The final useless lap...

I think my brain is running its last lap. A final useless lap. I thought as the summer ends, something will change. Nothing has changed.

But now I think this might be the last lap. The stopwatch is running out of time

Time is a trickster. It’s never constant. Time moves differently in my head as it does in my feet. And this summer, time was extraordinarily fast and achingly slow.

The world was too slow or too fast. I walked that precipice that bipolar disorder demands —a small ledge between fall or fly.

Once I did believe that all these rising and fallings, the grandiose plans and the psychotic breaks were somehow temporary. With time treatment things will balance. Believing this might be the most grandiose and unrealistic thought of all.

Now time presses its gravity on my neck. I’m asking, have I run out time? Are there changes that are worth making or striving for?

Ultimately, what change is possible now?

There was a time I believed change was possible, that a better me was a few months away. Three decades later, I see I’m a fool. The victim of the long con. I was holding on to pyrite hope. Shiny and worthless. 

I was recklessly hopeful — trusting doctors, therapists, medications, crystals, spirit animals, visions of soul healers. But now running laps is ridiculous, running from something only to run back to that point. And claiming this as victory.

This lap feels endless. Maybe I’m just tired.