Forgive me for the Dance

After the fire has long been expunged
My ashen feet charred w soot
The spiral smoke infested ceremony
Precariously Rests upon my skin
Paying homage to the damage you’ve done
They say let go of
What you cannot keep
I needed rid of you my love
Your stench hanging in the air
The enmeshment more than a charade
Your lines blurring into mine
Our step becoming too in line
I tried casting you off
With dignity
And grace
You came back w a fever
bungee cords in place
Tethered
Always tethered
My breath becomes yours
Until
I severed the connection
Painfully and slowly
Plotting
Disguised as independence
Disguised as a need to grow
Gasping for air
I lit the fire
Freedom flames erupted
And began to replenish my soul
Forgive me for the dance
Upon your demise
As I swayed
Sashayed
And pranced
To a rhythm all my own

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Grim Reaper is Lurking

I’m trying to be strong. If that means immersing myself in breakfast burritos,television and booze i am superwoman. Curtains closed. Pajamas on. No shower for 4 days. Didn’t leave the house for 4 days. Calling in sick. Believing I am sick. Tissues not for a cold but the steady stream of unwanted tears.
But,then I look in that mirror while brushing my teeth, trying to rid myself of depression stench, I am broken. Red swollen eyes peering back at me. I want to avert my eyes and embrace the pain at the same time. The darkness is here. Taken over. I am swept downstream into the proverbial pit in a matter of days. Maybe it was hours. I don’t even know. Does it really matter? I have come to rest in the mud and mire. Couldn’t move if I wanted to. Muffled screams, cries for help. No one can hear you down here. Devil got my tongue and pride.
Denial is like a tattoo, etched into my being. Its okay. I’m alright. Just breathe. Shake it off. Nothing to see here. I’m only drowning in my own fears. My own half truths. Depression whispers in my ear. You don’t belong. Burden. Weakness oozing from your pores. Look at you, pathetic sole rippling in agony. Why? For what? You’ve got a car. House. Job. Husband. Please. Many other people have it hard. Are struggling. If you killed yourself the world would carry on without a doubt. These whispers become roars. I cower in the corner.
Half truths. I do feel like a burden. I do worry I am too much. My weakness bleeds into my job, my marriage. I’m not present. Always battling that devil. He’s got not only my tongue, but my ear. Nonsense filtering into my heart. Adrenaline of hate seeps into my psyche. I could pull the trigger so easily in these moments. I picture it. I embody it.
But, I don’t. The television roars. The doorbell sings of pizza. Distraction. Pleasant or unpleasant somehow keeps me here. The good guys on tv prevail. Maybe, so can I. Trivial, yes. But I takes what it takes. The grim reaper may be lurking, but I might just be stronger than I think.

Can Bipolar move the earth?

If the earth moved even a billionth of a centimeter I would feel it. I am that sensitive and tuned in right now. More accurately I’m in overdrive. Bustling and bumbling through my day like I’m the man about town with some serious shit to tackle.  Deadlines are obliterated. Paperwork stacked and restocked. Calendar bursting w meetings and agendas I know nothing about.  However, the start of my day is a wrestling match as I fight myself to get out of bed. I cry into the mirror as I curse my face, my hair, my being. Then I gather my things and skip to my car. Off to work I go.  On the drive, tears stream. The overwhelm of existence and the expectation I participate in life hit me like a rolling thunder.  The mind races as if to catch a tornado ravaging through towns. At the stop light I am forced to take a pause. Take a moment. Take stock.  A few days this week I have contemplated running right through that red light and straight to the bridge that taunts me. The bridge that promises me free fall into the abyss. No more wrestling. No more crying. No more desperate need to show I am normal and do not harbor a mental illness.  The light turns green. I turn left towards my office.  I park wiping confused and tired tears from my eyes.  This inner battle can’t be seen. My freshly pressed blouse and slacks wreak of secrets and botched professionalism. Yesterday I couldn’t utter the word bipolar to my officemate. Instead I used the term chronic illness. I have never used that terminology before in reference to myself. There are huge gaps in my memory due to me beating out “sick” for months at a time coupled with the usual memory issues of bipolar disorder.  The gaps filled the room as she and I were cleaning out cabinets for our impending move. She is new and  looking to me for guidance on various documents. My anxiety and frustration rose at the same time.  My ego being poked. I finally looked at her and briefly explained my gaps.  Soon after, I slammed my computer shut, grabbed my stuff and scurried away. Gave no notice to anyone I was leaving.  Once again in my car at that red light.  The bridge less than 15 minutes away.  I turned in that direction.  But, you know what there are probably 7-8 red lights down that path.  One of those intersections leads me to my mental health clinic.  I checked in the for he afternoon and freshened up on some DBT skills as well as attended a process group.  There are so many ways I can go w my bipolar and lots of times I’m just spinning.  Today. Somehow, I got myself where I really needed to be.

Taking Names

Today at 9:27 AM