Category Archives: Bipolar

A New Beginning

I wrote my heart out of Friday night. Ink splattered across my fingertips as words flew across the page in angry slahes. Some bitter, some resentful, some sad. In the end, I was empty. I felt like I had finally gotten everything that had been filling me up for so long, out of my soul. Every nlock, every jam, every bit of feeling toward what had happened came out. It only took 11,00 words. I couldn’t tell you what they said. I know im my heart that my voice is raw. Part of me is numb and the other part empty. 

And now I am at the precipice of a new beginning. A jumping off point, that I thought I had found before. I realize that I had never fully embraced all that had happened and what was to be. And that it had left mt stuck somewhere that I couldn’t move from. Frozen in time, niether for the good nor the bad. Replaying what had been and to scared of what will be. That is over now.

I am ready to emrace what is. The right now. Today I face the world free from the ties that bind. Knowing in myself that I could not change the past. That I have learned from it. And in that I have griwn. I embrace who I’ve become, where I am going. I am thankful for what I have and where I’ve been. I know my journey isn’t over and it will never lead me back to what has already been. I am a person of worth, of substance, of vitality. I am full of love for those who surround my life with goodness. I will do all that I can to show the world all that I have to give. In mind, body and spirit.  I am enough. 

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So much on the inside

My mind races. It’s almost like I want to break out from behind these walls I’m in and yell “I’m here, I’m still here! Everything’s going to be ok!” But is It? Truly? I reach for the light, the fabled light at the end of this darkened tunnel. But I question if the tunnel was really ever that dark to begin with. 

So much stuff has happened as of late. There has been so many things set in motion that I feel like I can’t keep up. And as much as I try to for appearances sake, it is when I’m alone that I want to curl up and cry. But I don’t. Is it fear? Is it the fact that I’m not really sad? The fact that I have more under control than I realize? Or the fact that I am actually doing everything in my power to make it work.

But I don’t feel like I am. I feel like I can do so much more. Be do much more. I think to the past. To what things could have been different and then I know that I can’t let that keep holding me back from what’s going on right now. But something still feels off. Unrealistic expectations for a future is always dreamed of.

A marriage, more kids, a house with a back yard. Things I can’t only wish once upon a December. But reality, reality crashes down on me and I have to radically accept what I have tight now. Wonderful smart amazing kids, food, a house and a chance to a have a future. That has to be enough. 

Then, why the panic. Why the racing thoughts. Why the not sleeping. Could there be something I’m forgetting or leaving out. 

My chance to dream isn’t over yet. But I’ve forgotten to pick up my pen and write those dreams down. For too long my words have gone unspoken and I yearn for an output, a way to grab onto something bigger, something more.

This too will pass, I will survive, I will thrive. I will let must feel as much as I can and not judge it because it’s ok to just feel. I will not continue onto that extra dose of caffeine that has become to much. And I will keep believing in something more. Because I will never give up on my own varietals. Our truest hearts desire is only but a wish away. I believe that, always.

If you ask me

I can’t promise you the answers

If you ask me what is wrong

I can’t promise I can do it

If you tell me to be strong

The days are going slowly

Dragging by silently

I sit and watch the clock

My mind begging to be free

I wish I knew what was happening

Why I just can’t be free

Of the hidden pain and judgement

Of the wrongs that were done to me

Everytime I think I’ve done it

That I’ve finally moved on

I get this sharp painful reminder

That it hasn’t been so long

But I’ll just keep pushing forward

Because I refuse to be held down

I’ll keep fighting this feeling

I’m going to stand my ground

I deserve to just be happy

to let my wings fly free

I am going to live my life now

And somehow finally find me

Take back those words

Can we take back all the words that I have said that were cruel and unusual in the past 24 hours? Not just to others but you myself as well. Take back the pain, the hurt. The frustration , the tears. Can we hold on to the precious few moments that I felt like I was doing something of value instead of screwing up everything I set my mind, my hands, my eyes my heart to?

Can I know where the messages in my brain came that nothing was good enough. That all of a sudden I was this failure. Can you fix those short circuit ingredients wires and replace them in my head. Can you dry up the tears that fell from my cheeks as I cried over the fact that I wasn’t good enough for them, to cherish their laughter, to deserve their sticky kisses. Those thoughts don’t belong here anymore.

