I don’t usually click the “create new post” button on here and write what’s on my mind, I have done so occasionally, but it is much more common for me to flip thru the pages of one of my journals and pick a poem or other short written piece that I know I haven’t published yet and throw it up on here. But once in a while I need the feeling of my thumb flying across the screen of my smart phone, trying to tell as much as I can of whatever story literally just happened to me. Tonight there is one of those stories, but the words are getting stuck somewhere, maybe in my biceps, and aren’t making it to my thumbs. In the past 3 hours I’ve cried 4 times. I felt like a burden on the people who were being so generous and giving me a ride, I felt like a nuisance as I stated my opinion and my experience while surrounded by a group of women who are more mature than me both in physical years and in faith, I had an outburst when the topic of discussion hit close to home, I wanted to tell a story but there wasn’t time, and by defending my crazy I only made myself appear more crazy. I’m sure whatever I said tonight was incoherent and I can’t explain it away. And yesterday in an effort to just enjoy a conversation with a friend, I gave her all sorts of details that it seems she is collecting in order to pass judgement on my life choices and recommend all sorts of ways to fix my life. Well, the truth is lady, i just wanted to have another adult to talk to, I didn’t need for you to tell me that I need to be on meds for my mental illness and for you to claim youve seen my behavioral extremes, when really you’ve only ever seen me depressed, some days I just don’t let the depression crush my whole day and I am able to laugh and I don’t lock myself inside my house for weeks at a time, just because I put on clean clothes and earrings does not mean my depression is gone and just because I talk about something I am excited about does not mean I am having a manic episode. But this post is just more incoherent crazy person babble, reinforcing that I am in fact having some sort of episode related to my mental illness. Eff it, Im too tired to fix me right now, tomorrow has a chance and so do i.
Self: Brain, why are you broken?
Brain: i was born this way.
Self: could you have been helped long ago?
Brain: perhaps, but no one believed there was anything wrong with me.
Self: i did.
Brain: but even you doubted.
Self: what can i do now?
Brain: the only way is to work against me. fight me.
Self: why can’t you just let me win?
Brain: that’s not how i work.
I hate your leaving footprints in the snow.
*I think I may have expanded this into a longer poem at some point, but I don’t know for sure. If I come across it, I will post and link hopefully.
I am ninety eight percent happy
ninety five percent of the time
I have rough weeks,
sad days, bad moments
sometimes I can’t breathe
occasionally the sinking feeling in my stomach
is so heavy
eating or drinking anything
But mostly I am happy
I am alive
I am high (on life, of course)
I am in love
I am loved
and I love
I know God
I know, God