, , , , , , , , ,

18 months ago I got the highest grade of my MA so far. I remember feeling really enthusiastic and confident about it but the disability adviser at work said I should be cautious. I was apparently nearing mania when I wrote it, so the result may not be what I expected.

Totally got an awesome grade.

I loved writing that essay. Sure, I had to break every 15 minutes to bounce – anything to burn off some of that energy. It was Christmas and we were with my family. They were very accepting and let me bounce and ramble and sing and tell them about ALL THE THINGS! Given that all the things at that point focused on the afterlife in Islam, they deserve to be doubly proud of their forbearance.

So anyway, I wrote that essay and felt like it was the most amazing essay EVER, and it turns out I wasn’t far wrong. The marker is known for being harsh (he’s my dissertation supervisor too, yay) so I was well chuffed, to put it mildly.

On what would seem to be an unrelated note… I miss my highs. I’d really like them back. Meds flatten me (and those of you who have met me, yes, this is the flat me). It may be a cliche but Don’t Stop Me Now was MY song. I completely identified with it, bounced around my living room too it, insisted on turning it up full blast at parties and dancing regardless of how many people stared at me. It epitomised everything I used to feel.

I’m gonna have myself a real good time

I’m floating around in ecstasy

I’m a shooting star

Burning through the sky

Travelling at the speed of light

I’m having a ball

I’m out of control

I’m having such a good time

Don’t stop me

That was me, I felt it in my core and it’s all gone. I miss my pre-medicated life.

But now I’m wondering if I’m even capable of getting that sort of grade without being as high as a kite. The essay was a nightmare to write but my brain was on fire, I noticed every detail, every nuance in the language, every subtle meaning. And I don’t know if that was the real me, or the “ill” me. How can illness produce such fantastic results? Was it really illness? Or was that the real me and should I actually be trying to get it back?

I could induce it. I have leftover Aripiprazole. That’s pretty powerful stuff. There are a few risks, it made me jittery, but I got through it without having to come off. Maybe I could take just enough to fire things up a bit.

I won’t. I won’t I won’t I won’t I won’t.

In case anyone doesn’t believe me, I really won’t. It’s just… I want to.