My Manic Saturday
Technically, this can fall under a Mental Health Monday, thing but I think the scope of this deserves something all its own.
The day started out just like any other. Doggo climbing on the bed, checking my phone and replying to what I'd missed while I was unconscious and me pulling on my jimjam bottoms as I go to put the kettle on. Saturdays are the days that I get baking done for the week and give the kitchen a decent clean. A giant mug of green tea in hand, my earbuds in and Doggo on my heels, I headed downstairs to get the baking started.
As soon as I opened the fridge door, something inside me snapped. I felt just amazing. I gathered everything I needed at a breakneck speed and hustled to the counter, pulling out bowls and mixing spoons. I raced around the kitchen throwing ingredients into bowls, pulling out baking pans and tray and laughing at everything. The world was so colourful. I had sparkles in my blood. I felt amazing, I had superhuman speed. Brownies. Shrek holiday cookie bake, double-chocolate biscuits, lemon bars, muffins. I was going it all.
And when I burned my arm all I did was laugh. The idea that heat could hurt me was just absurd to me. The pinkish shiny spot on my arm was hilarious...Peaches didn't see it that way. She asked me what the hell my issue was and if I'd taken some tablets or something. I told her that I was just high on life, and proceeded to hum Christmas tunes as I sailed across the kitchen, putting things on cooling racks and icing sugar cookies in the shapes of snowflakes. She asked me if it was a little early for Christmas and I told her that after Halloween it's fair game.
After everything was done, I took a step back. Something was missing. A cake. I started making one from scratch. Measuring, adding, stirring. I'd not eaten the night before and mania loosens my impulse control, so when the voices started telling me "EAT THAT", I didn't think twice before plunging my hands into the cake batter and eating it. All of it. Then pickles, cheese slices, uncooked rice noodles. Then in a panic, I ran and threw everything up. It erupted out of me like a sewer backing up. Out poured what seemed like litres of shit. I rinsed my mouth off and raced back to the kitchen to this time complete the cake.
With this batch of batter, it made it into the oven and the baked cakes sat on the cooling rack, eyeing me as if they were telling me "I know what you did to our brother." Unable to handle that kind of guilt over the epic binge, I returned to my lair and sipped tea as I began to crash from my high. Thankfully, most of my highs only last a few hours to a day at most. Though, there have been periods of longer, unclear manic thinking which lead me into disaster, on more than one occasion; but we'll get to that later.
And Monday I get to to the brain-washing centre and have all my crevices scrubbed
and polished. I hope that Melfi has some stain remover because some of these things just don't
want to wash away.
The day started out just like any other. Doggo climbing on the bed, checking my phone and replying to what I'd missed while I was unconscious and me pulling on my jimjam bottoms as I go to put the kettle on. Saturdays are the days that I get baking done for the week and give the kitchen a decent clean. A giant mug of green tea in hand, my earbuds in and Doggo on my heels, I headed downstairs to get the baking started.
As soon as I opened the fridge door, something inside me snapped. I felt just amazing. I gathered everything I needed at a breakneck speed and hustled to the counter, pulling out bowls and mixing spoons. I raced around the kitchen throwing ingredients into bowls, pulling out baking pans and tray and laughing at everything. The world was so colourful. I had sparkles in my blood. I felt amazing, I had superhuman speed. Brownies. Shrek holiday cookie bake, double-chocolate biscuits, lemon bars, muffins. I was going it all.
And when I burned my arm all I did was laugh. The idea that heat could hurt me was just absurd to me. The pinkish shiny spot on my arm was hilarious...Peaches didn't see it that way. She asked me what the hell my issue was and if I'd taken some tablets or something. I told her that I was just high on life, and proceeded to hum Christmas tunes as I sailed across the kitchen, putting things on cooling racks and icing sugar cookies in the shapes of snowflakes. She asked me if it was a little early for Christmas and I told her that after Halloween it's fair game.
After everything was done, I took a step back. Something was missing. A cake. I started making one from scratch. Measuring, adding, stirring. I'd not eaten the night before and mania loosens my impulse control, so when the voices started telling me "EAT THAT", I didn't think twice before plunging my hands into the cake batter and eating it. All of it. Then pickles, cheese slices, uncooked rice noodles. Then in a panic, I ran and threw everything up. It erupted out of me like a sewer backing up. Out poured what seemed like litres of shit. I rinsed my mouth off and raced back to the kitchen to this time complete the cake.
With this batch of batter, it made it into the oven and the baked cakes sat on the cooling rack, eyeing me as if they were telling me "I know what you did to our brother." Unable to handle that kind of guilt over the epic binge, I returned to my lair and sipped tea as I began to crash from my high. Thankfully, most of my highs only last a few hours to a day at most. Though, there have been periods of longer, unclear manic thinking which lead me into disaster, on more than one occasion; but we'll get to that later.
And Monday I get to to the brain-washing centre and have all my crevices scrubbed
and polished. I hope that Melfi has some stain remover because some of these things just don't
want to wash away.
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