Bipolar reared its ugly head once again at my door, but this time with its friend Psychosis. Psychosis introduced itself by snatching away everything that made me who I am. Replacing it with everything that I am not and do not desire. This strange, unfamiliar, tongueless ghost of sin, created a black hole where my soul once was.
I had peripheral visions, shapes and objects moving. Van Gogh’s paintings now began to make sense, I understood what he was saying through Starry Night. I experienced this feeling of being touched on my shoulders and legs. I began to hear conversations about myself from complete strangers. I couldn’t decipher what the exact conversation was, but I could hear my name crystal clear. This was always accompanied with a glance in my direction. People were watching my every move too. I was convinced that I was being followed by someone. I didn’t have a mental picture of the individual, nor an idea of anything else other than that I was being followed.
My thoughts started to become more and more outlandish. I thought maybe my soul was swapped with someone’s who was on the run from MI5 or a similar organisation. The fact of the matter was that I was harbouring the soul of a fictional fugitive on the run from reality.
Just like the self harm period, I read that the Devil gets in you through your weakest side. I am right handed yet I cut my right arm with my left hand.
My Bipolar Perspectives of a Unipolar World 