The Bloody Doors Off

I was rediagnosed a year ago, from depression to bi-polar 2 with depressive anxiety. It was explained to me, and I thought I understood just what it meant. And then this week happened, putting shit in perspective. One of the markers of this disease (and yes, it’s a disease) is the compulsive need to be destructive/self-destructive. I fall into the latter category. And while normally a trip to the casino is just a fun jaunt with a friend, this week it turned into something else… The need (yes, not a want, but a need) hit me on either Tuesday or Wednesday. I couldn’t shake it. It kept building and building. The voice in the back of my head tried its damnedest to make it happen, even trying to convince me to take off work an hour early on Thursday night to catch the bus to Niagara. (I didn’t.) Friday was hell. From the time I woke up, the buzz was present. I got myself out the door and started my journey to the bus station to pick up a ticket in advance. And that’s when the war in my brain really kicked into gear. I was able to argue both sides during the week, going and not going, quite reasonably. Long weekend, could be busy, wouldn’t be as fun without my friend Mollie joining. But I fought. I fought hard. I’d ride past the bus terminal and find myself in Kensington Market instead, looking for a distraction. But I couldn’t focus and soon bolted back towards the streetcar to go to the terminal. But another fight ensued; I would go to a movie instead. I changed directions and started south to Queen Street. But another offensive launched in my brain and I took a 180 degree turn back to Dundas. This time I wouldn’t wait for the streetcar and walked from Spadina to Bay Street, stopping off at a Tim Horton’s in a futile attempt to yet again distract me. Even after I got the ticket, the war continued. It was non-refundable but what’s losing $20 over say $200? Did I really wanna do this? Don’t be a fucking wimp, Koster. Go have fun. It actually hurt, emotionally. Even at the table. When I focused on what Mollie taught me I played fine. But I couldn’t always concentrate. The pressure was in my head and wouldn’t let go. Not until I finally got up from the table five hours later, and took a half hour walk before heading back to the bus terminal. And it was waiting for the bus that it dawned on me just what I’d gone through. Which lead to searching through similar instances of self-destructive behaviour. And without going into detail, it invariably dealt with money. I’m bi-polar. I’m finally realizing just what it means. And it scares the hell out of me.