Whispers

Whispers in the brain. Statics of electricity bursting forth. Giving birth to inspiration. Then vanishing into the night. Disappearing with no trace. Leaving you unable to recall from where or how or why. Unable to retrieve or recreate a moment. Lost in darkness. Shrouded by doubt and fear. Consumed. 

Until a spark releases you from its grasp. Then you run as far as you can before it reaches back out with its tendrils and drags you back into the darkness. Surrounding you. Suffocating. 

Alone. 

Whispers. Doubts. Sorrows. Fears. All consuming. All encompassing. Disorienting. Spinning faster. Becoming lost in the vacuum. Awake with unseeing eyes into a past before the future of now. Blind. Stumbling. Pulling. Higher or lower unable to know for sure. Right or wrong. Back or forward. Up or down. They are the same. Onward. What other choice do you have?

It Won't Last Forever

I HATE when people say this. It pisses me off to no ends. Because you know what? I'm fucking BIPOLAR. Not just normal catherine zeta jones take a weekend off and everything's all fine again bipolar. I'm more of the Sybil boil your bunny on the stove bipolar. And you know what this will LAST FOREVER. Bipolar is not curable. It is managable to a certain extent if the person WANTS to manage it and I do want to manage it and I manage it and my life actually quite a lot better than most fucking sane people do. 

I work my ass off. I support my family. I put up with shit that most normal sane people would not be able to put up with, but I deal with it. And fuck you  and everyone like you for saying such  idiotic comments when you don't know jack shit about me and I never asked you for your opinions. 

When you live inside of a bipolar mind, one of the best things to do to get the shit out of your brain is to vomit it out and I do that here on my blog. I vomit out the shit so that I can function and manage. I put all of the shit here instead of in my life. I say here the things I can't/shouldn't say because I"m in a moment of no control so I say them here and get it out so that I can think clearly and act with a clear mind. So that I can make reasonable clear headed decisions instead of fucked up decisions that are totally NOT in my best interest. I don't come here to hear your pathetic attempts at "advice" because obviously you know jack shit about what it's like to live with a brain that makes no fucking sense half of the time.

Human Repellant

Silently I watch the world pass before me. A silent observer of humanity, watching as its participants interact in a play I don't seem to be a part of. There are times they call me forth and I  get hopeful. Hopeful that this time I'll remain, but it never is to be. Only for a short while am I allowed into their inner sanctum. To be tossed out once again. Never knowing what it is about me that causes them to run away. Why I seem to have to hold onto them so tightly, until my grip fails me and they slip free. 

It always happens. The one certainty that exists in the ever changing chaos that is my world.

At first I feel sorrow. A deep ache within me longing to be wanted. Longing to be a part of something. Anything. Longing to feel remembered, but a reality it shall never be. I shall spend eternity in the land of in between. A shadowy figure lurking at the edges of humanity. Unwanted. Unnoticed. Discarded.

Another Day Ended

Deep breaths. Slow to inhale. Allowing my lungs to expand until they almost burst. Then slowly releasing the air from its confinement. I listen to the  sound my breath makes as it enters and exits my body. Repetitive. Consistent. In. Out. If only people were that simple. If only I could understand what it is they want and give it to them. If only I knew what I was suppose to be/do/become. 

I hate asking for help. That's not really true. I hate NEEDING help. I hate the feeling that I cannot do something without HAVING  to ask someone to help me. At the moment, I need a lot of help. I hate asking. I hate needing. I hate that feeling of dependency. Of being dependent on another. Because people are undependable. People are not to be relied upon. They let you down. It's easier to do by myself for myself. Except now I'm too far in. I can't get out. I have to depend on others. I have to wait for them to let me down. 

I worry when I need to ask others for help. People have limits. They only help you when they get  something in return, but when you have nothing to give in return, then no one wants to help you. The minute you no longer benefit them you're forgotten. Tossed aside. Unwanted. Discarded. Replaceable. 

