Spaz Attack: Addendum

    Sometimes I feel I must defend my actions, defend them to myself, no one else. I am very self critical, self analytical, and yet self supporting and independent. I am not inclined to cry in public, it is a private ritual, a private purging rarely witnessed by any living creature but for my dogs, who get very concerned. I talk of the uncontrollable weeping as the negative aspect of my manic mode, the polar opposite, the price to be paid for the glee of the manic whirlwind. In truth, violent weeping is cathartic, an ultimate venting of emotions, an extreme way to vomit forth angst, misery, stress, tension and anxiety. It is the no-holds-barred approach to inner calm, resolve, and peace. After exhausting myself, emptying tear ducts, weeping silently until I cannot breathe, sobbing violently until my stomach muscles ache and my head throbs, I reach an empty place in my mind. Not a void, not a negative space, but a place empty of clogging emotions that have just been spewed out into the universe and away from their ability to damage me. Once this place of calm, quiet emptiness has been reached, I can regain a level of rationality. I find that within a few minutes I can gather the shreds of protection about my psyche, regroup, reaffirm my own deepest resolve, reaffirm it to myself. No one else. After the purge I search for understanding, for comprehension, I delve into my inner workings to grasp actions and reactions. I can see the triggers, feel the emotions behind the tears, validate my own overreaction. I can see how I tripped, see where I fell, know what is needed to avoid that particular pitfall the next time. As I delve into myself, I feel myself strengthening, building my resolve, making future plans to help alleviate the frequency of these purgings. Though they are violent, uncomfortable, even painful, I believe that at this point in life they are essential to maintaining the fragile balance of life. I cannot have the soaring flight of mania without first releasing the darkness that holds me down. But darkness is not bad, not evil, not a negative thing, it is merely the opposite of light. Without darkness, we would not understand light. Without darkness, the light would be glaring, painful and obtrusive. So I embrace the darkness, allow myself the luxury of letting it take hold and carry me along an unforseeable path, allow it to flow out of me like the tears I shed. Without the flowing tears, I would undervalue the soaring exhultations.