Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Poly Polarity

I've not been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but I probably can be if the psychiatrist wished so. I fit enough of the criterion.

I never understood my manic periods as distinct. The depression was so overwhelming. Coming up, swimming up and up and up was only getting closer to the surface, then getting stuck three feet under it. I could see the light shining down through the green murky despair, but inhaling was impossible. Flailing only makes the light dance differently. The despair pressure pushed in on all sides, and the weight held me down through tenterhooks along my spine. But I wanted to fly. I wanted to run. I remembered flying and running. I wanted to move in my body and in my mind, in my hands and in my heart.

Teaching was(is) one of the few times I let myself be manic. The intense experience of being on stage, which is what "lecturing" is for me, lifted me out of the despair. In the classroom, on the stage, I somehow have enough to breach the surface. There, inside those empty rooms filled with souls and stars and dust, I breath in immediately, but then this endless stream of thoughts and words and feelings come out. Their eyes go wide, if they're normal. If they're like me, I see the recognition. If they're fragmented or shattered or fractured or broken like me, we see each other.

 This is what helped me stay above the despair for so long, and I think it's why those who come to me, who see me, are like flotsam in the ocean. We grab onto each other, desperately. Some of us are already void-worthy, but others of us are still barely floating. Love, for me, is clearly about more than just attraction, but also it's gravitation: the orientation and pull is strong enough so that it feels like normal, like as normal as not having to think about the earth as a massive body below us itself barely void-worthy but doing it out here in the void. Gravity gives you a center, a norm, and eccentric orbits are my things. The pull out of the water gave me time to breathe, with every person pulling hard to find me, but I for so long drowned because I for so long did not see the ocean for what it is to me.

After the Event (later that day), I've been on medication that's supposed to help with my depression. It worked very well, since it shot up my serotonin levels. Then I started to get sick on the medication when I took it along with the 5HTP I had been, then I stopped taking the 5HTP and then I still got sick and nauseated. Now I hardly take the medication, and I self-regulate my emotions. I do it by adopting a new perspective inside myself, which feels more like intensifying the driver who is neither of the perspectives inside myself.

It is, in its own way, I guess, handing over control to the higher self I am.

— What does this have to do with poly?

I'm not entirely sure, but I find I fall in love with anyone who sees the higher self. The love changes and has different dynamics, but I know the rush and the crush, the die-back and the die-into, the masks I have to wear to stay sane just a bit longer, the masks I want to wear to open up mouths and absorb one another through the holes we create in one another.

Studying kundalini practices helps me. I had already been nurturing and changing and opening up the flow of kundalini energy by the time the Event gave meaning to the past, the present, and the future. Part of understanding the thoughts and feelings of this awakening is getting inside your own mind that the feelings are not "truthful" in the sense that you are righteous to feel these, or that you are legitimately feeling them, or that you are accurately feeling the situation. The feelings are sudden, explosive, warm, flowing like alcoholic plasma in my belly, consciousness tingling in my hairs, arousal in my cheeks and my hands just want to feel the place of another's soul within their body. None of these feelings are things I need to hold onto, all of them need to pass, because most of them are probably old longings I never allowed myself to feel, or ancient emotions before I ever existed, or poorly formed grammar in logics not yet invented. I'm saying, I have to weather these attractions to get to something that's a different kind of truth about a different kind of love.

The storm in the ocean captures the imagination and reveals the sublime, but like the poet said about the Taoists, you can leap into the void but you cannot live there.

I have felt alive in both mania and despair, in both love and hatred. Giving pain compels me as much as giving sex, sybaritic drives expand my feeling within the body and without it. Through pain and sex, I feel the reality of another's soul, in its enjoyment or its fear, its eager hope for more or less, for something. In the assertion of my lover or my victim, I come to see them as different from myself, as caught as I am in this moment of "losing it." All apologies or all praise, all sorrows or all sighs, I am both alone and joined to another endless soul.

 I could not control this if I tried really hard to exert my will over it all. Control over love or pain is not something that worked, will work, does work. So what has to happen is something from within myself, who is still my self, comes into the self who's occupying me at the time, and soothes me. Indulging in fantasy or in violence feels good . . . but

  The path towards the blossoming of my own inner plant,
  whose feelings are quite alien, ancient, and core to myself,
  means I also have to be honest, open, but undemanding
  with either my sex or my pain. Being alive is not the same thing
  as feeling alive, when you are a puppet.

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