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At unpredictable intervals, my upper lip allows the blasted fruit of a virus to burst forth from its hiding spot along a facial nerve. This has been happening for nearly thirty years, at times affecting me twice in a month and at other times lurking on the nerve for dozens of months without an outbreak.
During the very long stretches when the virus lies fallow, it enjoys reminding me of its hateful presence. I don’t know what precisely goes on in there, but it feels like the virus flicks a thin black whip, wrapping it around the nerve and then very gently yanking.
This might happen once a day or once a year, but I never forget the intruder living on me. It won’t let me. I think it likes to keep me off-balance. It likes to remind me of the miserable power it exerts.
A simple whip-flick. That’s all it takes.
Just as the virus lurks along my facial nerve giving me periodic whip-flicking hints of its presence, another much more evil entity has wrapped itself around my entire brain. I picture it as a black spider-like thing with tendrils extending into every crevice.
Whether because of chromosomes or upbringing, the line for me between Good and Not Good is exceptionally thin. I teeter on that line, some days more than others, but every day it’s a crap-shoot whether life will be Good or Not Good.
Even on Good days, the thing ripples along my synapses. “It’s Good now. But one false move, one misstep, one tiny alteration in anything it will all be gone,” it whispers quietly to me. This thing too has a whip; it delicately wraps the whip around my thoughts, so quietly that I barely notice. It wants me not to notice. When it very gently yanks against me, I’m not supposed to feel it.
I’m supposed to think it’s normal.
On a Not Good day, the entity ripples out a thousand whip-flicks too small to notice individually, but when added together they leave my brain a chafed-raw mess. And if I let things go on too long without intervention, the entity grows until it colors every thought, until I see the world from behind a thin black veil, until the very sun appears dark to my eyes.
I’d like to believe that those episodes arise because of other people; that their actions annoy and harass me to the point that they make me cranky. I suppose it’s easier to think that someone else is responsible. That’s part of the problem. The entity wants me believe that it couldn’t possibly be the problem.
I seem to find it horrifically difficult to incorporate the idea of Faltering Entity Maintenance into the checklist of Things That Could Be Making AAG Cranky. Even when my doctor puts me on a different medication (which involves the systematic step-down of one medicine and the step-up of another), it’s difficult for me to remember that this might affect me.
But it does.
There are folks who believe that mental health issues don’t need to be medically managed. They believe that practicing proper self-care, taking long walks in the sunshine, improving diet, finding a suitable partner and otherwise not playing around with your brain chemistry would be healthier than taking small white pills on a daily basis.
They annoy the snot out of me when I hear them talk, because I know that no number of promenades in the sun, bowls of fruit salad or righteous fuckings could alter my brain chemistry enough to keep the entity’s whip-flicks at bay.
Diamond rope silver chain
Pretty noose is pretty pain
And I don’t like
What you got me hanging from.
~Soundgarden



