Pain, elation, loneliness, exaltation, emptiness, love and sheer panic are equated with this dementia. Mania is euphoric and productive. The magic and tranquility are lonely, but bright, like the streetlights, that you can follow until you get where you need to be. Interpersonal efficiency reigns supreme. Social skills thrive like never before. You hold the magic, and draw others to your all encompassing radiance. Ugly people become beautiful. Your sensuality and ability to seduce, grows exponentially.
Then just like that, the flowers become screams. Manic euphoria becomes racing thoughts of despair. The magic becomes doom. The streetlights become omniscient halogens leering, knowing. They remind you that you’re fucked, the world doesn’t make any sense and neither do you. Your reality is someone else’s dream they are about to wake up from. Your social interactions become staggeringly negative. People watch you, smug in their sane little minds, not realizing that if they saw what was going on your mind, they would all crawl under a rock and cry.
To that I say, let’s take our broken dreams and burn them to the ground.