At Pomona I could never figure out why I was always awake through the night. I would go for walks outside, when the sprinklers were on, since it was the coolest time of day, and wonder why on earth it was just me and the sprinklers active at that dark, quiet hour.
It's 2:32am now, and I'm struggling to finish this paper that's due at 11am. I'd rather not be up all night, and I'll have to negotiate my meds accordingly (I can't take them now, since they'd put me to sleep, and my paper's not done, etc.).
Anyway, there's a certain quiet that almost intrudes on me now; I remember those years at Pomona in moments like these, awake at odd hours, when most other people are curled up in mini-hibernations, re-charging and re-energizing for the next day. For me, there never were "next days". There was only sunrise and sunset. When the sun came up, it meant the night was over and it must be time for bed. I would sleep uncomfortably until late afternoon, when it was time for dinner.
I still don't know why it's so hard for me to get started on my schoolwork. I've just accepted it. I'm so close to finishing college altogether. I've been browsing celebrity gossip sites because that's my only channel to the outside world, in a sense.
I'm so glad I made such good friends with the people I met in the Stanford support groups. There's a sense of "togetherness" that I don't experience with anyone who doesn't have bipolar. I would do just about anything for a fellow sufferer.
I can't believe that my best friend from childhood is pregnant and I don't get to share the experience with her. Is there no end to the price I have to pay for this illness?
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