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It all started on a Tuesday, so I spent the weekend in the ER and they confiscated my meds, causing me to stop them abruptly. By disrupting my scheduled times, consequently, they threw me into mania.
—I’m not sure if I’m the typical bipolar (manic) schizoaffective, but let’s not judge. You’re here for the story, right? Okay, cool—
Upon my departure from the hospital, I left with a crush on my female nurse. I contemplated briefly, my sexuality. Inwards I thought, “Am I bisexual again? Do I miss the vajj?”
This ran through my head for two seconds more and then I dismissed it altogether. How fickle my bipolar mind can be.
My parents came to pick me up and upon entering their SUV the miscellaneous conversation started. In between replies, I unlocked my iPhone and looked for the much hoped for red bubble, signaling a new message.
“I wish I were lying on those soft t*ts of yours, preferably s****** them instead of work this awful job..”
An awesome text right? Yes, one that always made me smile and shiver with longing. The thing is, it wasn’t from my husband. Ha! So this is where those who choose to would call me slutty, dirty, birdie, or slore (whore)...but let me tell you something;
Bi—means what? Two right? And polar means what? Directly opposite in character or tendency. So here is the case with me, my polar ‘me’ is at the wheel...back to the story.
I smile at my phone and reply, “t****ies in your and fingers in my panties...” I add a few suggestive emojis to my satisfaction.
Returning to the conversation with my mom, as we drive in the 80-degree weather, I mumble through it and continue to void off. My mom brings me to reality by saying how I must return to my husband and children.
Despair envelopes me, being the polar ‘me’ and being married with children doesn’t mix. And quite frankly, the polar ‘me’ thinks it’s a drag. You can’t do a darn thing being married. Or so a rational person would think.
I check my phone again for the emotional safety of that message bubble.
“Forget fingers, my face goes there...I know you miss it as much as I do..(tongue emoji and winky face).”
A thrill runs through me, sex is candy to a manic person. The tastiest most delightful candy, and my SoulFriend who I systematically run to every time I’m manic is my sensuous bag of manic candy.
Let me catch you up. SoulFriend here is a guy I’ve known for years, who has accepted me for who and what I am. Now you may ask, why didn’t you just marry him? Well, that’s a manic story for another chapter of The Manic Society. SoulFriend is my true blue manic candy, therapist, street pharmacist (of the herbal kind), and sexting lover.
After reading that saucy text message, desire courses through my veins at the same time a deep dissatisfaction accompanies it in my brain. Not for my SoulFriend but for the life my rational polar ‘me’ made for me as a whole.
Wife, mother, stay at home, sexless, fat lady...or so the negative thoughts project. In my grandiosity, I slap those feelings aside because at this point, I’m the baddest mother out there. Can’t nobody tell me nothing, Jack!
“It’s true, I miss it. About as much as you miss my lips wrapped around your succulent ****, yes? (eggplant and lips emoji).”
Intensely aware of my sexual self, I’m happy with the reply and send it. We reach my apartment and I wave my parents goodbye and away from my insanity they can’t see.
I take a deep breath as I enter my apartment. My kids run to me welcoming me home and saying how much they missed me. My polar ‘me’ flips to sane polar ‘me’. I missed my kids, I love them to death and like being home to see them grow, smile, and play.
Flip the switch...
My husband walks up to me, I feel the hatred seething from inside of me. He wants a kiss and a hug, like any other normal husband would. I quickly kiss his cheek biting back the childish sounding gag noises threatening to spring forth.
He pushes me for a kiss and I brush my lips across his quickly. Yuck. He departs to go prepare meals for us. I skulk into our bedroom, throwing my things everywhere. Anger at the forefront, but my belief, my saving grace...
That little red message bubble...
“Aw babygirl, you got me ready right now. Just wanna say screw this job and let you **** my face the whole day. Oh and don’t just stop at the tip, there’s plenty more for your *****...”
My mind rolls digesting his words, mindgasm, joygasm, soon to be masturbatory-gasm...His words feed into my world more and more.
This is the descent into my psychosis, where only my SoulFriend loves me and my husband is the root of all evil. My bipolar mind tells me that my husband is trapping me, that he is only here to take what little money I have and keep our little family in perpetual debt.
The negative thoughts rolling and swirling that he plans to kill me one day so he can be rid of me finally...This continues on and on til Sunday, when the rational me comes back.
So, you may ask, "Don’t you feel any remorse?"
The answer? I do, I feel the guilt over the thousands of sexts I sent, pics and mean things I’ve said and done.
On the Sunday, I give into sex with my husband and find it’s damn good. Surprised? Nah, that’s part of the reason I married him. He, my rock, that I chisel against with every episode. Yet, he is still here. Still fighting for me...
Even as the most monstrous sides of me come out during my manic episodes, he stands strong and still loves me; fights with me, holds me, and loves me.
I feel undeserving, in my mania I confess to cheating on him when we were dating/ living together. And while in my first month, I had sex with my SoulFriend while pregnant with my husband's child.
Yes, this illness makes you a monster, deceitful, and uncaring. But still, he holds firm to me, my grounding force. We cry together, we break down but still, he picks us both up. We face my demons head on.
This is — The Manic Society—-
“Kiss My Psychosis"