This is why I don't ask others for help. This is why I don't want to NEED help from others. Others disappoint you. I learned this from my mother. A woman I could not depend on to protect me when I needed protection. To support me when I needed encouragement. To hold my hand when I needed a friend. She  taught me people are unreliable. They break their word. They remember you when they want something and forget you when they don't. She taught me people cannot be trusted.  

What's funny though is that I've come so far in my life even though I have so little because of the lessons taught to me by my mother. When you have nothing, you do one of two things. Surrender or fight. I've been fighting for 34 years. I'm ready for the bell to ring. I'm ready to take a break from fighting. There has to be more. Something invisible. Hiding in the crevices. Just beyond my reach. There just has to be. I guess that is why I'm crazy because I believe in things I've never seen, never touched, never known. I believe they exist and I search for them. I throw away that which is in front of for that which may or may not actually be. 

I hate myself for the person I am becoming. A whiny, complaining, needy female. I hate those females. With a fervor that I cannot put into words. I don't want to be the person I see myself becoming. I fight hard against it but the harder I fight the more I become that which I fight against. I don't want to be needy. I don't want to be whiny. I don't want to be the person I am. But I don't know how to change the reflection in the mirror. Some days I wonder what lies beneath my skin. If I peeled it off, would I find that which I seek? Is that where the magical world between fight and surrender is? Beneath the layers of my skin. 

My fingers ache.  My bones ache. My eyes sore from the continuous overflow. My soul aches. A pain so deep that it rocks my core. An ache that I want to cut from my chest. To rip it out and stomp on it. To make it cease to exist. To scream at it. To unleash the wrath that is bottled inside of me upon it. To take vengeance for all the wrongs. To feel I deserving of vengeance. To understand the purpose of being here. 

What was the purpose of my creation? To be a toy for a father whose hands roamed in places no father's hands should have. To be forgotten by a mother whose only concern was getting fucked. To be broken by a husband who took pleasure in pain. To be tossed aside. Discarded when the new wore off. Understanding. Maybe that is what is hiding in the crevices. Deep within. Just beyond my reach. 

Understanding and purpose. Time to inhale.

Am I Really the Crazy One

I've been in a funk the last few weeks. Sometimes up. Sometimes down. Sometimes so angry I want to strangle the heads off chickens, and sometimes I couldn't give a flying monkey fuck if the sky fell. While my emotional state is in constant flux, I'm not an evil person, and when I look around at the things that people do I truly wonder is it me that is crazy?

I mean I don't intentionally harm others. I go out of my way to help others to the point of being detrimental to my own well being. I don't feel entitled to things. Even though I was raised very poor, as an adult I never sat around on my ass, collecting welfare/benefits, and popping out little hooligans once a year. At 20, I actually went to my doc and said seal the hole I don't want nothing else popping out of there because apparently birth control did not work on me which is why I have two children that are barely one year apart. I knew I wasn't capable of raising more so I plugged that hole up for good. If I have and you come to me, I'll glad share whatever I have however little it may be. I'm understanding and appreciative of the different cultures, ethnicities, and people around the world. I love to learn and experience things I've never seen or tasted or touched or heard before. 

Yet I'm crazy. And the world that is rioting, looting, killing, intolerant, prejudice, ignorant, unwilling to learn or accept the differences of others. That is sane. I just don't get it. It makes no sense to me. 

In my everyday existance, I'm often ignored, forgotten, overlooked, not included and basically unless it's time for me to give the household allowance I pretty much cease to exist. Because I don't force myself or my wants/desires/needs on others, then people tend to not care if I'm ok or if something has happened to me, but yet I'm the crazy one and they are all sane. 

Since I've started blogging I've met such wonderful people. People who miss my presence when it's absent, do the smallest thing of sending emails/comments/tweets/messages to see if I'm ok, or just to say they were thinking of me. It's the oddest thing to me. As a child I use to get locked out of the house at night because I would be sitting outside under the trees and no one ever even noticed that I wasn't in the house yet people online notice and it's very odd. I don't know how to respond or how to feel. I don't know what my reaction to them should be. At times I feel obligated and at other times I feel overwhelmed at their care. And of course there is the paranoid side of me that thinks, what do they want, what is their true intention, are they trying to trick me, harm me, hurt me?

