When I am sick, an emptiness creeps in that rattles my being to the core. It is an emptiness that doesn’t make sense and doesn’t have anything to do with how much I trust in God, or how confident I am, or how many supportive friends I have. Because I do, I am, and I have. It is a kind of emptiness that ignores all of these truths and screams wildly and desperately within me, making it impossible to ignore. It is a kind of emptiness that sucks out my soul and stamps it viciously on the ground.

And, eventually, it guides me to a point where I no longer enjoy anything I do. Instead, I find myself clinging recklessly to things…and people…I think may help fill the void. It is always in the emptiness, though, that I choose things and people that are not good for me…not even good for themselves…and are inherently incapable of helping in any way…making the hole inside me more gaping and impossible to contain.

This is the same gaping emptiness that drives people to abuse substances…and food…and physical satisfactions. People spend their entire lives pouring these things into themselves in hopes they will satisfy the aching void. And they continue to do it because, for a while, these things work. For a while, all of these things make you feel good…until they turn around and bite you in the end. The recourse they unleash is never worth the initial reward.

I know because I’ve tried all of these things in varying degrees. When I experienced my seven year bout with bipolar symptoms, I experienced an emptiness…over and over again…that I attempted to fill in various ways. But, despite my honest admission to overindulgences, my biggest problem always lies in my relationships at this time. I begin to feel so lonely, no matter who is around me, that I obsess over the idea that someone could enter my life and make it better.

Usually, I decide a boyfriend may help. Of course, they never do. Though decent guys with good intentions, they are fighting a losing battle. It is usually the point when I realize they’re not going to fix it either that I crash so severely. The one tattered piece of dangling thread I’ve clung to so desperately eventually snaps under the pressure. It always does. I expect nothing less. And so, I choose my threads accordingly.

The danger lies in its innocuous beginnings. On some level, I must recognize it…but it sneaks up so stealthily behind. At first, it all seems so normal. Seemingly normal occurrences and seemingly normal thoughts plant themselves in my life and in my head. I can’t help but think that, on some level, I orchestrate these seemingly normal occurrences and thoughts…because they all end up being so similar. When my mind is sick, it reverts to playing with puzzle pieces that no longer fit. On some level, there is a still a part of me that will try to use the same strange coping mechanisms that worked when my existence was sick. When I was a kid. When I was a young adult. These mechanisms fit smoothly into my life then, but they are almost cartoonish in their nonsensical nature. In no other circumstance would they make sense. I don’t even know what they are. But, I know I have them. When I realized I had been caught in the bipolar swing this time, I stopped and looked at my life around me. So many things paralleled the occurrences of eight years ago. My thought processes were achingly similar. Different people were in my life, but they were playing the same roles. I had artfully cast them myself. And I had become convinced that the things I normally enjoyed were no longer right for me…all for very good, sensible reasons.

I no longer enjoy this activity because <insert valid reason here.>

I no longer enjoy the company of these people because <insert valid reason here.>

I no longer find this to be satisfying because <insert valid reason here.>

Of course, at the base level, it’s the depression itself…a chemical thing…that leaves a person unable to enjoy things that normally thrill her. But, it comes on so slowly, and so confusingly…especially, I think, when mania is involved…that your mind twists and does its best to make sense of everything…that eventually nothing makes sense at all.