When you wake up with a “Pudding Head”

Although this is a Doctor Who reference, I am clearly from the Planet of the Pudding Heads today. Somedays I can be clear and my thinking on point. Then other days, things are so muddled I can’t even decipher a cartoon. Today is one of those days. And I have some work to do and don’t know if I can remember what I’ve read or if I understand it.

This is one of the reasons I don’t think I could survive studying for my Masters. All that reading, somedays I just can’t read. This all started with the onset of BiPolar. Words started running into each other on the page. I would read one sentence over and over and then the page would go blurry and I had no idea what the hell was going on, just that I couldn’t read anymore.

I started reading comic books again to help me and it did. But as for articles in newspapers and magazines and sometimes even online, I’m lost.

I still have difficulties with washing dishes. I use to get lower back pains and panic attacks when I had to wash dishes. This started with the BiPolar too. The simplest tasks became harder too do. I don’t understand why, but it just seemed to happen that way.

It’s been over 20 years and I’m still having these problems, but to varying degrees.

Back from the hospital

Unbelievable. I can’t believe that… Nevermind

Inpatient for a week, really only needed like 5 days. But, I only saw the psychiatrist once and she changed my 20 year diagnosis after only seeing me for 5 minutes. Give me a break. What a piece of garbage she was, didn’t even want to listen too me. It just angers me sometimes.

The therapists were exceptional, the staff was exceptional, I had a single room WEEEEEE! No roommate. So I was blessed this time.

I need to focus on that and dismiss the stupid doctors.

I’ll write more another time, just wanted to link my poem.


This moment


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I want to kill myself today. Somebody hold my hand. What makes today so much different than yesterday?

I feel as if all thoughts and emotions converged simultaneously and I can’t handle it.

My heart aches, my mind spins, my body shakes and its just too much to bare anymore.

At this precise moment, I want to die.

I want release.

I want a break, just for once, I want a break.

I realized that I am here to suffer. That’s my purpose in this world. Someone has got to be oppressed, someone has got to suffer and I am one of them.

A certain calmness came over me when I accepted this, but now. It’s just sadness and remorse.

So I’ll be here, performing my place in this world.

Until I can’t take it anymore and check out early, or my time comes.

A realization


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I’m in it. I find myself with no emotions. I’m a blank. I feel and care for nothing. I may smirk at the amusing, but I feel tethered here against my will.

Some have the courage to say goodbye. I hold on for the love of my mother. I don’t want to see her cry.

People never realize the damage they do, until after they have done it. And no words can take away the sting and the wound. It is done. It can’t be ‘undone’.

I am poor and powerless. I am destine to suffer.

I always wondered what my ‘purpose’ in life was, since this illness came upon me, I have been lost. My plans for the future have all been one by one taken away from me and I am a waste of space. Using borrowed air, I did not earn.

My purpose is to suffer. To be constantly kicked aside and in the head. To be that poor bastard, so others can say, ‘whew, glad that wasn’t me’.

I am the example of what NOT to be.



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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.




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.


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.


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