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 4, 2013

Mania will lessen in emphasis over time. Eventually it will turn to a middle ground, and soon, depression. Thankfully I’ve just gotten over a big depressive turn, so…here’s hoping the depression is still on vacation. Mania isn’t gone so much as it is not as present in the forefront, which is appreciated as much as it can be. There are so many things I can get done when I’m in this mood, but my biggest challenge is deciding on what.

At work, it’s easy to make this decision. There are always things to do, and they need to get done before a certain time. At home, I’m surrounded by an endless complexity of arts, crafts, books, musical fascinations, video games and movies, things that tear my attention away from the last thing and get it focused for something new. I can even go outside and entertain sidewalk chalk delusions on the front porch, take a walk, take pictures. Hell, I want to do all of these things. But which do I want to do most? And first? Can I make a list? What if making the list takes too long and I don’t get around to doing what I wanted to do?

Sometimes, I just start somewhere. Anywhere will do. When I end is when I end.

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.