Flashbacks

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How come the most horrible moments of our lives come back to us in flashbacks. Funerals, rapes, abuse. Why can’t we get moments when we were truly happy, just suddenly burst thru our brain and put a smile on our faces once again.

I find myself doing a slide show of the day I put my dog down. My body grows heavy, my eyes tear up and my heart aches again. It keeps coming back. I was on Youtube looking at a short film on Rik Mayall’s funeral. Watching his friends and family carry his coffin and all I could think was, ‘he’s in there’. A man who made me laugh so much and smile. And now, no more.

I began fearing for others who bring moments of joy into my life. Quite selfish when you consider it, worried for my own happiness. Not for the ones they leave behind. But there are so few moments of true happiness in my life, I treasure anyone who offers me that blessed distraction. I live for the distractions. In between the pieces of gray.

Things are flat right now, even keel. No real depression, no real mania. Just waiting for the oncoming storm, which will be August. So much up in the air, I don’t like ‘maybe’s’. I like ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Too much gray in my life.

Fewer flashbacks would be nice too. It’s only been a year since Chianna died. Its hard to believe she was ever here. But I have memories, which grow cloudier each day. I can still smell her. And when I do, I inhale deeply and smile. My baby. So scared during those last few moments without me. No more dogs. I’m gonna miss that part of my life.

Maybe something else will come along and love me, one day.

Pieces of Grey

Days that resonate as good are few and far between. Most days are pieces of grey. The wobble between hell and heaven from hour to minute and never quite come to settle.

I’m just so tired now. People trigger you. Thoughts trigger you. Expectations trigger you. My mind is a gun of powder and pills. Explosions of fear, depression and self doubt are constantly occurring.

If my life was a color, I guess it would be pieces of grey. The other pieces, would depend upon your perception at that moment.

Fog

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Those days when you head is in such a downcast state. You can’t think clearly, you don’t feel well, you’re irritable and either in pain or just feeling blah. For me physical pain really makes the mental state worse. It’s hard now to express myself properly and clearly, but “I’m in a fog”.

Nothing is clear and I don’t know what’s oncoming. I had a good run with my moods until my pinched nerve started acting up in my hip. Didn’t sleep well, the numbness and tingling is driving me bonkers. Wish I had more to write, something profound. But my head just isn’t there right now.

Flying above clouds

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No, not manic. There are times when you’re in a plane and you look out the window and think. Wouldn’t it be great to just up and fly, whenever you felt like doing so. Thru clouds, above clouds, touching clouds.

Clouds seem so attractive and attracting. But you can’t touch it, when you try, they fade away.

There are so many things I can apply this thought process too. Too many to cover. But for me, it’s more like the carrot dangling in front of the burro. “That ever elusive kudo” – Alannis Morissette.

sometimes I want to wish for things and try things, but the thought of failure is stronger than the desire to achieve.

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Family is damaging.

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Most of my issues and problems are exasperated by my biological family. Selfishness, self importance, judgmental attitudes, usury. The inconsiderate acts and words spoken. I’ve never been physically abused, but mentally yes. My father ruined any chance of me having a normal relationship with a male. His constant belittling and dictatorship destroyed trust and my self esteem.

Now, I face life alone. There wasn’t much I could do that young. I’ve done what I can now. Either way I’ve had better treatment from strangers than my family.

My mother is the only reason I pretty much stick around here, I worry about her safety, mental state and peace of mind. At least I do have someone for the moment.

Family prepares you for the world. Most of them fail.

Times Square (1980) – Missing Nikki

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I grew up in a time when Times Square wasn’t fucking Disneyland or Tokyo.  When it was dark and seedy and filthy and vibrated with how shitty life could be, but still you kept on living. No wax museums, no Mary Poppins on stage, No blinders.

If you were heading to 42nd street, you were there for something ‘bad’. Maybe, or just there to escape what was considered normal.

There was a movie called Times Square by RSO films, which came out in 1980. The kids from a play at my middle school did all the sound effects of a screaming crowd. I watched that, it was kind of cool. But the move, to a 14 or 15 year old; was poetry.

Its pure adolescence, misunderstood, unloved, not knowing where you’re going. Where adults are so fast to ‘label’ you, simply because they don’t understand.

I watched this movie for the first time since I was 14 today. And I cried. My best friend Hope and I saw this movie together and we were Nikki and Pammy. She was Nikki. I wanted so much to be Nikki, but I knew I was too innocent to take the risks this character took in this film. Hope and I were inseparable. We grew older, I went to college, she took off. Just like Nikki would.

I didn’t see her again for years later, she had kids. But was still a little wild. My Nikki died over 10 years ago. Hope passed away. And I lost my best friend, my Nikki.

There’s a part in the movie where they pledge to scream each other’s name when they felt like the whole world was falling apart. We use to do that. But we would scream “Nikki” or “Pammy” at the top of our lungs.

This was before BiPolar. When I knew I was a misfit, but didn’t know why.

I love you Hope. My Nikki and there are days I scream your name, even today.

Irritable

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Everyone has good days and bad days. Some have them at different extremes. There are times I am just angry. I have no patience, everyone is stupid, everyone is in my way, nothing is good. I think those are times I look at where I am and where I could have been.

I talk about the ‘bottom falling out’. For me that’s when the illness hit, like a kick in the head from nowhere.

Now, I just want peace and quiet and privacy. It’s probably the worse thing that could happen to me, since there are times I don’t even trust my own mind. But the simplification of my life is what I am aiming for, nothing else.

