She won’t like it.
I’ve gone back to my old ways. The gin. The boys. Forgetting to eat. Forgetting to sleep. Except now I know what’s happening. Now I know it’s not really real. It feels so good right now, and I know it’s going to feel just as bad tomorrow.
So I tap my feet. I drum my fingers. My heart pitter patters like a bug across the wall. Colours are bolder.
‘The lines and the shapes of the world are very defined today.’
Thoughts tumble onto my tongue and out of my mouth and into my audience. My attention span spatters over everything. I keep forgetting what I was saying. I’m confused. I skip and I jump and I run. I throw my head back and laugh. I laugh so hard.
I’m electric. This is what I always say. I’m alive and I zing. I’m high voltage.
It’s a strange emotion to be ecstatic and anxious at the same time. It’s surreal, like sunshine when it snows. I’m anxious because I know this will fade. I know this is just my mind’s little magic trick. I know that tomorrow, next week, next month my mind will pull out other magic tricks and I won’t like them as much. I know this temporary. I know this isn’t real. And I’m anxious because I want this to last. I want to feel like this forever, drunk, punch drunk on life and love and conversations and laughing. I feel so full of energy and love that I can’t breathe. I’m terrified, waiting for the moment that it leaves me.
And it will leave me. Tomorrow, next week, next month I will be incapable of uttering simple sentences. My face won’t look right. A metal mist will fall on me, so thick I won’t be able to see me or my life anymore. And if it’s not tomorrow or next week or next month, if I take my meds and be a good girl, it might be next year.
But I will always be finding the right answers and then forgetting them. And that’s hard to accept.