Reborn

I rise and fall
On the anticipation of fear
There can be no perfect moment
Darkness into light
Sentient beings rise
Clamoring for answers
Faith on the hill
Fortune found in a cookie
Secrets of the past
Unlocked w a gold key
Moral compass shattered
Dangling from a wire of
Compromise and lost virtue
I am not myself
Staring back in horror
The mirror does not lie
Stripped
Scarred
And naked
Red blood spills on
White porcelain
Mental anguish
Gives way to the physical
I am reborn in this pain

 

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Black & White Shuffle

They are soft tears
Rolling slightly
Quietly
I sit innocent
Unknowingly
As they trickle
No cascade
Just a trickle
Just enough
A lasting reminder
I’m not in control
Depression
Bipolar
Often calling the shots
Television in the rears
Begging for distraction
Yet I stare
Yet memories blare
Yet anxiety taunts
Black
White
Thoughts of despair
Wet cheeks in tow
I shuffle off to bed

Insidious Chains

What happens
when you don’t care enough
to hold your own hand?
When your very own mind
Turns on you
When the waters below
promise to cradle you
When The devil himself
promises to free you
When thoughts of the future
Only hold more pain
When in the present
You barely maintain
When secrets begin
To morph into lies
When you close the bathroom door
To put on your disguise
When you choose a shade darker
To manipulate a smile
When the laughter
Simply disappears
When 3 am comes again and again
Rendering you broken and in tears
When joy was once felt
But no longer seems to exist
When shared experiences of love
Are cast down by shame
I can tell you what happens
Hope is lost to ferocious fears
Life is not worth living
In these insidious chains

A Friend in the Winds

Is it possible to have a friend in the wind?
Not that the breeze carries me to him
Not that a north easterly brings me closer
Rather as the days fold into nights
Stars brilliantly sashay around the moon
Til sunrise comes a callin
A new day breeds a claim
To a simple whisper in the pines
Or an all out cry to you
Many things waiver in the wind
Many things set sail
Yet I still try to hold you close
I look for some sense of old permanence
Our laughter
Sharing of our despair
Sitting on broken down couches
At the same time mending a different fence
Shadow lights from up above
Unknowingly causing distance
Tangible notes on the phonograph
Repeating notes and words we both know
Comfort creatures feeling restless
Sadly unable to bury the load
Memories traipse across the threshold
Invite themselves in
Come bearing witness of the truth
Trampled roses
Unlucky as a daisy can be
This saturated old cold house
Rotten maybe to its core
Once provided me refuge
I truly never knew before
But in my earnest
Listening for a new miracle
I heard just a faint whisper in distant voice
Enchantingly lying on the wind
As it brushes past my forever red hair
Chills my ocean blue eyes
I instinctually sit up as I used too
To embrace your proper despair
Friends we sat in anticipation
Ready to share the pain
Its in the still nights
I wonder where you are
Wonder if my burden
Carried you too far
And you felt your own delicacy
When the precious wind comes my way
I want to believe you are with me
In your own way

Dirty Warehouse of Unworthy

The passion
Sweat
And subsequent
Shame
Permeates the air
Heart beats of anger
Internal rage
Its not a soft beating
Trapped in this cage
Of childhood assaults
Broken brain chemistry
Utter Despair
The crashing of our bodies
Clashing of our minds
Misdirected pain
Staunch ego and
Unclaimed trauma
Thrash around the room
Your sheer man power
Not at all chivalrous
Crushes me
Yet the weight of my own burden
Collapses me
Unabashedly I beg for more
In the dirty warehouse of unworthy

Its So Okay

When we held hands it was electric.
A modern day sparkler extravaganza.
He lit up the night sky in a way I never knew existed.
Later, I came to realize it was all a fantasy.
His grip was just on the verge of being too tight.
Its okay, he’s just strong.
His words came across w a pungent tone.
Its okay, he’s just intense.
His desire sometimes could illicit pain
Its okay, he’s a fierce lover
His lips were sultry and smelled of another
Its okay, he comes home to me
His whispers were full of deceit
Its okay, sometimes lies fill the gaps
His love for me is grandiose
Its okay, i can be anything he needs

Saturday Morning Musings

The tide has turned
In the wee hours of the night
Darkness began to fade
Only to usher in light
Vibrancy filled my veins
Sustenance filled my soul
An angel graced my bedside
While I slumbered
My penance had been atoned
Forgiveness sprinkled over me
Manic agitated being
Lifted from my weary bones
Rest had finally entered
Mercy granted
Simple
But not so simply
Were my actions condoned
Upon the rising of the sun
I had much work to do
Not only a self pardon
But apology to you
A mere gesture
That faith has been restored

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!

White Knuckling

I am trapped inside my my mind. I shout. I rebel. I long for expression. Yet I sit silent. My words, my connection, with you is severed. I don’t think this is my fault. You see I need you to hear me. My voice, well, has “left the building.” My bipolar depression has wrapped itself around me. I am muffled at best.
The world spins. Days rise and set. I sit. Staring at the wall. Resting. Movement is slow and overwhelming. Getting out of bed is an accomplishment. Brushing my teeth over the top. Accolades do not resonate. Guilt hangs on my chest. Why can’t I do more. Go to work. Cook a simple meal. Even think about making coffee? I’m so exhausted yet I haven’t actually moved in days.
I left messages with my boss. With my therapist. With my psychiatrist. Not necessarily in that order. Explaining. Maybe it mostly sounding like excuses. The honesty I exuded was painful then. Admitting my cognition, stamina, memory was compromised took all I had. But, really looking back, it was probably obvious to others. I was barely hanging on. My face often flush, looking hung over. Raw. Fragile. The hangover was from emotion, floods of tears, uncertainty. White knuckling a mood disorder.
The darkness has moved in. Rented space without a lease. I didn’t know it was coming and I don’t know when it would leave. Scary synopsis for a person w bipolar disorder. The reality of daylight savings time this weekend has me quivering. Bold black night greeting me at 5pm. It affects me. Deeply.
My action plan, if I can muster the energy? Walks in the midday sunlight. Big cleansing breaths with sun on my face. Quiet time in the holiday craze. If that’s not possible, I steal just 5 minutes here and there. I have a you tube video w a song called “Breathe” I listen to in headphones. Just me and the music. Its a reminder and a reprieve at the same time.
Fall is a time of beauty. A cleansing as the rains come. For me personally, its a time to really take notice of my internal clock. My tolerance or intolerance of noise, light, crowds. As the leaves change so does my mood. Historically speaking, I’m vulnerable this time of year. Armed with this information I can do my best to manage all that comes.