The Minutes Pass

12 minutes until my husband even thinks about coming home to me. 12 minutes to ingest all of the medication I have been harboring. 12 minutes to breath so deep it will fill my toes. 12 minutes to pray, and I don’t pray.
11 minutes to take stock. Love and kiss my kitty. Rub his ears in a way he knows it’s me. Look at his awesome green eyes against a shiny beautiful black fur. Hear his purr reverberate through me one last time.
9 minutes to look around the house. Is. This how I want to leave? On the floor belly full of who knows what medication. If they ask. If they come. I have no answer. No care. Maybe it’s finally done.
8 minutes I look at the clock. Maybe I can go back to school. Maybe I just die right now. Right here. No pulse. No breath. What do I have to offer anymore?
My skin is cold. My thoughts slow.
5 minutes. The bag is in my reach. Swallowing will be hard. But so easy at the same time. Resting. I would love to rest. No more thoughts. No more worry. No more pain. It can end right now.
Wait. My timer. My clock is wrong. It’s an hour. 58 fucking minutes. What’s any of this for? What is this existence about. For who? For what? I have no dreams. No purpose. Just here i guess.
I didn’t go on the hike. Not even close. I let that clock count down and declared I missed the deadline. Which is true. But it didn’t have to be that way. I wasn’t ready.
I so want to be ready. Ready for life. Ready for what comes. New shoes. I played tennis yesterday. Same racket. New balls. Not as comfortable as I used to be, but..felt good in the sunshine. Belting that yellow ball. Breathing out fierce air. Pushing out the darkness. Allowing in the light. Letting my shoulders loose, shrug, relax. Daring to feel that ball.
33 minutes later. I got lost in my words. In the moment. Forgot the pills. Forgot the darkness. Just let my shoes flop over the ottoman. Leaned back into the comfort of my couch. In my spot.
29 minutes. Darkness invades. Breath stinks. Silence is. Stillness is. Holding my breath is. The norm. I stare down at my feet. Can’t look up. Those pills calling. What’s the point? What’s this existence?

Am I A Slave to Time?

The passing of time
Is not flawless
Minutes on the hour
Can be torturous
The ticking in the air
Is never serendipitous
The movement of my hand
Or a voice incredulous
Changes wavelengths
Can contort heart rates
Its when the sunshine dissipates
Darkness encroaches
And sometimes sets fate
That I am most afraid
Fear my breath is stolen
Depression lingers and waits
For if my guard sets down
The devil somehow anticipates
My weakened and fragile state
The clock on the mantle
The watch on my wrist
Simultaneously dictates
The very existence I emulate
Much to my dismay
The second hand has now
Made me a slave
I cannot count the seconds
Left in my life
But clearly
By all accounts
They are for whatever reason
Keeping me alive




Desperate to Forget

A smoke screen of virtue
Strangles her
As she pretends to be
Other than herself
Staring through that rear view mirror
Clamoring to leave yesterday
As a matter of fact
All the yesterdays she can remember
Luckily the booze and pills
Helps just enough
Allowing moments to fade to black
Til she wakes
Full of regret
To chase another tomorrow

On My Own

I reach for the phone, but something stops me. I think I should call my therapist and let her know I am not doing so well. But, I cannot dial the phone. I stare at the screen and repeat her phone number. My fingers remain frozen and lifeless.  I practice what I might say. All I hear is darkness. The words do not come. The tears christen my cheek. I can feel the hardwood floor supporting me. I just want to curl into myself. Shut the world out. “Handle it on my own.” I’ve been trying to handle this, bipolar disorder, for a couple years now. I’m not sure when I am actually going to learn I cannot do it alone. I know my husband is watching me out of the corner of his eye, gauging me.

Last night he gave me soooo much room to tell him what is happening for me.  He asked me softly. Gently. Lovingly. Somewhat forcefully. I didn’t bite. I could not bring myself to tell him I was having intrusive thoughts of harming myself accompanied by visuals of ways to go about it. Very vivid and detailed plans. I could not get them to stop. I tried everything: I listened to music through headphones. Mopped the kitchen floor. Worked on an art project. Nothing helped. I finally took a medication to take a nap. I needed relief STAT.  It was my last resort.  Thank goodness it worked to some degree.

The last two mornings I have felt very depressed.  The initial symptoms that landed me in the hospital were depression and psychosis.  Luckily the depression subsided for about a month, but now its like I am dipping my toes in that poison again. I can just feel it in my body.  When I wake up, that heaviness, that lack of desire to face anything weighs me down.  I just want to cry for no reason at all. Holding back the tears is nearly impossible.  Actually getting out of bed is a physical feat. But, somehow I do. I don’t linger in bed for long as that would spell disaster for me. Ruminating on these past 2 months would not be beneficial in the least. Thoughts of giving up are bouncing around my mind.

Sounds silly but I look forward to my cozy slippers I bought for myself. I love the smell of coffee first thing in the morning.  It’s a quiet time to spend with my husband as well. We do chat, but mostly we just move about the morning. The cats scurry back and forth from the food bowl. The sun inches ever higher. The warming of my body as I sip coffee from my favorite cup is inviting.  We get up early, seems before the day has started for many people.  Its ours to cherish.

As of right now, since I am not working, my husband leaves work and I have 2 hours before I have to be anywhere. I am a low maintenance gal, so it takes me about 40 minutes to get ready in the morning. Those 2 hours are either agonizingly slow or too fast. It just depends on my mood. Lately, I have been making an extra point in working out. Even if its for 20 minutes. I have to expel negative energy or it catches up with me throughout the day.  I have a treadmill at home and exercise equipment.  Today I did a bodyweight routine I made up. My first round was quite lackluster, but the third was pretty strong.  It takes so much convincing to get my body moving.  If I tell myself I only have to do 5 minutes, invariably I do more.  I have a long history of being very active and then not active at all.  I don’t want to lose the desire to workout on top of everything else.

I’m trying damn hard to turn my thinking around. These past 2 painful months can’t be for not. Mental Illness is brutal. Bipolar disorder is doing what it will with my life right now. I don’t feel like I’m in control of much. I guess I can be in control of what words I choose to write and in turn what attitude I am trying to adopt. This episode is one of the hardest things I have had to go through. Well, I think I say that about every episode as they seem to come along and blow my socks off. Disrupt my life for who knows how long.

As the day winds down and my husband returns home from a long day at work, I am sipping tea and writing.  Its not the worst gig in the world. I can only hope tomorrow is better and better after that.