me is going to be phenomenal.
I'm grinning, and I can't help it when I reach for my phone and unlock it, going to my contacts. In this very moment, I know I am brilliant. I know I am far above everyone else. My mind - what I'm tapped into right now is so far above everything else. I need to share it. I need to share the ideas running through my mind, the solutions, the ideologies that could become something so much more. I need to share it.
I push my notebook back and stand up, stumbling over my chair and feeling a swell of rage in my chest. I grip my phone tightly with one hand and kick my chair, narrowing my eyes when it slams into my bookshelf, effectively causing books to tumble onto the floor. I just turn and push open my bedroom door, taking the steps two-at-a-time until I'm downstairs.
I don't have many friends. I don't talk to most of my friends from high school, and college has been too time consuming to focus on widening my friend circle. But I have one friend - a best friend, and I'm calling him before I really have time to think about whether he's up or not.
"Come on," I mumble, walking into the kitchen and flicking on the light. My whole body tingles with inspiration, and I walk over to the fridge, slamming my palm against the metal when the phone continues to ring, "Come on!"
"Jeff?" Liam's tired voice sounds through the phone and I grin, pushing back from the fridge and hopping up onto the edge of the counter. I nod as an answer, realizing Liam can't see what I'm doing a second too late, "Jeff, you there?"
"I've got it," I say, a laugh accompanying my words. I can't help but laugh loudly, the understanding and euphoria I'm feeling making me feel so confident. So happy. My laughter dies down, but I'm still grinning when I clear my throat and continue, "Liam, I've got it. I understand it. Everything! All of it just makes sense now."
There's a pause, and I wonder why anyone would try to keep this part of me closed down. I wonder why anyone would take pills to shut this part of them down. Who wouldn't want to feel this inspired? Who wouldn't want to feel like they could do it all? To know they could do it all? All my life people have tried to shut down my bipolar, but they shouldn't. They don't understand what I feel.
They don't get it.
"You get it?" Liam says finally, voice laved with such obvious confusion that I can't help but throw my head back and roll my eyes, wishing he just got it like I did, "What'd you get, man?"
A laugh bubbles up in my throat again, but I bite it back, free hand twitching wildly at my side when I run my fingers through my hair, "The pills, for starters," I respond, swinging my legs back and forth, toes gently touching the fridge before pulling back, feet crashing against the edge of the counter, "I finally understand. The pills, people, therapist, you know? They're all trying to hold it back, but they don't even know what it is they're trying to hold back."
I know what they're trying to hold back.
"You've been taking your pills," Liam says, but the statement is as weak as any could ever be, "Right?"
"Fuck the pills!" I shout, hopping off the counter and storming back into the living room. The light from the kitchen shines in here, bathing everything in half. Half light, half darkness, "What the fuck does it matter if I take them or not?"
Liam's voice is hard when he speaks this time, and I try to remember if he's scared or angry, "Jeff, don't do this to me. Just answer the question. Please."
He can't know, I think. As much as I know Liam does care about me, he can't know that I haven't taken my pills. He can't know that my pills have been flushed down the toilet. He'll call my parents or my therapist. He won't understand. He associates me with the pills - Jeff and the pills, the pills and Jeff - and the association has been there too long in his mind to break.
I take a deep breath and try to even out my voice, "Yes," I respond, biting back the giggle that rises in my throat. I put my hand in a fist and bite on my thumb until I feel confident to speak again, "Yes, I took them. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Liam says, but he doesn't sound confident in his answer. He lacks the kind of confidence that I have, "I can come over tomorrow, yeah? Call me if you need anything."
Not trusting myself to say anything else, I end the call and toss my phone onto the couch. I twist my fingers together and lean against the wall, a million and one thoughts racing through my mind. My heart is beating fast, maybe trying to match the pace of the hundreds of thoughts racing through my mind, each one begging for a space - for a chance to be looked at. I squeeze my eyes shut, shooting up suddenly when all the thoughts racing through my mind are too much to bare.
I stumble around, hand feebly feeling around on the wall for a light switch. The second I feel it, I tug upwards, head shooting in the direction of the light in the middle of the living room. The bulbs flickers, light being thrown around the living room before dying, blackness soaking it all up almost instantly.
I frown and walk across the living room, kicking objects out of my way and walking over to the coffee table directly under the light. Standing on top of it, I grip one of the bulbs, ignoring the heat from it, and twist. I twist each way and then tug it down when I realize that it must be dead. Useless. An irritable groan escapes my lips and I throw the light bulb, eyes widening in horror when it smashes against the wall and the pieces fall down, scattering across the floor.
