Slowly Going Crazy

I feel like I'm falling apart tonight. My mental disorders are in full effect, causing problems with anxiety, attentiveness, fight-or-flight feelings, depression--you name it. I ran into some people that I don't really know, but whom I talked to (or rather, at) during a severe manic episode a few months ago. It's odd, but I don't really feel like talking to them now, and their happy greetings sort of surprised me a little. In a way, I wanted to reach out to them, to have a little of the delusional-but-happy soul back inside my head. It's not like they could really change anything, but it's nice to think that they could, as if someone else's presence, gestures or actions still had any affect on the way I feel.

I was thinking the other day about how I don't get scared anymore. I used to get terrors that ripped through my body and nearly paralyzed my ability to move. During those terrors, my stomach twisted in knots and the blood washed out of my face, like I was just about to be hit by a train or something. I think those reactions had something to do with the terror that my parents caused when they threatened physical violence, which usually was a threat that was backed up fairly effectively.

In the past few years, however, I've stopped getting scared by pretty much anything. For example, my wife and I recently came home to the house being lit up in a way it shouldn't have been. We both thought that there was a burglar inside, and it was late enough so that this seemed like a likely scenario. In a completely calm state, I went inside the house and searched it from top to bottom, actually hoping that someone would be hiding inside. If someone was there, I wanted to take the opportunity to terrorize and then kill him, or be killed in the process. After several minutes, my wife screamed my name from the doorway of the house, which ended the hunt. I had forgotten she was waiting for me to come back.


This is the sort of thing that makes me think my condition is getting worse. It might be getting much worse, but it's hard to tell. I feel even more paranoid than before, with regular thoughts that the world is simply populated by animals that are pushing each other away from the same feed trough, a constant competition to winnow out the weakest members of the herd and reproduce the strongest. It's ridiculous to think this way, but I often think that more "normal" beliefs are simply the delusional constructs that man erects to give his life more meaning than that of a pig. It's hard to want to live with these thoughts in my head. I wish that I could think more positively, but I can't seem to manufacture the thoughts to accomplish this goal.

The only reason I don't kill myself is because I don't want to hurt my wife and kids. My parents (by adoption) don't deserve this sort of consideration. I nearly succeeded in killing myself via an intentional prescription drug overdose last year (not uncoincidentally, while visiting them). I was extremely intoxicated and not really considering the consequences, but a suicide attempt is what it really was. When I arrived home covered in bruises and barely breathing (per dad), they didn't take me to the hospital, but instead left me die on their couch, alone and a thousand miles from my family. They even left before I woke up, to add even more risk to what could have resulted.

They probably wish that I had died, to finally rid the world of my presence and to give them the opportunity to wedge themselves into my kids' lives. I know they genuinely dislike me, despite my many attempts to change their feelings. They even disagree with my non-psychotic childrearing practices, which they criticize as lacking "discipline." If beating your kids, sexually abusing them and constantly reminding them that they're worthless were good parenting practices, they would be the perfect example of perfect parenting. Unfortunately for them, they're not. I will never let my kids go through that experience.