The trouble is, when I feel ok I push myself to do things. To achieve, to socialise, to go outside. In truth, it doesn't even feel like I'm pushing. I'm turned up to 11. Elated and untouchable. A force of fucking nature, apparently.
I miss all the warning signs and it hits me full force like my secret wishes on my darkest days.
Now I'm limp, fragile, barely going through the motions. Sometimes it last a few minutes, others weeks or months. Never knowing how long it'll be for this time. I'm exhausted.