Cycle

What’s worse?

I remember the older patients used to say friends and family hated the manic episodes more than the depression.

I was only 19, down in the deepest well of sorrow — my first — so I didn’t understand. How could excess joy be worse than pure darkness?

Twenty two years later and now I understand. The highs are harder. At least with the lows, I’m in control. At least with the sadness I can’t get too far; I can only hurt a couple people.

The flying is terrifying. Always racing. Words flow in places they shouldn’t. Regrets emerge everywhere. Why did I do that? Why did I say that? Stop. Please stop. Please get control. Please don’t do that.

Regardless, self-doubt is the through line. Even the brief moments of “I got this” are always punctured with another reality.

No you don’t. You blew the Win. A balancing act of opener and bullpen.

How swiftly I lose grip. The avalanche of failure. The collapse.

And then the cycle begins again.

The bottom of the barrel. Okay, breathe. Time to climb out — step by step. We can do this. You can do this.

Maybe this time the cycle will disintegrate?