The Waning Hour

I recently created a sideblog for all the reblogs I make without commentary. My mainblog had over 1000 posts and was just getting unwieldy. The new sideblog is "Reliquary of Shadows" under @eljay9746702.

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If your sympathies lie with hatred—whether garbed as racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, or xenophobia—you shall find no quarter here.

This is a place of thoughts set down as they come: some bright as gilt, others heavy as base metal. I post original work on occasion and frequently reblog with my own marginalia.

I have walked these halls since 2013 and have no patience for peddlers or trolls—for those I just won't answer.

For all others, those who linger, like, or reblog—I am grateful. May you find something here that stirs your mind or keeps your evening company. And if you want to know anything about a post just ask.

I keep two sideblogs:

@eljay9746702 reblogs

@eljay4351156 devoted to science

and a wide assortment of music playlists on Spotify under the name Echo Meridian.

I know this is a polarizing subject and I appreciate both sides of this debate. I'm curious how people who follow my blog fall on this topic.

Rotten Horse - Julian Bauer

This has been a bad week for me, my bipolar is taking me down down down right now. In spite of new meds, a fantastic partner, being able to work at a job I love, coming off a great relaxing vacation--I feel miserable. The world is dressed in black and gray.

There was a time when every depressive episode had me asking "what is happening that is making me so miserable?" I would go through the inventory of the past week's events. Even the tiniest of negative things I would think "why is that small insignificant thing making me feel so bad?"

Of course, I know now that my depressive episodes just are. There is no exterior cause. No trigger. They come and go for no reason just like the manic episodes. I wonder if people without bipolar can understand how frustrating that is. To have tremendous emotions of elation or misery without any situation at all being responsible for it other than the faulty f'd up wiring in your own brain. I really hate having feelings dished to me in a meal I never ordered. Forced to eat beets and canned beans. (My apologies to those who like beets and canned beans.) On top of that they hit completely unexpectedly. Without any announcement or warning.

At these times I know I shouldn't isolate myself from others. Having others around prevents me from falling down a self destructive path. But I so hate it when people ask things like "what's wrong you seem quiet and out of sorts?" Only my closest friend, my immediate family, know I have bipolar. It isn't something I wear as a scarlet letter B. And for good reason.

I mean the only thing worse than having to make up a convincing lie when someone asks "how are you feeling" is having someone look at you with great discomfort, awkward silence, and then treating you like you either have a contagious disease or are suddenly some helpless child in their eyes.

So, yeah. Almost nobody knows and it's a double-edged sword because it also means I have to make up convincing reasons for being miserable. Depression repels people. Lets face it. Nobody likes you when you're miserable. And it's interesting (or rather sad?) that when I'm manic nobody asks why I'm so excited, but instead they like me manic and I attract people like flies to rotting meat.

So yeah. This has been a shit week. And now I'm finding I can't sleep. That's also a bad sign because my manic episodes are usually preceded by sleeplessness.