I know the empathy borne of despair; I know the fluidity of thought, the expansive, even beautiful, mind that hypomania brings, and I know this is quicksilver and precious and often it’s poison.
David Lovelace, Scattershot: My Bipolar

I am an anomaly. (But that’s ok cos so are you.) Let me count the ways … eh whatever, these days I guess most of what my friends would call eccentricities can be ascribed to bipolar disfuckingorder. Even my creativity, apparently.

The truth is that I had no idea who the hell I was even before the bipolar diagnosis. I’d lost touch with me about a year beforehand. And then I went head first into depression and psychosis, then more depression, then anhedonia.

And now? Is my research and reading actually hypomania?


I’m too agitated to think properly, my memory has gone for a ball of shit.

Shoutout to whoever landed on my blog using the search term deep sea fuck.

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