Manic It starts as white noise, a sort of rushing water sound in my ears. I shake my head, trying desperately to dislodge the upsetting sound but it stays stubbornly stuck. I can imagine the static that should accompany the sound and when I close my eyes I can see a blood red version of it clouding my mind's eye. My body shakes with a tremor. It's as if my very skin is trying to shake off the reality that threatens to engulf me. But I can't shake it off because it's the sea; it's a ocean. It's the biggest, deepest, darkest ocean ever imagined and I'm right in the middle of without a life-saver or buoy in sight. And I'm kicking and clawing against the tide but I can barely manage half a mouthful of fresh, lucid air. I'm being dragged down and there's no one there to save me. The white noise sucks me under as I struggle and gasp. I struggle because I don't know what's going to happen, and because I know exactly what will happen, because it's all happened before. The last lungful of clean, sane air leaves my lungs. Down I go. Under the cold, unforgiving waves of white noise, up from deep, dark depths of the ocean come The Voices. They're low and speak in a drawn out hiss. They whisper right into my ears, disembodied mouths with sharp teeth and forked tongues that lick me as they speak. “Stupid,” they tell me. “Stupid.” “Ugly.” “Worthless!” I toss my head, right, left, no, no. I don't want to hear it. Breathless and submerged, I still kicking for the surface. I can do this, I think. I'm not that far down. Kick! But the mouths have hands – cold, sharp hands – that grab me in vice grips. They don't pull me. The white-noise-water is so thick that I sink all on my own. But they keep me still, powerless. “Dumbass!” “Fucking worth... ... middle of paper ... ...m dragged up and up until I break the surface with a cry. I lie face down on my bed. The pillow under my head his damp and my head hurts and my face burns from the salt in my tears. Pushing myself up I looked around. There's no disembodied mouths, no terrible humanoid monsters. I'm in my room alone. In my panic I've trashed the place but it's nothing a good clean up can't fix. I feel empty. The catharsis is over and there is nothing left in me but a weak feeling of uneasiness. Manic hallucinations always leave me like this. Sluggish, I kick my way under the blankets and tuck myself in. I'll sleep for a while then clean up. At this point, I'm not sure whether to be happy or not. It's over and I don't run the risk of another episode for a few weeks but fact that it happened again fills me with dread and shame. “It wasn't real,” I mutter to myself. “It wasn't real.”
The ocean is mysterious to mankind. The unfathomable vastness of the ocean intrigues humanity into exploring it. In life, the immense possibilities that lie in the future compel us to reach for the stars. In the poem “The Story” by Karen Connelly, an individual willingly swims into deep waters even though they are fearful of what may exist in the waters. The swimmer later finds out that their fears were foolish, which illustrates the human tendency to venture into the unknown. The theme conveyed in this poem is that life is like a rough, uncertain, uncontrollable ocean that we must find get through with experience.
The foamy wavelets curled up to her white feet and coiled like serpents about her ankles. She walked out. The water was chill but she walked on. The water was deep, but she lifted her white body and reached out with a long, sweeping stroke. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
Deep inner thoughts that no one wants to tap into. The speaker is accepting the idea of death in the ocean through his unconscious, but his conscious mind is trying to push back and begin the “measured rise” (Hayden 4) back to the surface.
The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation. The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace (Chopin 25).
I smiled to myself and decided that I would go join in. With that, I took a huge deep breath and jumped into the salty water. The water was cool and refreshing; I felt it slide through my hair making it sway in the water. I swam deeper and deeper into the deep blue water. Sunlight streamed through it, lighting up the water around me turning it to gold. I kicked harder and I felt my muscles surge with strength and I pushed further. My lunges began to burn for the need of oxygen, but I refused to go up. I repeatedly told myself just a little bit longer. Until I was unable to proceed anymore without more air in my lungs, I swam to the top of the water taking a huge breaths, filling my lungs with air. I could then taste the salty water as it ran down my face and dripped over my lips. Just then I thought, I will never forget this moment, this place, or the experiences I felt while visiting
...trength completely fails and he lets go and starts to drown and sink. to not save him but to continue to paddle and get to safety. I hold back tears with fire and brimstone and I start to paddle as if the devil were behind us even though I am feeling drained as well. After about another hour or so it seems we start closing in and my father feels sand brush his feet. We both let out a huge sigh of relief as my father finally touches the bottom. still being about a quarter mile from the shore we do sort of a “Island hop” with the sand patches and we make our way back from where we came. Once we get back we decide thats enough beach for the day and go home. Feeling victorious and defeated at the same time I still hold a scar within me. and within that scar there is a small dark hole within me that is afraid of the ocean. And to this day I fear I will forever be afraid.