I’ve reached the point where I no longer offer advice to the same person, with the same problem and we’ve discussed this problem numerous times and they don’t take any of my advice, yet complain about their situation. Not to say I know it all. But if you bother to ask… Why waste my breath and mental power on someone who obviously is seeking just to hear themselves talk and have an audience.

Or those who aren’t willing to put in the work to be mentally healthy, but want you to accept their behavior.

Listen, I told you what I’ve learned thru experience. I’m not pulling this out of my ass, I’ve lived it. Either give it a damn honest try or LEAVE ME ALONE.

I need all my energy, just to make it thru the day. Too keep myself ‘stable’. I need to simplify.

I’ve ended one drama destructive friendship. And they were clueless as to why I could no longer deal with the over reacting and the obsessiveness and the competitive attitude towards me. I’d had enough. Too emotionally draining, I would leave phone calls with this person and have a migraine. I can’t think for myself and someone else, especially when they are suppose to be an adult.

So, needless to say, I am in a bitchy and irritable mood. It happens. Doesn’t last long and I really don’t want to analyze where it came from, too deep.

Nothing to be ashamed of…

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Have you ever heard someone APOLOGIZING for having cancer or being diabetic? Sorry I’m BiPolar, I know it’s my fault and I should just suck it up and get on with life. My depression is an illusion and my mania is just a tool to get attention. So, I apologize and hope you can accept me for these faults… BULLSHIT.

It seems like this is what others want me to do. To see my mental illness as something I went out in search of and purchased. No one asks for depression. No one asks to have manic episodes or anxiety. It just happens, like any life changing illness. Wearing a scarf in the winter time couldn’t have changed a thing. I was 25 and suddenly, I was BiPolar and the bottom fell out of all I was planning to do with my life.

There are times I feel sadness, but underneath that is so much anger, i’ve yet to tap it. Something in my life I have no control over. And I hate that aspect.

I can take meds and do therapy to calm things down and make it an easier road to travel. But there are times when none of this matters and my mind goes, where my mind goes and I just have to catch up or pull back to keep from checking out or exploding. Medication stops working. Life events send you reeling. Coping mechanisms fail and you find yourself wondering, ‘what now?’

So I retire to bed and cry and isolate and wait it out. I have that luxury. I have no kids, no husband, no job, no dog, cat, bird. Nothing to depend upon me, but me. I get support from my Mom and a friend. But now, I’m in this alone. And sometimes, being alone and ill is the scariest thing ever.

Lets talk about relationships. I’ve never had a positive relationship in my life with the opposite sex. Abusive, bisexual, bipolar, whatever. That’s what I attract. And alcoholic.

Fragment sentences, I know. Its hard enough dealing with myself, than to hook up with someone else who is mentally ill, which has been an option. All my energy has to be put into keeping myself relatively ‘stable’.

But it is a lonely place. When you are taught from childhood  to seek out the 3.5, picket fence, family/career lifestyle. Your mind fights those thoughts that you are a failure. Cause you don’t have these things in your life.

I wanted my tubes cut and burned when I found out I was Bipolar. There was no way I was going to run the risk of putting a person I loved thru the hell I was going thru. They wouldn’t do it, I was too young.

Now, I’m perimenopausal and I regret not having children. But, where would I have fit it in? Between being on psych wards or medication changes. There was a time I was stable and felt good about life and actually was out there making plans and doing things.

Then my uncle died and everything did a 360 and went upside down. Like I said, life events. Some people can handle them, but for me, there are times they are like a kick in the head.

I’m not ashamed of being Mentally Ill. If you ask, I’ll tell you. There is no shame, there is no blame. It is what it is, and I endure. There are some of us who don’t survive and kill themselves or refuse to take meds because of the side effects or can’t find one that works well enough. There are all kinds of reasons we quit life or choose to live in the illness, instead of taming the beast on a regular basis.

It’s a beast, it’s a demon, its hell. But I’m still here. Which makes me stronger than most and some, I work damn hard to even be able to breathe.

Is that something to be ashamed of???

When I write poetry

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I wish I could be one of those writers who can create despite mood or circumstance. But I’m not.

I get depressed, confused, lost and the words and thoughts just aren’t there.

I consider myself a poet, a BiPolar Poet.

Somethings I write, others won’t understand. Because they haven’t stood on the edge of madness and felt the pull to ‘fall’.

Wrote a poem today called Melancholy. Because that’s where I am today.

Full of regret, friends who have abandoned me or died and wondering, what if?

This is my poetry blog BiPolar Slip

I don’t write sonnets and follow the ‘rules’ of poetry. Sometimes I rhyme, but it’s by mistake.

I write emotions and thoughts and scars. There are no rules to emotions, they are jagged and raw. Each one different, and without apology.

Like my fragmented sentences.

Without apology.

Thoughts of today

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I can’t remember half the crap I write.

It’s more of a release of thought and emotion, getting it out there and letting it land.

Just so long as it’s not in my head anymore.

Anxiety has been paramount this week and I feel it will be for the next few days or months. Things have the possibility of changing. Good or bad, I don’t know. But change.

I’m not afraid of change, I welcome it. It’s the creating a new approach to breathing that scares me. And what I may leave behind.

I hate when you get those feelings of doom and gloom. I get them too often.

These days, I am living in my illness. I have things to do, I do them. I have quiet moments, but I am overwhelmed.

So my illness is pounding away and I’m  just making it.

I can’t future think, it scares me. All emotions are amplified and all nerves are on edge.

I really don’t know what to do anymore. But keep going forwards.

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