But the strangest thing of all is that every single person online who remembers me, who checks on me, who shows genuine concern for me is also crazy. 

Though their label might be BPD or anxiety or insert label here, but every single one of them falls into the category of crazy/disordered/insane/insert other stigma word here. The people I interact with online who are NOT crazy/disordered/insane/insert other stigma word here never notice when I'm gone. Never email or comment to offer a kind word of encouragement, support. Now I'm not saying all non disordered/non crazy people are like this, but so far my experiences with them is not very good.

And it makes me wonder am I really the crazy one?

Portals Through Blogerapy

The last few months have been turbulent but that isn't saying much. My last few days/weeks/months/years are almost always turbulent in some form or fashion. At times the turbulence seems to have a life all its own. Pulling, dragging and clawing at me. Ripping me down to shreds then taping me back together just to do it all over again. This seems to be the process that is my life.

However since I began writing, truly writing, not just spewing combinations of letters into words and gluing them together with puncuation, but purging my soul. Exposing myself. Making myself vulnerable. Putting all of  the ugly that has been devouring me from the inside out there for all to see. I have noticed profound changes have taken place in my thought processes. When these changes actually started taking place I am not sure. All I know is that they are there now. The nasty voice that lives inside of me that tells me how worthless I am now has competition. Another voice has taken root beside of it. A voice that says I am NOT the things that the nasty says I am.

I am not perfect. I am flawed. Broken in some places. Chipped in others, but nevertheless I have value even if that value is only within myself. I don't know how long this thinking will last. I hope it stays because I kinda like it. I like the lightness of it. It doesn't remove the darkness instead it has incorporated itself into the darkness and I kinda like that. I like my differentness. I don' t want to lose it. I am certain this road is just the beginning. I have no idea where it is going to end, but I do know that I plan on shaping its journey instead of just allowing it to drag me along like dirt stuck on the mudflap. I am tired of the world shaping my existance.

Now it's my turn.


I wrote this awhile ago, but never published it. Seems I need to read this again. 

Run Away

If only I could. Run. Far. From here. From me. From everything that surrounds me. To some place. Where there are no people. No rules of how you're suppose to be. No little holes to try to fit it and you're not able. No hurt. No pain. Just silence. And the wind. 

If only  it were that easy. If only I could squeeze myself hard enough into a little ball until I disappeared within myelf. Fell through time and space into nothingness. If only I did not exist. I question my reason for being everyday. Everywhere I go I reek havoc and chaos upon those around me. Hatred and disgust are my two best friends. They follow me everywhere. They never leave my side. They are the only certainty in this uncertain world. I cannot love nor be loved. I cannot live near others nor allow them to live near me. I cannot simply be nor do I want to be. Then what is the point?

Why am I here? Just to be a plaything for the universe. A broken toy to knock around when it feels bored. What did I do that was so wrong so heinous that I deserve this so called existence that has been forced upon me? When will I ever be free?

Preserve the SELF At All Costs

 

 

Smash365: Self-Protection

Jul 21, 2011 by rus vanwestervelt

Self-protection is our strongest reaction pattern — it seems to be programmed into every cell of a living being in order to maintain, defend, and perpetuate itself. It is the essence of the life program and is also functioning within our elaborate me-structure. The entire me-structure demands to be protected and perpetuated as though it were a living being. The moment somebody says something critical about me, the instant reflex of preservation, defense, and aggression springs into action. ~Toni Packer, The Wonder of Presence

When we are aware of this instant reflex, we are better able to slow down or halt the defensive measures we take for self-protection. Spend some time being aware of your feelings and your reactions to certain situations, personal or otherwise. When you are aware of your inner reactions, how does your “public” response change? What if you prepared yourself before probable confrontational situations. What would those preparations look like, and how might that bring about a different outcome?

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I learned at a very young age that either I took care of me or I would be food for the carnivores. My fight or flight response is super sensitive and kicks in without me even being aware of it at times. While I am accutely aware of preserving my self, I am extremely unselfish. I do not take more than is my fair share and in most cases, I actually take a lot less. However, I give multitudes more than I take. Having said that though, I am always aware that if I do not look out for my self then no one will. I must always be on guard. Always in protective mode. Always on the look out for dangers to the self. The self must be protected, guarded at all costs.