Long have I worked to prove to myself that I could make it through the hardships. Long have I toiled, re-education my brain to prove to myself I was worthy of everything I had put so much effort towards. But today…yesterday. feels like all that effort was in vain.

Black stormy clouds took over my head and down I sank. Clawing my way to some sense of peace. That I was going to be ok. To stop judging. To picking away at parts of myself that had scarred over. I struggled through the day just to fall into a restless sleep.

And upon awake the cloud not black but grey. Could I make it through. Would the sunshine and push away the sorrow that and stole my peace. I’m fighting. Fighting so hard. Counting the blessings.

Kids

Healthy

Writing

Sparkles

Home

Food

Family

But I feel unworthy. Why. Why is the question. I have no answers. No answers but I’m pushing through. Just have to make it. Make it till Thierry smiles can chase the clouds away once more. I’ll get there.

So many changes. Changes provoking thoughts. Thoughts pushing me so hard. But my body isn’t ready. Rest. Rest. I will be strong enough to do what I have to. In time. Not all at once. Shhh. Rest now. I will get through this. I will get through

Sparkle thoughts

I’m ALLOWED to have a BAD day!

I’m just having a bad day. Isn’t a girl allowed to have a bad day? For no reason other than she woke up sad. There’s a lot if things going on and I’m having a bad day. I feel scared, alone, exhausted. I feel netvous anxious. I feel like the tears are coming from no where and I can’t explain them. You ask me why and I say I don’t know. I can’t tell you why I feel this way. I can tell you the kids are just fine. This has nothing to do with my miraculous little creatutes. This has nothing to do with their father. He’s alrite in my book too. 

This has to do with the fact that I feel so very alone. That words and memories and songs keep playing through my head like faded memories and I can’t make themstop. I can make them go away. That I’m fighting this battle, this amazing, fantastic journey and I’m doing it all alone. And yes I’m fucking proud of nyself. It has nothing to do with pride. It has to do with I wish I had someone to hold my hand. To tell me ill be ok. To hold me through my what if and im scareds. To tell me they were right there beside me all along and you know what I don’t. And I’m mad. And I’m sad. And yes I’m allowed to be sad. I’m allowed to want to curl up and be held and just worry for a little while. 

I have all these emotions. I’m feeling all these things. This year’s has been so hard and I’ve been through so much already. And yes this is my journey, my step towards a better me, a healthier me, a new life. But I’m fucking scared. I’m scared that this is how it with always be. An uphill battle. Me against the world. With nothing soft to come home to. I miss the soft. I want the other side of my bed to be warm. I want comfort in knowing my insides are loved as much as my outsides. I want my forever. I want to stop THINKING about it. It hurts. I’m tired of it hurting. The hurt springing frp. No where at random times. Random moments of goid, like in the shower when I’m peaceful and safe and the thought of a forever moment creeps up. Because I let my mind go a little to easy. I let the wall crash down. I let myself relax.

This is the person I don’t let you see. The girl behind the mask. The girl who still has the softness to her. The fear of letting the world in. The one that wants to be held. Craves to be cherished. The girl that sits, weeping in her parked car, at the edge of a park. Instead of going home to sit in her room. Because maybe I can get over this and still make something of my day. All I want to do is eat. And I can’t eat. I gave up that line of defense. 

I’m allowing myself this time to have a bad day. Because it’s ok for me to cry. It’s ok for me to want. It’s ok for me to feel. I just wish….wish I had the switch to make it all ok again.

Falling off the wagon

I want to say I’ve become terrible at blogging but I haven’t. I want to say I’ve stop caring about blogging but I haven’t. I want to say I’ve sat and stared at the cursor blinking for hours but I havent…in all honesty I’ve thought about blogging, life has happened, I put it off and moved on. Things have been crazy in these parts. I’m 9 days away from syrgery, 2 days in to my doctor ordered strict liquids only diet. I am suffering through incredible headaches, awful nausea and I either want to cry or scream it really just depends on the moment.

The emotions running through my head are really interesting. On one hand I’m scared of what’s going to happen in 9 days, scared because I don’t know if people are still going to love me for my insides or if they are going to just like my outsides. If I’m going to like my outsides. I know I will, I’m just nervous…the unknown is a scary this. Traveling headfirst into my new story, no one to hold my hand, no one to kiss my forehead and tell me they will love me no matter what. I have to learn how to validate myself and that my friends is hard to do.

