The strange and fun thing about the crazy version of me is, that it is bordered somewhere between me being creative, bored and impatient to the point that I peak in some odd situation that I got myself into and then fall down like a phoenix on fire. And then I want to sleep it out. Obviously.
For me this feeling can't be a diagnosis because it is the only reality that I know, and in fact the only stable undertone in the patterns of my behaviour, when I seriously think about it. Cyclothymia is natural and healthy for a lot of people because for them it is like driving down a familiar road, almost on muscle memory. It rides with the weather and the seasons. It reacts to light and temperature. It has a rhythm. It is a force of nature, like the seasons.
Way up north
I have this theory that for the people of Iceland, light depression and light hypomania (or pitch dark in some cases) are a natural psychological state, which is no wonder. During the dark months of the winter, the body produces mass amounts of melatonin so you become sleepy, drowsy and monotonous to the point of depression.
Meanwhile it is windy, black and stormy outside and you have to battle a snowstorm to get your car door open, and still be in pure denial that it is actually challenging, and sometimes horrible, to live on this fucking island. You are like that “Everything is fine” meme where a smiling dog with a cup of tea sits at a table in a house on fire. Everything is fine because you have a big bowl of snacks, a variety of anti depressants and a Netflix account.
And to the extreme opposite, during the bright months of spring and summer, the body and the brain experience a blitzkrieg of INTENSE daylight „therapy“ (for some much unwanted) that pumps them up and makes them want to go out and DO things>
Go fishing, barbecuing, arrange huge soccer matches for kids (a torture for introverted parents), go camping, go to cottages, hold weddings, paint roofs, build fortresses called “pallur” around their houses, buy icecream and go to the swimming pool. Get crazy drunk downtown and eat a hot dog that might make you regret it an hour later, go to a party with random people and make new friends, have accidental sex with someone you've just met and stay awake until 12:00 the next day because you have no idea that it’s actually morning because it’s light 24/7 anyway. The sunlight hurts the brain and you are dehydrated but you keep going anyway. Your phone is on 2%. The ocean is calm. You can see the reflection of the mountain in it. Everything is bright blue and intensely yellow, like the intro in the Teletubbies.
Mondays
Sometimes it get’s way too much and you just want to stay inside, but you can’t because you start feeling guilty about not being OUT IN THE SUN. As the days get warmer, The People of Iceland want you to go outside. It’s a demand, an obligatory duty from everyone around you, national peer pressure.
-Kva! Ætlaru bara að vera inni í sólinni? Það er fimmtán stiga hiti! Drífðu þig út maður!
Translates: If you belong to this nation, you must go outside!
1980-1984
When I was around ten or twelve, I really enjoyed staying inside when it was super sunny outside. I just liked chilling on the brown leather couch and watch spectacles of dust, from the fuzzy brown floor-carpet, float weightlessly in sun-rays that broke their way through the dark curtains. The dust looked like an infinite galaxy in the sun-rays. I disappeared and became just as weightless as the dust. I vanished and it felt good.
Sundays
I also used to enjoy napping or zoning out to the sounds from small airplanes on Sundays. On calm, sunny weekends they were very predictable, because in Iceland, everyone does the same things at the same time. That went for the hobby pilots too. I also listened to music with headphones. I loved that enough for another chapter.
Saturdays
Late at night on Saturdays and Fridays, and probably on other nights as well, I used to break into cars. I was still a tween. The area below the block of flats where I lived was full of car repair shops and there were lot’s of unlocked cars there. All kinds. Big and small. Me, along with some other kids, used to go straight for the glove compartments and nick whatever was in there. Normally we found coins and cigarettes. Sometimes porn mags. It was a competition. Who got the best stash that night.
Fridays
Another crime I used to commit as a kid was stealing AA batteries in food stores. They used to be overpriced, like proper razor blades are today, but easy to nick from bigger shops. I then took the batterie pack to a smaller shop, where they were sold from behind the counter, and told the assistant that I had bought the wrong ones, but since my mom had already bought the right ones, I wanted to exchange the batteries for a pack of Viceroys. What a criminal! I was 14.
Thursdays
During a period, that lasted for a few weeks in my life, I used to go home after school to sniff glue and watch VHS recordings of music videos with my girlfriends. There were like five of us and we did this when our parents were at work. We also used to hyperventilate, choke each other by the neck and pass out for a few seconds. Top class entertainment and a cheap and easy way to get high.
Wednesdays
Take the bus downtown after school, go to the arcade, play Pacman and Galaxy, go on a shoplifting raid down the main street, come back to the arcade with expensive suits and pilot jackets, „sell“ the goods to the twenty year old guys behind the counter and get coins for the game machines instead. We did this regularly.
Tuesdays
Go to school, go through hell. Run home like a fugitive. Read and watch films.
Mondays
Go to school, go through hell. Run from the bullies. Run home like a fugitive.
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