The core has become an untidy heap,
Tangled in thought and obsession.
Dragging me down this familiar path
That leads to nowhere but depression.
Throwing up blockades of rational thought,
Still nothing stops the scheduled train.
Disorder hijacking my thoughts once more;
Weighing me down with emotional pain.
All the unlikely possibilities suffocate me,
Panic stakes another claim on my heart,
And thieves from me my free breath.
Now it is either balance or fall apart.
Over concerned with possibilities
Fabricated within my own mind.
Nailed to the cross by my own self,
Lost in a place no one will find.
Repetitive cycles keep twisting my brain,
Recurrently contorting my life perspective.
I can counsel myself to no advantage,
Once again, chemicals ignore my directive.
Back here again – everything to say but no words to say it with. More honestly, no fucks to give whether or not anyone knows how I feel. I’m emotionally and mentally exhausted and no matter how many times I say it, no one TRULY hears me!
No I don’t mean that in a poor me way. I just get to a point where it seems such a waste of my time and energy to even interact with most living beings. I have zero faith that even a person I deem intelligent can understand what I’m trying to say in some cases.
That leads us back to the fact that most people talk to be heard, not truly because they want you to listen and respond. Sometimes that’s all good. And sometimes you have to realize walking in a circle gets you nowhere, accept that you cannot change it and move forward. Seriously, some days I feel like I’m trapped in a room with several record players in which the records are all skipping- why? Because people love to hear themselves complain – I guess it makes them feel empowered.
I get that we all need to vent, but at some point, if you find yourself venting on repeat, you need to make some decisions. Decide to change it, if you cannot change it, decide to engage your super bubble armor and not let it fucking get to you. Because once you’ve gone beyond venting for the release of a bit of pressure, for the purpose of moving forward (PAST WHAT YOU ARE BITCHING ABOUT), then you are just as much of the issue as whatever you are venting about. Not only that, but you are regurgitating your negative feelings about it again and again and it’s landing all over the people that care enough to listen to you.
Just like anything, if you use your credits up on repeats and trivial bullshit, where will you turn when you truly need that ear?
Many people feel comfortable talking to me. I consider that an honor and am glad to be there for people. But if you keep putting the same fucking ingredients into your cake batter and ask me why your cake still tastes like shit eventually I’m going to smash you in the face with your cake. Or if you keep feeding me the same bite of cake over and over and asking me if it tastes different, I’m probably going to stab you in the eye with the fork you are serving me the bite of cake with.
Oh then I’ll be the bad guy because I had to get harsh and real due to the fact that people are so self-involved even when they seek out another for comfort, they ignore what the reward is yet keep asking for a reward. I am a patient person most of the time, but once I’m full all my gracefulness flies out the window and I will tell you straight up that you are being a little bitch or I’ll just walk the fuck away and make myself less available.
I have my own life issues – I’m a single mom of a teenager with a full time job that fights to keep her bipolar disorder in balance day to day. I LOVE to be there for people I care about, but I can only handle so much. If you don’t hear my subtle advice and I see no signs of improvement or no steps toward resolution or acceptance, I’m eventually not going to be able to retain the SHUT THE FUCK UP from spewing out in some form.
Seriously folks, there’s a fine line between venting and beating a dead horse.
Today I was going to talk about when I woke and felt on another plane of existence. One where there weren’t a million voices chattering in my head at me and that time felt like it was moving slow. It dawned on me as I drove to work that this is probably that elusive beast people call normal or level. I was kind of excited to be there and realize what it was while I was there.
However, yes, unfortunately there is a however, I arrived at work and all that normal peaceful shit flew right out the window. Between having two days of work to sort and handle after having a day off, having several advisors be in need of my assistance, and teen parenting/dealing with the other parent kicking in full gear before 10 a.m. all that “normal” has pulled a disappearing act.
Instead, today, I will say that the levelness was nice for the hour it lasted. And that I am grateful for starting out that way, because if I had started out on a tipped scale, all the aforementioned tasks would have spiked me harder than it did.
So now I’m in a state of heightened anxiety and slightly manic.
But I’m handling it like a champ; a speed-talking, moving at the speed-of-light champ, but a champ nonetheless.
I have a feeling I will be exhausted tonight!
Woohoo, let’s give two cheers for being on high speed crazy but still holding it all together!!!
Within the silent shadowy tomb protected by my psyche,
It’s not time to analyze and paralyze, yet it feeds nonetheless,
Like a ravenous vulture…
Sucking up little morsels of anxiety and doubt-
Mushrooming them into catastrophic conclusions.
Oozing its septicity from its tiny cell,
It infects the core of me and sets my thoughts afire.
I sing it soothing words, hoping to calm the beast.
Still it attaches to stray thoughts and amplifies itself.
It feels like my heart is being pulled into my stomach.
I breathe and reassure myself that this is all purposeless,
There are no actions to take.
Yet it festers and pesters and fails to slow.
Bringing with it impairment…
Or is its presence simultaneous to them?
No evidence – no solution.
Why not, add it to the pile,
It’s not like we need elbow room in here anyway.
Go ahead, weave your webs,
Plant your seeds of doubt.
Take my breath and balance.
I’ll just adapt and survive…
And in the end,
Remind you that you’re still an asshole.
