Mania

"Have you ever experienced periods of feeling you could do anything? Conquer the world? Fly?"
The doctors ask this repeatedly. Every doctor. Every time.

"No." The sardonic head shake because who is crazy enough to feel that? To feel invincible. To feel... mania. That is a concept even my BPD-addled brain can't seem to wrap itself around.

My skill is staying grounded, both feet firmly planted on the solid earth beneath me, terra firma, planet earth. I excel at walking the knife's edge borderline between sane and.. something else.

Yet, tonight, my head is a thousand feet up, consorting with the bluebirds somewhere over the rainbow. I am swaying to the beat of my own drummer and my senses are gone with the wind. Tonight? I could fly just as easily as walk, riding the clouds like waves beneath my questionably anchored feet. Tonight I could pretend to be a poorly proportioned lab mouse and succeed in taking over the world. I have dived from the knife's edge, impaling myself fully in the world of the manic.

My black and white world has been doused in colors created by insanity and tainted with caffeine. The rainbow is dripping like wax melted from crayons, so pretty and so messy, leaving behind a stain of oily thoughts.

Even now, rainbow colored mania discolors quickly with logic. Sanity's reappearance is undeterred by triple shots or poetic justice or even the lust for continued flight. It returns with a vengeance, panic attacked punishment for deviating from our norm. But just this once, a fucked up flight path, my pulled up anchors, and a high better than any synthetic means was the adventure of a lifetime.