This feeling of self preservation keeps me at arm's length from people. I cannot fully trust anyone because of the fear they may harm the self. I cannot allow anyone to get close because if I do then they may hurt the self. They may take from the self leaving it with nothing and alone. Scared. Frightened. Protect the self at all costs.

This is my mantra. My manifesto. My singular purpose in life. Simply to survive. Not live. Not even exist. Just survive. At times I feel like I am in a war zone. Constantly fighting an unseen, unknown enemy. Anyone and everyone could potentially be a danger. Even those I do allow close to me, there are times where I see their words and I wonder "is there some hidden threat behind what they are saying"? I will distance myself from them until I am certain that the threat  to the self has passed.

This type of survival is exhausting. It is why I prefer being alone. When I am alone I don't have to worry about hidden dangers. I don't have to worry about people taking from me. Leaving me with nothing. Abandoning me. I don't have to fight for basic necessities.

I do this. I hide food. I gather things and save them. Just in case. In case I have no food. In case I have no shelter. Just in case. I have done this for as long as I can remember because since I was little my life has always been uncertain. I never knew where I would be living the next day. If I would have a place to live. From as far back as I can remember these fears have been with me and the more my illness grows, the more they grow. There are times where I am not hungry but if I am served food I will eat it. Every last bite. Until I am about to vomit. Until I can feel it sitting in my throat simply because it may be the last time I eat. I don't know when or if I will eat again.

Now these fears, in my current situation, are groundless. I have a home, food. I don't need to worry about these things. We don't have much, but we have. We always manage. There is always something. Even if it's a little, but I cannot let go of this preservation of self. Sometimes when I am eating even though I am not hungry and these thoughts are rolling through my mind, I realize how ridiculous and irrational it is, but even though I recognize the irrationality of it. I cannot stop myself. Just in case.

Preservation of self at all costs. Even from the imaginary ones.

One Roof Different Worlds

The events of the last 72 hrs have been turbulent to say the least. Not on the outside but on my inside. On my outside, I have smiled, laughed, joked, and nearly bitten my tongue in half. On my inside,  a volcano has been erupting, lava spewing in all directions, a crazed missing link deseparately searching for a way out of its cage. It's been a very long 72 hrs.

But one of the things that I came to realize once I stopped for a few moments and simply breathed is that while we all may share the same roof over our heads we are from very different planets. I have watched with disgust as the people around me complained about things which they had no right to complain about and silently I seethed at them. In my mind, I plotted their deaths. Threw unseen daggers and filled their glasses with poisonous venom.

I came to realize one very important thing. Non crazy people disgust me. They are vindictive, unappreciative, greedy, selfish, and jealous. At least the ones I know are. While I am certain there are some crazies out there who are just like them probably even worse, I have not come across them. I don't know if it's the fact that we live inside of the chaos and therefore are more willing to lend a helping hand, a comforting word to someone who is hurting or in need. Or maybe it's because our worlds are so turbulent that whenever someone took a moment to offer a word of kindness to us it was worth more than gold and we want to give that to someone else.

I truly don't know, but what I do know is that I have been disgusted by these people. A resentment is building inside of me. I fear that there will come a day when I can no longer contain it and it will erupt. When it does, there will be casualties. I fear that I will be amongst them.

For all of the hardships, difficulties, and loss I have faced, in some ways I am glad I am bipolar. If being bipolar is what makes me offer kindness to a stranger, even if the only thing I have to give is my ear to listen, then I would gladly be bipolar instead of being the selfish vindictive non crazy that I seem to be surrounded by.

What My Innards Look Like

“I hate quotations. Tell me what you know.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

What message is yearning inside you?  What is something you know deep in your soul?  Don’t look for someone else to describe it.  You do it.  Write it down.  Write it as a poem, a sentence or even just a string of words.  Just make sure you get it to paper.