I’ve realized that as the days pass by I am slowly letting my love dissapear, like Marty Mcfly of the past. I don’t even remember his voice anymore. It has been determined that I am a good person. I am a person that can not knowingly go out to hurt people. I can not wrap my head around how people can knowingly invalidate others and hurt them to the extent that I’d been hurt. That is what I am dealing with now. Coming to my own sense of closure and I am getting there. Just by living.

So between coping, closure, odd moments of preop fear and watching so many artsy movies I think I’ve been ok. I’ve realized that I’m allowed to be ok. Not only am I allowed to be ok, but I’m allowed to be ok and have bad days. I’m allowed to be ok and fall off the wagon. I’m allowed to be ok and still want to be loved, to miss feeling someone by my side. In fact, I’m allowed to just be. And that’s ok. 

I’m going to try and choke down another slimy shake, you know, for health purposes!

Sparkle thoughts!!

Breakthrough Depression in Words

Walking down the shore at dusk, the air is soft and warm, the smell of the ocean is inviting. My mind begins to wander, thoughts of what is yet to come fill my mind and I sigh happily content with what the future may bring. And then it happens, I hear a little voice in my head and that voice isn’t talking to me. It is a distant memory that I have buried in the back of my mind and it is getting louder. One glance out to the ocean and I can tell it is uneasy. As the waves begin to bubble up my body tries to turn so that my steps take me further from the waters edge but I am frozen. I am frozen as the sudden wave comes crashing over me, threatening to pull me into the depths of the water. As the waves crest to crash again I hear that voice louder this time. The water stings my eyes and as I try to blink I see memories of the days in the past. The water is tugging at me and it knocks me to the ground. The swell happens again and the voices and the pictures and the memories flood over me as I cling to the sand holding on for dear life. Tears fill my eyes over and over again and the waves crash and I sob, nails digging into the shore unwilling to let myself be pulled into the chaotic whirlpool that is the angry water. The waves last an indeterminant amount of time, and the salt water mixes with my tears and I am no longer able to tell the difference. My body is sandy and soaking as I press myself to the sand begging the water to cease. Finally, battered and worn, I feel the warm air on my back again and I realize the water is further away than it was to start. The waves have calmed and my body is tired. I pull myself into a sitting position, knees to chest, arms wrapped around to warm myself and I watch as the sun finally sinks into the water. My eyes swollen from the memories they saw, my body tired from the fearsome fight and my mind full of what ifs. But I made it, and it did not pull me down this time. I am allowed to cry, I am allowed to feel sorrow and pain, I am allowed to fight through the pain all of it caused but I am NOT allowed to give up. I deserve the solace and peace of mind that comes with moving forward. I deserve the happiness that lays in front of me. I know the ocean has not finished its fight with me and I never know when it is going to try to pull me under again but I know that I will be ok. I’ve come so far and I am ok.

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Desperately Seeking Solace

My need to fill the space in time that I spend lost in my thoughts is swallowed by meaningless messages from strangers. Far safer then actual encountets, I can hide behind the safety of the Internet while I chat with them…The need for dependant validation exceedingly obvious.

It’s funny really, in all aspects of my life I am growing, extending, prospering even and yet I hide behind a mask of words in order to feel like I am going to bed full filled. I wonder if that thirst will ever be quenched or am I bound to spend endless moments typing away when I could be doing something real.

I have made life altering d3cisions. I am preparing for life changing and saving surgery. I smile everyday and hold an honest joy about tomorrow. I’ve made plans for the future that include no on save for the pixie and the sprite. Yet dear future husband is something I find myself writing everyday.

And it isn’t for sex and it isn’t for love…or is it. I honestly know that I need to connect on some level beyond physical attraction, which is why I can hold in depth conversations about silly or mundane things. I crave the intellectual randomness that you can only achieve getting to know someone new. But I sit there and wonder, am I lying? Are they seeing all of me? Do they even care?

The questions pile up and I know they won’t be answered.  I know that I won’t find what I am searching for online even though I have already discovered it in myself. A rare and true connection, where all the elements combine is life altering. I think I’ve had enough of those moments for now. 

I know though,  as soon as I post this, I will wander back to my deep dark dive bar on the web. Filled with smut and sweet and those desperately seeking solace. And I will validate them and they me. Because for even but a moment, sometimes all we need is a moment.

