All-Or-Nothing Thinking

For what reason this all-or-nothing thinking? Too hot, too cold,—but never in the middle I live, a victim of this ruthless riddle (that contradicts reply, and has me sinking)! This anarchy of mind that's got me drinking is never gray, but too much or too little like a deranged instrument, a fiddle, that counterpoints a melody without blinking. Unlike my thinking, life's not black or white but somewhere in the middle, where insane mad souls escape manic, neurotic thoughts like refugees from their demented plight, a Scylla and Charybdis that won't drain the swirling currents of bipolar's storms.