Through silent waters
Knee deep in mud
Struggling and straining


On and on
Never ending maze
Circle unbroken
Eternal flame

Into the vortex
Slip and slide
Forgetting tomorrow
Lost in time

Broken petals
Pierce the sky
Darkness evading
Passing by

Unleashing the Apocalypse

“Self-censorship is not just self-betrayal and self-abandonment (which would be bad enough), but soul-betrayal and betrayal of our Muse, out inner voice, our highest self.”

Too often we censor ourselves, our actions, and our work in hope or fear of what might happen if we otherwise don’t. What words would you write today, and what actions would you take, if you had nothing to fear, nothing to lose?

(Author: Tanner Christensen)

This is today's prompt in the #Trust 30 challenge that I recently found. This actually started in May I think so it's not actively going on or it might be and I just don't know which is totally possible. Anyways I just found it and as a few of these prompts speak to me I thought I would write about them. I really need some focus right now because I am just lost in the darkness at the moment. 

Self-censorship. I do this A LOT. I know if you read my blog for more than 5 secs you would not really think that I censor myself, but I do. Especially in real life. I hate confrontations. I hate rejection. I FEAR abandonment. I worry about displeasing. I very rarely say what I truly feel. I do this mostly because I think what I feel is wrong. I am wrong. I feel this deep within me that I am always wrong. My thoughts, feelings, actions, all wrong. So I don't say what I truly feel or want. I edit my thoughts and shape them around what I think is appropriate. What I think the other person wants to hear in hopes that they won't reject me. Abandon me. In hopes they won't become displeased by me. Stop liking me. 

Leave me. 

What is the strangest thing about this is that in many ways I truly don't give a flying fuck about what people think about me. But yet I do this and I don't know why sometimes. The fear that grips me at times is so overpowering that I just become a slave to it and I am forced by demons from within to alter my true thoughts, feelings, emotions, words. A vicious cycle  begins and I get so lost in trying to be this "person" I have created that I lose myself and become unhappy. This makes those around me unhappy. I appear "fake". Stop pretending is something I get told a lot. Yet in many ways I am not pretending, but I am. I convince myself that I want and feel what my mouth is uttering even though I truly don't.

I get so lost in trying to "be" that I forget who I "am".

Jigger was the first person to truly see through my bullshit. To see that there was something under it. Something more than just a game. He pushed me in front of the mirror. Forced me to say the things I didn't want to admit. Not even to myself. Forced me to open my eyes and I have become much better at not censoring myself. 

Except in my writing. I don't often truly say what I am feeling. I write in riddles and metaphors that I am certain people would never understand because I don't want to deal with the shit that comes with having to explain where I live and how. I don't want to have to answer the inevitable questions that come. I have answered them so many times in my life and for now I am done. I just want to be alone but not really. 

I don't really want to be alone. I just want to be allowed to be the me that I am instead of the me that I should be. The me that lives deep inside of me. The me that has never seen the sun or felt the rain in its face. I just want to be that me without having to explain why or how or because. I want people around me who accept that flawed broken me. Only there are very few people who are like that. 

What words would you write today, and what actions would you take, if you had nothing to fear, nothing to lose?

 I would tell my children the truth. The real truth. Not the PC truth. Not the truth that is padded or bent to keep them from feeling pain or hurt, but the complete truth. Except I would never do this because I could never hurt my children. I would rather they hate me. I never want to be the reason they hurt except I am and I don't know how not to be. 

I would tell you how the delusions of bipolar have removed my foundation. They have made me doubt myself so much that I don't say what I truly feel, want, desire because I am not certain if it is real. I lived for so long inside of a delusion that now I never trust myself. I never believe that what I am feeling is real. Being fake. Saying what the other person wants to hear is real. I have lost the ability to trust myself. Trust my feelings. I have lost the ability to believe that what my eyes are seeing is real. That what my ears are hearing is actually there.

The delusions have broken me in ways that I cannot explain and now I feel very lost. I don't know which way to go. I don't know what is real and what isn't. Bipolar has broken me in ways that rape and abuse never did. It has taken from me my ability to believe in myself. To believe that what I am feeling is real. 

It has taken away "me".