Individuals usually state that they can remember things from the toddler ages quite vividly. I have always wondered why this is so for the reason that the same individuals can not remember what they ate for dinner Tuesday of last week. Funny isn’t it? Yet these same individuals come to dismiss the fact that they are not paying attention. Our lives have become automatic, yet what happens when a single grain of salt is poured in a bowl of water? The answer may surprise you.
With the above mentioned, I know ask what happens when you drop a single molecule of water on a mountain of sugar? The answer may surprise you.
The effect is that of a molecular bomb in both instances, this is the same as a manic episode of bipolar for me.
The bomb goes off with its intional target area burned the most and the outter parts burned less sever.
One manic episode for me included Godly-ness, super powers(ability to heal), restraints, and an attempt to end my life.
All the sudden it struck, the bomb went off and it seemed as though I became someone else, someone I did not know, someone I was both terrified of and happy to see emerge. Immediately I ran to the library at college and grabbed the first Bible I saw. I turned to the New Testment and began to read. As I was reading a second bomb went off and I climbed on top of the work bench and began reading out loud, almost screaming. I wanted to be heard and I didn’t care to whose expense I’d delay.
The word of God needed to be spoken I felt, it needed to be imprinted unto all the lives present, both young and old. I was escorted, unwillingly I might add, but I kept to this power I was given. I began to baptise students and professors alike outside with a water bottle, while others I condemed to hell. I didn’t care about all the odd looks I was getting and perhaps I’m on YouTube, I’m unaware but the bomb told me to do this.
I was lucid enough to drive home I thought and I began crying uncontrolably and screaming profanities. I was scared inside that this, whatever it was, was happening to me.
The cars on the road became concrete walls that I couldn’t pass. I cried and cried for help, then another bomb went off. I was further away from college, yet I still felt the power to judge everyone that looked my way. Either saying “Heaven” or “Hell” as though my power was to send them directly there in the here and now.
Of course somehow I made it home, but the Godly power had left me all alone in a darken room. Crying histerically I received another bomb. I began to destroy all the mirrors in the house. I remember feeling as though the only individual that should be able to see my reflection was God. I took a shard and just began to cut on my arms, wrists and thighs saying “I’m not good enough,” “get out,” “I’m not her,” (who HER was, I still don’t know).
With the resin color markings all over the floor, left wall of bathroom, and my green shirt I kepy cutting and screaming to be rid of this body and experience life in another world my bestie came through the door yelling at me to calmly put the shard down and walk to her. I couldn’t (I wish I had), for the next thing that would be around me was that of restraints.
In the ER I couldn’t stop screaming, even with a heavy load of sediatives coursing through my veins, which ever were still attached I thought.
For some weird reason the Godly complex over came me again and I began reciting scripture and became more tolerable to the nurses and staff. I remember crying when my bestie came to say it would all be okay and that she loved me. This bomb started in one day but lasted seventeen days in a mental healthcare hospital.
So all I am trying to say is that bombs explode and spread, how this happens is all dependant on the individual. But wow how the mind works, this happened years ago and I remember my green shirt, and something, anything from my toddler ages is but a distant memory.
Please be careful what you say to others, especially those with a mental disorder. We didn’t chose to have one, two, or three of them, but we choose to live life, even if we feel detached and miserable with the decision. Until next time, G. Merced, exhuasted.