The space between mania and depression is both coveted and confusing. I crave the peace there. The lack of strong currents pushing me to ever greater heights or depths. But there is also a lack of color. The vibrance and complexity of strong emotion is addictive, even when negative. And, of course, there is the ever present worry of when the next crash or spike will come. A foreboding equal to that in the best thriller.
When I was young, I craved the highs. I lived for them. That was what life was about. Even tho I was out of control. The lows were just the price paid for being so incredibly fucking alive at times. I scoffed at people who didn’t experience such highs and lows. Certain they weren’t really living.
That was just a defense, I’ve learned. My highs weren’t ones worth coveting. My lows were too low to make any high worthwhile. They are brutal and unforgiving. Both the highs and the lows. Controlling and directing me to do things I regret, and to think things far out of line with reality.
And so now I crave the spaces in between. The moments of peace. They still confuse me at times. I don’t always know what to make of such seemingly emotionless emotions. But I’m learning. I’m learning to recognize contentment. To love tranquility. To find peace between the peaks and valleys.