calm of the storm

April 17, 2013

Calmer now. The waters have receded. We’re moving onward.




April 1, 2013

I was off for three days. Three blissfully lazy, wonderful days. I did none of the chores I needed to do. I feel like a slob but I do not care. Not one fuck given. It was a great miniature vacation.



March 20, 2013

And fuck if I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere. Is alienation a symptom of bipolar disorder or am I just paranoid right now? That “no one understands me, baw” feeling. Ugh, I hate it, it is pretentious, but fuck if I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere.

But you know. Bawww, whine, whatever. I was raised to believe that nothing I said had merit and people don’t pay me any mind anyway, so I don’t feel as if talking about this feeling is–well, let’s just say that when I feel this way, another voice tells me “shut up, cuntface, who the fuck gives a shit” which is true, completely true, wholly true.


March 13, 2013

It’s a good, lazy day. I think I’ll take a nap.

sriracha chips

March 7, 2013

One of the things I hate most about bipolar disorder is that constant, nagging inability to socialize appropriately, followed by the constant, nagging worry that you’ve just pissed someone way the hell off. It feels worse than it is, usually, and sometimes you’re right, you have pissed them off, but most of the time you tend to be wrong, because you don’t know how to tell if someone is mad at you or concentrating really hard on something else, or if someone is just irritated in general.

Then you feel horrible about feeling that way, as if you were flattering yourself by believing you were important enough to make a person mad at you.

I was raised in a home that refused to believe in psychotherapy, that believed I was poorly behaved instead. The way my mother and stepfather dealt with this was to use mental and verbal abuse so powerfully that I would eventually come to believe that I was everything horrible that they told me I was. I don’t have the greatest self esteem as a result, but what’s more, people don’t know this when they look at me. I can’t explain it to just anyone, either. One does not go around in their daily life expressing the fact that they came from mental abuse. One merely picks up and moves on, and only explains this fact when bad behavior comes out. I feel very strongly that abuse is misused in order to garner attention, so I try not to mention my own unless someone asks me. I’m open about the subject, but I would rather not offer it.

Mental abuse is also one of those weird things that I feel does not get the same kind of attention as physical abuse because it doesn’t leave visual scarring (unless the victim is driven to self-harm, as many are). I could be wrong, for the times, they are a-changin’.

Sometimes I hate it when people tell me “I wouldn’t know you were bipolar to look at you.” You aren’t observant.

Sometimes, I like it. It means I’ve done a brilliant job of functioning properly and behaving well. It means I haven’t used the wrong words or said something entirely inappropriate, or had any tics or any sudden fury which sometimes takes hold and then passes just as soon as it arrives.

I am smoking right now. I feel that it helps me access memories that I wouldn’t normally remember; not what happened that day, or even yesterday or the day before, but things that happened a long time ago that I wasn’t aware I had forgotten. I have an amazing capacity for short-term memory, but long-term is much more difficult. Even yesterdays can be challenging. I mark days by remembering details like what I ate or what I wrote, or what I wore. Other things get mixed up and lost in a big mess, but I get to pull out specific things from this mess when I imbibe cannabis. Right now I am remembering my birthday at Six Flags. I wore a green shirt, blue jean shorts, white socks and tennis shoes. I was with my dad and my sister. We ate turkey legs and my dad forced me to ride the rides even though I balked stubbornly enough to go out and sit in the parking lot for the rest of the time. I am really glad he did, because I loved them all. I realized that you can’t think too much about what you’re about to do, even if you wait in line for an hour to get on a thirty-second ride, because otherwise you’ll just never do it. You’ll let fear tell you to run away. I did it. I got into each coaster seat like a person going to their death. It was amazing.

I love my dad. He’s a cool guy. He, like the rest of my family live about 2500 miles away from me, which I feel is a perfectly safe distance. I don’t own a phone, and I don’t often contact my family. Not out of any kind of hate, or embarrassment of them. I feel it’s better that I sequester myself from them. It is safer, and it is much healthier for me, as well. There are certain family members I do not care to ever see again because I feel they are too unhealthy to be around.

I think that’s a sad bundle of thoughts to think, but the nature of things is real, and I accept that willingly enough.

I like to be alone. I always have. The inability to socialize well turned me very misanthropic, but after searching around a while, I managed to find a community that I can be relatively okay with. It’s a community of strange and unusual folk, but I myself am strange and unusual. I had to go find a place that would be okay with me, just as okay as I was with it. Mutual agreements.

I think that’s all that life is, really, just a matter of finding your bee people.


March 3, 2013

Every day, I get high before I go to work. Obviously no one is aware of this, another reason why I write this anonymously. Before work, I have about a bowl load (I prefer smoking from pipes) or so, and listen to music which is very soothing in order to induce a state of calm and readiness. I go to work and I put myself wholly into what I’m doing, and no one knows any differently.

I’ve never said this aloud before, or to anyone.

song for spiderbro

March 2, 2013



he eats bugs, he won’t eat your toe

spins his webs, eats some flies

doesn’t want any greasy fries


he is a spiderbro


But Before I Go

March 2, 2013

It is really difficult to hold my tongue sometimes, but I learned early that children were seen and not heard and “not heard” became “shut up” (in so many words, in tones of voices, in facial expressions, in long-suffering sighs, in incredibly awkward silences) several times after I tried opening my mouth and stupid stuff came out.

Stupid stuff so often comes out. It’s irrelevant, or it’s only funny in my head, or it’s downright esoteric, or entirely unrelatable. In despair I feel like the average are thinking in obtuse angles and I’m stuck in acute. In mania, the opposite.

Trapped in delusions and hallucinations and all kinds of colors, with only a partial ability to communicate the magnitude of all its greatness, and then again, without an audience that gives a shit. Unless you pay them.

Medicine. Helpful chemistry soothes things into a manageable flow; more control over abnormal behavior, no hallucinations, a clear head to think with and a mind to remember how not to hang on the panic button.

Cannabis. Slow the racing thoughts, stabilize the mood, ease panic providing the environment is stable and the imbiber is confident, open the pathways for language and expression for a mind normally…finding it difficult to communicate. Appropriately. Helps sleep, too, without ever needing more than a cup of chamomile tea as a sleep aid.

O muse.