Every morning that I wake now I have a strange anxiety in the pit of my stomach. A deep sentimental yearning towards something I can’t put my finger on. I’m not sure what it is, but I can feel it from my midsection up into my throat. A feeling of my body knowing something without my mind understanding. Maybe an anticipatory subconscious emotion rooted in some deep cellular memory. It feels like a strange nostalgia directed towards my future.

During this early morning hour I lie with my head pressed against my pillow, gazing into the ceiling and letting my thoughts drift like soft white clouds. Everything is quiet and calm. I can feel my existence, every ounce of my life. The sound of my breath and heart beat deep in my ears. This is where I come to escape. I’m in my most comfortable place where I’m closest to my thoughts, but I can feel my imminent future staring at me from the foot of my bed. My body knows it’s there, even though my eyes can’t see it. How am I going to get up? I don’t want to leave.

The sunlight is starting shine through my bedroom window. It’s getting late. I have to get to work. I keep glancing at my alarm clock every couple of minutes hoping that maybe time will stop or move backwards. My thoughts begin to drift again, but it’s not the same. I can feel the pressure of time pulling my thoughts away. I glance at the clock again. Shit, I’m late. Stress adrenalin begins to circulate through my body. I’ve found my way to get up, a potential crisis has taken control of my movements. I sit up and go through my morning routine, once again lacking true motivation and intent. If only I looked forward to these days, getting up would be so much easier.

Tags: bipolar, bipolar disorder, manic depression

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