A Year of Chronicles

WordPress sent me an anniversary note. Wow! One year of blogging. On my very own blog! I started out writing for my friends blog because at the time I was pretty ill and couldn’t fathom managing a blog myself. It seemed too big. Too overwhelming. Too much responsibility. Of course I had no idea what I was talking about. It was just fear standing in my way. When my friend said he was done with his site I had to make a decision. Write and share w no one or enter the blogosphere. I also had to lower my expectations.
I often think my blog should be fancier. Post pictures or have a better theme. Be more eye catching. Glamorous. Amazing. But, really it’s my words that I want to stand out. That’s my soul purpose here…written expression. Keeping it simple is more my style. I’m not really fancy in any other area of my life. Or graceful for that matter. I’ve considered maybe my writing is too dark. Too disturbing. I don’t tread lightly in choosing my words. I lay it out in my terms, terms that really speak to this roller coaster. From the demons of depression to the heightened senses of mania, I tell it like I feel it. When I don’t know what I’m feeling, equate to being lost…confused, I try to put a voice to it as best I know how.
I first wrote in 2013 following a trip to the bridge w a plan to jump. I agonized on that day. A flood of disillusionment. Spinning in circles. Then looking down upon frigid open waters I was convinced would bring me peace. All I wanted was inner peace from the all consuming chaos. I spinned some more. Ultimately I reached out to my friend and landed in the hospital. He asked me what that day was like. When I stammered to tell him, welling up with tears and oozing anxiety, he suggested I write it down. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.
I often locked myself away in my room during high school years writing poems of despair. I grew up in an emotionally unavailable household. I took to pen and paper to express myself because my verbal communication was never heard. When I was about 14 or 15 I was shutdown completely by my mother. In desperate teenage angst, I reached out to her and she slapped my hand away. Up went the wall. Out came the paper.
So, really I have been writing for quite some time. But, my words, thoughts and feelings were never shared. Never allowed much less accepted. In the tumultuous dance of life with bipolar disorder, I need somewhere to go. To express. To feel unconditionally. I suppose I could do that in my therapist’s office. There is just something to the freedom of this blog. Its open 24 hours a day and free. It allows me to be me in any context. Footloose and fancy free.
Happy anniversary to me!

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