"No," I say, standing off the table and pulling out my phone, flicking to the flashlight feature. I pass the light around my room, stopping when it lands on my sneakers by the door and walking in that direction, "No, this won't work."
I pull on my sneakers and a jacket, grabbing my keys before walking outside and slamming the door shut behind me. I shove my phone in my pocket and start making my way down the street, whistling quietly, the wind brushing my auburn hair back from my face. I keep my eyes directed straight in front of me, reminding myself of the simple route to get to the corner store.
Panic is swelling in my chest, and I try to ignore it by counting each of my footsteps. I can't have broken light bulbs in my house, I can't. I can't be in the dark without a way to turn the light back on.
Twenty. Twenty-five.
I clench my fingers into fists and taking long-legged steps, rounding the corner and smiling tightly when I see the corner store. It's a dumb, someplace I often try to avoid considering it gets robbed at least once a month. It isn't somewhere I would go unless I'm in desperate need, and I am. I need the light bulbs.
I grip the door handle, wrinkling my nose in disgust, and open it, walking into the store. the guy behind the counter looks up at me, an annoyed expression on his face, but I don't care because it's opened twenty-four hours. Ignoring his look, I make my way to the back, the place I would expect them to have light bulbs. I see rubbing alcohol, paper plates, a whole aisle dedicated to candy and chips, but no bulbs.
The feeling of panic is swelling in my chest again, and I spin on my heels, practically rushing through the store until I'm standing in front of the counter. The guy - tall, dark hair, brooding eyes - looks at me, a bored expression on his face. I nervously tap my fingers on the counter and he nods, signalling for me to go.
"Light bulbs," I say, frowning when the guy just blinks at me, not bothering to open his mouth and voice the confusion that is evident on his face. I clear my throat and continue, "Where do you have light bulbs?"
The guy laughs, but I don't really find anything funny in that moment, "Not here, man," he says, laughter dying down at the look of horror on my face, "We have flashlights in the back, but I can't help you with light bulbs."
"No," I agree, backing up and making my way towards the door, "No, you can't help."
The guy opens his mouth to say something, but I'm already out the door and jogging down the street. My legs pump quickly, feet pounding against the cement below me, and I struggle to keep my mind clear. Empty. I refuse to think of light bulbs, or the darkness that's consuming my living room. I think about the book I started writing upstairs, or the run I went on, or the inspiration that feels as if it's slowly draining from my body.
I pull my key from my pocket and shove it into the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. I push the door shut behind me and toss my jacket off into a corner along with my shoes, trying to ignore the darkness. My hands twitch by my sides, and I hate it. I should be able to fix the light, something so simple and stupid, but I can't. The fact that I can't do it has my hands trembling by my sides.
I sprint up the stairs and into my room, slamming the door shut behind me and flicking on the light. My room is a mess - books are thrown across the floor, my computer chair is pressed up against my bookshelf, and my bed is a horrible mess, ruined even though I only slept for three hours.
I shake my head and grab the notebook and pen off my desk, dropping down to the floor and laying down, putting the book on the ground in front of me. So many thoughts are racing through my mind, and I need to write some of this down. I need to write the thoughts, how I feel, what I'm doing because I feel like if I don't, it'll all leave me. I feel like every thought I have is coming and going and I can't loose them.
It's been two weeks and I feel great. Two weeks of no pills and I know I've made the right decision. My mind is free. I feel as though I can do it all. I know I can do it all. I've written and ran and created and the feeling of freedom is so brilliant. I can't loose it.
The ink from the pen is smeared across my hand, but I'm still writing, even if I'm not fully sure what it is that I'm writing. A million words are flowing from my head, through my veins, into my hand, and out of that pen. My thoughts are not my own anymore, but just words flowing from the tip of a pen to create thoughts I'll soon forget.
This is great.
And this is the second part! Right now Jeff is going through a manic episode, something that can last weeks and that has the following: feelings of over-confidence, the lack of need to sleep (i.e. sleeping for three hours), racing thoughts, irritability or extreme depression, anxiety/panic attacks, etc.
I've never suffered through a manic episode (I did research on them for this story), so I hope I did it justice! I know this is a little hard to follow, but I really wanted to be able to show the way Jeff's mind is working right now. I wanted to show the racing thoughts, the over-confidence, the anxiety he's beginning to feel.
Please let me know your thoughts! Thank you so much :)