Confluence: Depths

This is the second of three posts.  The other two reference hypomania and Borderline Personality Disorder and how they interact with my ASPD.

There is a price to pay for the energies of hypomania.  Eventually the pendulum swings the other direction and soul-crushing depression is had.  Trying to describe the depression is difficult.  It is as if any passion for life is drained and everything seems hopeless.  It is not logical, but is very real.  When I am depressed, I am at my most dangerous.  I am a proverbial two-year old, not knowing why I am distressed, but knowing that something is not right.  And, like a small child, I lash out, throwing tantrums, until someone can make the pain go away.  All I ever want in life is to be in control; I am not in control when I am depressed and I never know how to regain control as the depression is an uninvited beast that leaves only when it is full.

I am a creature of logic.  As such, it pains me greatly when I am being illogical, even if I have no control over such.  It is frustrating to know that my brain chemistry dictates that there will always be ebb and flow.  And, this ebb and flow are completely outside of my control.

I don’t want to do anything but stare at the ceiling when I am depressed.  Nothing is appealing; nothing has worth.  It becomes hard to perform any task – no matter how great the reward.  I may have been haphazard with my writing due to my focus on other projects while in hypomania, but I all but abandoned it when I was in the throes of depression.  Both hypomania and depression can prevent me from engaging in anything productive.

However, it is the combination of depression with my Borderline (Personality Disorder) and ASPD that makes me especially callous, cruel, and dangerous.  I want that which I cannot give: empathy.  I want others to feel my pain and to validate my existence during those times that I cannot validate the worth of life.  I turn to more and more extreme measures hoping that someone will notice and – going back to the metaphor of the small child – use their magic to make my unknown distress fade.

I took out all of my negative energy on my therapist.  Seeing her concern, but not feeling it, I upped the ante in order to try and perceive the empathy that I desperately crave while in a depressive state.  I, with purpose, failed to agree to a suicide prevention contract.  I then disappeared off the grid, knowing that emotional damage would be inflicted on her, as she could not determine my mental state from afar.  More drastically, I took my penknife and began to use my body as a canvas for a macabre endeavor…

 

Confluence: Knives
Confluence: Hypomania

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