Spirals aren't always pretty and graceful

I'm beginning to feel that I need medical attention.

As much as I used to criticize and riddle the notion that a person might need some pharmaceutical substance to balance out their moods, I'm at the point where I feel like every moment I'm cognizant is a guessing game of how I'll feel.

It seems like I have no control over my emotions.
I'm on this cruelly bucking wave of misty, cresting highs followed by plunging and darkened lows.
And the sad truth is that every time I reach the lowest part of the tidal dip, I take on a bit of water.
And I've been so up and down lately that I've accrued a dangerous amount of additional weight in my vessel of self.

I'm sinking.
I'm growing more and more reticent to rise to the top of the rolling water's peak.
Sunshine is growing to be more and more of a stranger and I'm feeling the salt water sting of the ubiquitously blinding brine of angst.

I don't want to see anyone or be close to anyone.
I don't want to be kind.
To others or myself.

I think I need help.