The depressed me is quiet (well quiet for me that is) and doesn’t bother to express much. It’s just easier that way, I don’t have the energy in me to discuss anything with anyone let alone try to explain things when they are not understood (which is more often than I like).
But what am I now that I’m not depressed? It is definitely not full blown manic, and it certainly is not level.
I feel like it could be slight mania, then I still tend to have quick shifts to short lasting deflation which accompanies the bursts of energy.
Maybe it’s what is referred to as a ‘mixed state’???
All I know is…
– I have a lot of energy, but zero energy. I literally feel like I could burst from energy that is clogged inside, yet I don’t have any giddy up/energy to go above and beyond or be proactive.
-I can be moved to over-the-top giddiness with a simple thought and want to squeal in joy and jump around like a spastic toddler but that energy can exhibit itself as over-the-top irritation which makes me want to throw things and growl whatever frustrations are applicable at the time.
-Then there is the “comedic” part. Oh damn does this part think I am so fucking funny. That’s it, I think it’s so funny, everyone else seems to think it’s insensitive, violent, maybe even a little psycho to have such thoughts, let alone speak them out loud.
I also know that…
-Half of me wants to just blow everything/one off and not give a damn and half of me wants to shake a bitch and say WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU while the third half (yes I did just say I have 3 halves – and maybe I do) still wants to sit down and cry or “dissolve”.
-Half of me wants to sleep an indefinite slumber and the other half wants to stay up all night long sucking in all the entertainment and information I can get my hands on.
-I have all the answers/perfect responses/know exactly what I’d say to whom; but wait; I have none of the audacity it would take to follow through with those thoughts.
-I have all the best ideas and solutions yet don’t care enough to do shit about it. (And let’s be real, I think they are all the best but chances are they could be as loony as Bugs Bunny.)
I could go on for hours with examples but I don’t want to. My point is I am exactly one half combined with the extreme opposite of that half all crammed into one little fleshy shell.
Half of me is proud and loving it, the other half wishing this shit would just fucking stop even though it is better than depression.
This mixed state, or whatever it is requires far too much thinking. But I suppose I should be grateful it is not full blown mania which can cause earth shattering devastation in my life and I won’t slow down long enough to see it until it’s too late.
Some days I just wish I didn’t have to analyze my brain so much just to keep things in check.
Then I remind myself, analyzing and keeping in check is much preferred to what happens if I am un-medicated and running wild.
I realized that I write more sad/dark content than I write happy/hopeful pieces. This is not because I am always on the depressed or negatively agitated side of my bipolar coin. After giving it some thought I realized it is because the happy/hopeful side isn’t as shunned or doesn’t cause confusion/misunderstandings the way the other side can, so I work extra hard to hold the dark parts all inside and keep them from impacting my life or the lives of my loved ones in a negative manner.
After holding it all in, it starts to rot; I write to release it (and hopefully to help others find their way through their own mazes or at least know they aren’t as alone as it sometimes feels).
Don’t mistake my writings as weakness or a drama-fest pity-party – they are far from it. They represent the strength of surmounting the trials that my disorder can present.
I accepted a long time ago that I am fated to fight this battle. And fight I always will.
I can proudly say that despite all the dark and ugly thoughts and perceptions that can haunt me, I have learned to keep them mostly inside and keep my life adequately in order. Or to spew them all to my super awesome soul sister who knows me intimately enough to not misunderstand who I am based on the horrible things that are coming out of my mouth/fingertips. Thank the stars for her truly getting it – because sometimes she has to remind me of myself and that this person/attitude is only a temporary side effect of my condition. Also thank the stars for all the loving people in my life that do not shun me or un-love me when I hole up in order to recharge/get myself right and not bleed my blackness all over them.
Onward! This is called life – it’s for living!
Look at the bright side?
Disinclination has taken over.
Nothing is what it was.
Yet nothing has changed.
I’m drowning in shallow water.
Yet I cannot lift my head.
Happiness is a choice.
Sometimes it’s not!
Facts are facts but feelings are stronger.
It doesn’t matter what I think.
Not during this game.
I’m covered in pessimism.
Regardless of the sunshine.
I see your polished surface,
Such beauty and certainty.
I start to smile, but then I wonder…
Is it the same in your heart?
Or is your show a farce?
Are you hiding the venom you hold inside?
Waiting… just long enough to hook me
So that you can destroy me.
Then allow all those I’m not enough for
To use me as a bridge to cross the muddy waters.
I see your face,
I think I see your heart,
But I’ve been duped before.
It’s like slots…
I will keep pulling the lever to lose,
But walk away when I’m guaranteed the next pull wins.
Because every time I’ve believed,
I’ve felt the sting that follows trusting that I am enough.
Seeing the world through ugly eyes…
Not the way I like to see.
Rubbed the wrong way,
I struggle to stay optimistic.
Some days it seems like “Fuck It” is the best answer.
Seems like, being the key there,
It never works out as nicely.
But ugly eyes…
Sight cast over with cynicism.
Effort seems pointless.
Humanity is exasperating.
Why do I play this game, day after day?
It all seems so burdensome.
What’s the purpose to all of this?
Some days I think I’d be happier left out of this world.
Give me a forest to lie in,
A tree for shade,
Some berries to nibble,
And no part of this thing we call civilized life.