I spent a very long time on my journal from 2007 to just the other month, June or July. I was a daily, heavy journaler, going on sometimes into 2000 words about any old thing going on in my brain. The long entries were always written when I felt rotten, at the bottom of the tunnel.

Over the years, it got to the point where I said to myself that it’d be fun to look back at this date a year, two, three ago and see what I was up to. Doing this many times, I see an arc from stark raving ignorance of the true cause of all my crazy thoughts (for example, thinking that people on the street knew what I was thinking), to where I am now. My thoughts don’t run amok any more. And I’ve stopped journaling cold turkey. Not because I wanted to stop but because I never think about it. I love journals, I think they keep many many people sane and happier. So why I’ve stopped is a total mystery to me. I start and stop things continually.

I know about this stuff that’s wrong with my brain, but I don’t think I’ll ever know how it works. Maybe if I could live long enough to reach the point in the future when doctors are able to reverse the effects of aging, maybe by then will they have also figured this mess bipolar out?