It was a warm rainy June night the humidity was high which made it even harder to breathe on the crammed boat. My family was asleep on the constantly rocking boat suddenly the boat shook, but my family was still fast asleep. I couldn’t seem to fall asleep so I got up and stepped out on the cold wet steel boats upper deck to get some air. When I got outside I realized that it was pouring bucket sized rain. I saw increasingly large waves crash furiously against the lower deck. Hard water droplets pelted my face, I could taste the salt water in my mouth from the spray of the ocean. Suddenly A massive wave slammed hard against the ship and almost swallowed the boat. Wind gusts started kicking up. I held onto the rail grasping it as if it were my prized possession. Suddenly I was blown
Manic depression is an illness that affects how people think, feel, and act. These people have really extreme episodes of mania (highs) and depression (lows.) It happens to about 1% of the population, both equally in men and women. When the person is going through a manic episode they have lots of energy, talk fast, jumping from topic to topic. Also, their thoughts are racing, they have a higher self-esteem, and have more enthusiasm. They also may not need as much sleep. During this time, the person feels normal and they are not aware that they’re behaviors may not be normal. They almost feel if the are “on top of the world.';
“ It has a name now I know what it is“ ( gold pg 26 ) Manic depression also know as bipolar disorder, is classified as a type of disorder ( also called mood disorder ) that goes beyond the day’s ordinary ups and downs, and is becoming a serious medical condition and important health concern in this country. Manic depression is characterized by periodic episodes of extreme elation, happiness, elevated mood, or irritability, also called mania countered by periodic, classic major depressive symptoms. There are three types of manic depression: Major Depression or Clinical Depression, Bipolar Disorder or Manic Depression and Dysthymic Disorder.
I squirmed, I screamed, I squiggled trying to fight my way up to earth but it seemed like I was going nowhere but down. My stomach was now under the earth. The earth was slowly eating me inch by inch, second by second. Nobody was helping me and I sure was not enjoying this. I remembered the show I saw the night before. The man had survived quick sand by not frantically moving. I could not help but move. Moving was the only way I could fight the hungry earth. My feet kicked the earth underneath and my hands slapped the earth above. Eventually, my energy dwindled down and I just stopped. I had stopped moving yet the earth was still absorbing me. I began to cry. This was how I was going to spend my last minutes: in quick sand, getting eaten by earth.
My mind is getting chaotic. I can hear voices. You will regret this, they told me. They're howling into my very soul, grabbing my throat and trying to choke it in a bid of stopping me.
A shrill cry echoed in the mist. I ducked, looking for a sign of movement. The heavy fog and cold storm provided nothing but a blanket, smothering all sight and creating a humid atmosphere. The freezing air continued to whip at my face, relentless and powerful. Our boat, stuck in the boggy water. Again a cry called. Somewhere out there was someone, or something.
often feel a sense of worthlessness and helplessness. In some cases a person may feel
I laid peacefully in my bed and contemplated catching a few z’s. I laid unable to doze off , there was this switch in my brain that, for some reason made it impossible to shut everything off and sleep.As if there are little people in my brain who are dilebratly playing a game of tug of war with the switches that controlled the thoughts stored within my brain. had enough of it and picked myself up and proceeded to the door, grabbed my bag and headed down to the library nearest to my room. Upon arrival to the library, I didn’t hesitate to shuffle over to the closest self that appeared of interest to me. I picked up a book and glanced over the summary, I can’t believe that they haven’t removed this book because of how boring it is. I weave through the shelves, and I finally stumble across some pretty interesting books. I scan the bookcase and I picked up a Book with a old, grainy picture of an insane asylum upon the
As a child, I spent a great deal of time at the beach, imitating the seagulls as they darted back and forth along the sand, trying to dodge the incoming water. With each passing summer, I spent less time imitating the birds and more time enticed by the force and power of the ocean. I was hypnotized by the waves as they broke along the shore, settled in a foamy-form, and rolled back out to sea. It was not long before I found pleasure in running into the water and allowing the waves to crash over me, pummeling me to the floor. Often times, I would come up gasping for air, causing my mother to have minor heart attacks while she observed from the shore. Adrenaline filled me each time I was knocked over. There was something invigorating about not