Muted Anguish

PROLOGUE: THE MISERIES OF A MANIC

Tossing around in bed restlessly, I pulled the duvet over my body and tried to fall asleep but couldn't. There was that insufferable feeling present again. Tugging at me. Haunting me. Depriving me of my sleep. But then one experiencing mania never expected sleep.
It was like a demon, the mania and it was after my soul.

Throwing back the covers I got out of bed and started to pace the room in a bid to burn the excessive energy coursing through my veins. Depression hit me when I was ten. I'd always been different from others. Wasn't one that associated with people, wasn't one that "mixed" Wasn't one that wanted friends. That was just how I was naturally. I couldn't even talk to girls and it wasn't like I didn't want to I just didn't know how. I'd tried many times but ended up stuttering and embarrassing myself which got frustrating because I wasn't born with a speaking disorder. For some mysterious reason, I just couldn't seem to work around them.

It all started at my tenth birthday party when I'd tried speaking to the lovely Ann Andersen which didn't go so well that it resulted in the worst day of my life. I became the talk of the entire school for weeks. Anywhere I went they pointed fingers and laughed loudly, calling me a "freak". Sometimes I got assaulted physically, most times verbally and it took its toll on me mentally but they didn't know after all they were just kids.

My parents had gotten worried sick, they had gotten angry. They'd spoken to the management. Threatened to sue the school if the bullying didn't stop, and even offered to have me withdrawn and transferred to another school but I didn't want that. I knew I could handle it. I was strong. The bullying ceased but a great deal had already been done to my mental health.

As I got older, I withdrew to myself. The only person I talked to was my older brother, Harvey. He was the only one I genuinely opened up to because he understood me but Harvey wasn't always available and that was because he attended a boarding school in Canada. We lived in London.

Then I clocked fourteen and began to notice some changes in my behaviour. I became erratic. I got angry most of the time. Everyone, everything seemed to piss me off every time and with time it got worse.
I wasn't talking about the usual yelling at someone type of anger. I was talking rage.
Pure. Unbridled. Rage
A situation where I had to turn in a fit of blinding fury to smash a fist into the wall in a bid to prevent myself from literally disfiguring a person's physiognomy.
The psychologists called it Intermittent Explosive Disorder (I.E.D). Simply put, I didn't require a provocation to get angry.
Yes. It got that bad.

The disorder left me predisposed to hypersensitivity and bipolar. The disorder currently responsible for my lack of sleep.
I stopped to slap the wall in frustration. Wasn't being depressed torture enough? I had to be denied the one thing that was supposed to bring me relief. No one could start to imagine the emotional anguish. The emotional tussle I had to go through every bloody day. I took off my t-shirt and started to exercise. Every damn day I was faced with a bunch of mixed feelings I couldn't interpret: Intense anxiety, anger; lots and lots of anger, sorrow...
I would be having suicidal thoughts one minute and the next I'd be filled with so much energy I had the urge to burn. Like I had at the moment.
I laid on my back with my hands crossed behind my neck and started doing sit-ups.

At seventeen, I'd foolishly fallen in love. It'd been spontaneous, unbelievable and my silly self had ridiculously believed I'd found The One because for the first time in some years I was happy. That and my mental health also improved. She was everything to me until she bailed on me.
Lord knows I did nothing wrong to deserve her suddenly leaving the country. Suddenly leaving me.
Not even a bloody hint or a damn text. Nothing. She just left and never even said goodbye.
I suffered a relapse that year.
It was bad.
Everyone was distraught because I was emotionally wrecked. After all those years I'd finally thought, ludicrously believed that there was light at the end of the tunnel and that she was my light.
I could still vividly recollect how crazily overwhelming the emotions were back then. It'd felt like I'd lost my mind. Like I was slowly going insane. I refused to open up to anyone, not even Harvey.

Wiping the sweat off my brow, I got up from the floor and headed straight for the shower so I could cool off.
"But it's just a heartbreak, Mandy" I'd heard dad frustratedly say to mum one day. What most people failed to understand was that experiencing a broken heart was almost the same thing as experiencing physical pain. Everything all led back to the brain and the neuro system.  
That 'heartbreak' had made me lock myself up in my room for days repeatedly questioning myself, trying to figure out what I did wrong. That 'heartbreak' had hit me so hard, the therapy classes did nothing to get me back in my right frame of mind. That 'heartbreak' had been more than just a 'heartbreak'
My trust had been broken. I'd trusted her and she ended up biting me in the ass. She'd bitten hard too, in fact, she'd taken a huge chunk and the pain was blindingly intense. It was entirely on another level.
I'd been so angry at myself. I'd gotten so mad for clinging on to the hope, for believing that I would finally have what normal people had. That I was finally gonna feel peace after years of emotional and mental anguish because I'd oh so foolishly believed I'd found "The One"

I shook my head and turned on the spray. I'd been so gullible to have thought things would be good and I would be happy. I'd thought things were stable! For once in my messed up life, I'd thought things were finally stable until it all came crashing. It all came crashing right on my freaking head.
That year had left me filled with so much emotional pain and anger that I couldn't even express. I had mostly just remained in my room hating myself and how stupid I'd been to believe a freak like me could have a shot at happiness.

Getting over Helen had been tough, the process excruciatingly slow. Took me almost a year but I got over it...got over her. A remarkable thing about me was despite those disorders, the bullying and assaults I faced as a kid, I had a pretty high IQ. I graduated top of my class with a 5.0 GPA and I got enrolled at Harvard University to study Psychology.

Apart from the fact that I found the intricacies of the human mind rather fascinating, I was studying psychology to be able to help others like me. People suffering from mental disorders. I wanted to be able to understand disorders and diagnose them, and to understand myself. To understand why this was happening to me.
It sounded rather absurd to some students on campus. It was obvious in the whispers and the discomforting penetrating stares, the expressions of confusion...of mockery. What was a nut case doing studying psychology? I was regarded as a psychopath on campus because of a particular incident that happened a year ago. An incident that ruined me, my reputation and almost ruined my parents. The thought of it still sometimes haunted whatever amount of sleep I struggled to get.

But then there I was, putting on a brave front, not letting any of their talks dissuade me although I was practically crumbling on the inside every damn day.
As I walked out of the shower and back into the room, I heard the birds chirping loudly outside, singing the sweet, sweet song of freedom and I'd never wanted, never craved to be a bird so bad before as I did at the moment.
I envied those birds for if only I could fly away from everything as easily as they could I wouldn't be this miserable. My life wouldn't be this miserable.
Sighing despondently, I looked towards the window. Dawn had come. Yet another day, another battle had begun.

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