View from the inside

I wouldn’t say I worry about my writing. No worry isn’t the word I would use at all. I don’t worry about who reads my work, it is up to them if they continue to read it after they have realized it was written by me. I don’t worry about my content, because once again if you continue to keep reading after you’ve glimpsed what I am writing about, it is more of a proceed at your own risk. I don’t worry about the points that I try to make, I try to articulate everything I have to say as clear as I can. Granted I know they may come off as wacky, convoluted, snarky, sass and *insert your own adjective here* but I think I get my words out eventually. I will tell you what I “worry” about. My biggest “thing” I guess you would call it is wondering if I am touching anyone out there. I want to know that what I have to say is relevant to someone else and not just this big point that I have made in my mind. I want to know that in my manic phases and my borderline withdrawals I have not overstimulated my ego enough to think that my writing is SO GOOD that I am touching people’s lives when I am merely performing a literary masturbatory dance on a platform for the world to see. I mean some of you may be into that sort of kink and if that’s the case, go ahead and watch but I mean to affect the world.

I remember being younger, younger by days, months, years and just wanting something to touch me in a moment so that I would know that I wasn’t so very alone. That is how I took to the written word in the first place. I would crank up the music (much like the very 90’s playlist I have pumped in the background) and sit down and just write. I could write and write and write and cry or laugh or snicker bitterly at what they would never read and that would be my haven. I remember the first time someone read what I had to say, they told me that I wrote well and that I should think about writing for a living. I remember thinking that they needed to mind their own business and keep their fucking hands off my stuff. But in my mind’s eye (I hate that phrase) I dreamed of what it would be like to write for a living. I dreamed of an open-air studio, a hammock, scarves around my head, a typewriter (yes I had one as a kid and I would love to have one again) and just chronicling my life. I dreamed of taking people on adventures of the soul on journies through the mind and spirit. I wanted to touch people with my words.

Then that harsh hand of reality struck, as it always does, and I was forced to think about the future. About how writing held no real money and how I should focus on what I really wanted to do. But I REALLY wanted to write. OBVIOUSLY, I didn’t know better. So my writing went into journals and random blogs online. My poems went to those whom I loved and lost, who may or may not have deserved them at the time. Who knows, maybe pieces of me are still out there, in memory boxes of those who I wrote them to, little pieces of my soul scattered around the world, or maybe people aren’t as sentimental as I am. I still wrote as much as I could, I was still told that I should keep writing, but my words had taken a different tone, a darker one and as my mental health turned inward it continued to reach toward the light from a very dark place. It became a cry for help and when it wasn’t a cry for help, it was undauntingly the whispers of a soul crying for the loss of those she loved, used in eulogies of all who had passed from her life.

Journals upon journals, half empty pages, torn out half written scribbles, they fell out of the boxes I had packed them in when I finally moved into a place that could hold them all. It had been years since I wrote anything of substance. I had shifted my mental focus on the two lives I had grown within and given up all hope of touching anything but their lives. Through my struggles to become a better mom and a better person I was starting a journey to figure out exactly who that person was. As I came across the whisperings of yesteryear everything clicked back into place. I remembered how desperately I needed that someone to take my hand and pull me through my darkest hour. I felt that tug again because it wasn’t too long ago that I once again needed that person. It had only been a few years since I almost lost myself to a diagnosis I did not understand. I felt as if no one could understand me. I did not know how to be a single mommy, let alone one that had this undeniable feeling of being alone all the time. I needed a shoulder, a hand, a heart to open to mine and show me the light. I found what I needed to pull me through and though there are still days I yearn for the caress of words to make the struggle so much better; What I want for more is to reach through that void and grab the hands of someone else faltering, even if only to tell them that they are not alone.

I feel sometimes that my words as not enough, that they will come of convoluted or even superior to the struggles that the demons inside take you through on a daily basis. And to that I have no words other than I am here, feel me with you, I have been there, hold on tight, I promise I get it. I do not think myself above even the lowest of days, the days of mascara streaked cheeks, of blanket nests, of the desperation that looks like a razors edge. I know the bleakest of grays and blacks but I know the glimmer of yellows and pinks, the glitter of the snow as it falls over the scars that have long since healed. And if it is only for a moment that I can hold you in my arms and let you see the world, see the hope, see yourself through my eyes;Let me show you the way.

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