I am sitting here, at 6:30 am, crying my eyes out.

No. I have no idea why.

The day started fine. Hyper engergized. Then fatigued. Then aggravated. Then hyper again. Then sick. Nausea, stomach upset, swollen ankles. Sleepy. Up at 3 am. Unable to return to sleep. And now, three hours later, I'm crying.

I can't stop. That feeling of helplessness, hopelessness and despair are overtaking me. I feel like it is never going to end. I am so tired of being in this skin. I look so beautiful and feel so ugly. I got terribly drunk tonight, something I generally don't do. But, as always, I was in control and no one realized it but me. The epitome of cool. Grace under pressure. I was onstage. With two other couples. Have to be witty. Have to be the center of attention. Have to be on the mark, snappy comebacks, pressure pressure pressure. Have to be loved. Have to have people in awe. Must must must. In the room with three attorneys, a gifted writer, a computer genius.

Then, unemployed me.

No. I will not be outdone. I am smarter, stronger, braver, fiercer. Unstoppable.

I exhaust myself.

I had a talk with an old friend a few days ago. He told me to stop trying to supress the gift of me. Learn to accept that this is not bipolar, but rather, my personality. Why change what shines about you? Your erratic behaviors, your crazy quirks, your self-depracating humor. All a part of the creative soul that is you.

Why hide it behind a layer of drugs, he asked.

In some ways, I didn't want to talk to him. In others, I knew that he knew me before the medication did the talking for me. I want to evolve, and I am not doing a good job. My husband thinks I am, because he has seen the changes. I don't fly off the handle nearly as much. My ex husband notices it even more. He was the victim of my flying dishes, crashing car batteries, the slicing/dicing I did in the air with knives, trying to kill him...or myself.

But, this talk...with that friend, this was someone who was a lot like me. And he thinks that the lack of "normal" is what made me beautiful.

Now I'm scared shitless. Maybe he's right.

What if I am about to pack away the person I am, in exchange for RoboMom? Stepford wife? What if I am placing my creative energy into a box, and purposefully losing the key? What if I am supposed to be manic? What if this really IS what makes me beautiful, unique, complicated, complex, intriguing and makes me shine?

I will be dull, nothing...just blending into the background, content to be just another meaningless housewife and mother who never makes a mark.

Can I live like that?

I read stories of hope and progress. I reach for it, I long for it. I want it so bad. But, what is the expense? What is the cost?

Why am I crying right now? Maybe I am not crying for no reason. Perhaps I am mourning, mourning what I am about to lose. Or, confused, because I want it gone so badly. There's a song by Sonya Kitchell that I feel understands me.

Every morning, before the sun does rise,
she cries.
The she wipes away her tears,
she'll have no fears,
and no one will know how hard she tries.

Every minute of every day, she prays
that she will be strong
enough to carry on.
But she feels she is wasting away.

It's a cold day in history.
One of the coldest of our time.
I'm so caught up with trying to stay warm,
I forget to pay others any mind.

Every evening, after the sun goes down,
she feels alone.
In her heart of hearts, soul of souls,
she wonders if she'll ever make it home.

Every hour, of every night,
she lies awake,
thinking of all she's got to do,
just to make it through.
Can she handle all that is at stake?

It's a cold day in history.
One of the coldest of the year.
Can I hold you in my arms
and help you forget the fear?

Can I hold you in my arms
and help you forget the fear?

She captures me. The sad thing?

I used to be able to write like that.

It's gone now. I'm uninspired. I go back to my poetry, read it and say wow, who wrote this? Where did she go? This is the soul of someone crazy beautiful. Can I bring her back? No. Not without the pain I had so long ago. She's gone, replaced by fluffy bunnies, rainbows and sunshine.

Cardboard cut outs. They aren't real. They are the figments of my imagination that the medication puts in front of me. When the night comes, when the medication fades somewhat, she comes back and taunts me.

Look what you've become.

She steals the rainbows, darkens the sunshine and kills the bunnies. And I feel so good with her around. That IS my normal. It's what I am used to. It is comfortable for me. Fits like an old pair of jeans, worn out to fit your body immaculately, hugging every curve. It's your favorite little black dress and red stiletto heels. It's the sexual position that drives you mad. It's ice cream by a fireplace with a warm blanket over your lap. I like when she comes to visit. She's mean, callous and tempered. She's cool, calculating and vivid. She is rainbow of a different variety, shades of gray as opposed to the blinding primary colors of Mr. Roy G. Biv. She's amazing in her darkness. She's the one star in a black sky. And when she leaves, I miss her. No one else does. I do. Only me.

She is replaced by something light and airy. Something shallow and lifeless. Something without purpose or meaning. Just another girl, going through the motions of life. Everyone else loves her.

I don't.

It is now 7am. I am still sitting her wallowing in a bucket of self pity and self loathing. And it is amazing how comfortable I feel. She is holding my hand, massaging my neck, kissing my lips and wiping away my tears despite the fact that she loves to see them fall. By the time my husband and my kids wake up, she'll be gone. She will leave me and the other one appears. I accept her presence, but I don't particularly welcome her. She's like the person at work that you are forced to tolerate, but don't really like. The one who thinks she is your best friend because you smile at her now and then.

I long for the other one, the dark haired beauty with the soulful brown eyes, the racing, incoherent thoughts and the inability to control herself.

The suns coming up. I have to put out the welcome mat for the friend I don't want to see.

I kiss the other one goodnight. She'll be back.

She always comes back to me.