Bipolar To Stay

Here is a truth rarely acknowledged, but nonetheless true. No matter what I do, where I am or who I am with, I am chronically “unhappy”, I’m depressed. The truth of the matter is that I am sick and no amount of sugar coating is going to change that. I can’t snap out of it and I won’t outgrow it. There is a part of me that will always veer towards depression, anxiety, and mania.

I can change my circumstances, but I can’t change my brain. I can only work with the clay I’ve been given…

As much as it pains me to admit it… There will continue to be days when I feel like my soul can’t go on. There will be days when I am inexplicably tired no matter what I do, and there isn’t much I can do. In the end, all that I can do, is persevere.  That’s all that is under my control. I either get back up and keep trying or I give up.

This realization is sad, and it shatters me, but it’s the truth. My world is mired in anxiety, paranoia, depression and mania. This is my reality, normalcy is simply a passing stranger I asked over for tea.

I’m so inexplicably tired. Inside my soul is so tired.


So Tired

Hello Lovelies,

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything, about three months now. My journey has been long and I find I’ve moved but an inch.

This year I found a Job, I was promoted multiple times, and I’ve gotten to make decent money, but in the end it’s all for naught.

I’m now on the verge of being fired, and also on the verge of quitting altogether. I miss my freedom so very dearly. I’m tired of it all. Everyday that passes the more that utter poverty allures me. A vagabond without ties sounds immensely more alluring than the mediocrity of my life.

I’m so fucking tired of feeling stuck all the time. I’m not even living for me at this point. I’m living based on societal expectations that pressure me into living a certain way.

My spark is gone. I’m nothing more than the dying embers of a fire that once blazed recklessly through life.  I hope and dream of someone passing by and helping reignite that flame.

I’m so tired of being imprisoned within myself.

I Love Your Soul

I want to say, I love you.

If not, I want to tell someone, that which yearns to be heard inside of me.

Transparency isn’t my strong point.

Out there, somewhere, my soulmate lives his life. I love him anyway. I don’t love him for his looks, actions or thoughts. I love him for what he does to my soul and the home I always missed. I love him for me. I love him because I love me. Not platonically, not romantically, I love him just because… Because it feels right.

I’ve always loved him, and I always will. I’ve loved him from the moment I could think, from the moment I could wonder. He’s always been at the end of my thoughts, and he’ll always be the missing piece I eternally search for. He is me, he is everything I’ve ever been and everything I could be. He is that other half of me I always sought.

I thought I was alone, and that thought frightened me beyond reason. I thought I was never to be understood, but I was proven wrong. My soul mate is that soul which reflects me. I love you for making me whole.

Now, I can continue with life knowing I’m not alone. My other half is out there happy, smiling, living and I can too. Thank you for showing me how to live for me. The world makes sense because I met you.

Stories Inside

There are stories that write themselves.

Stories that deceive you into believing they are of your own making. But how could that be? They scream within you waiting for release. They come out to both frighten and relieve your soul. They aren’t yours anymore than your dreams are. Your subconscious all its own, can no more be controlled than those stories echoed through your prose.

There is someone in me she’s a writer at her core

The Truth of Me (Longgg)

Here is the truth of Me.

All things said, dropping the ridiculous comparisons I obssesively bring up. I’ve lived an extraordinary life.

I’ve done nearly everything I’ve set my mind to, and I’ve experienced everything I ever hoped to experience and then some.

My depression tells me I’m not good enough, and my mania tells me I can do more, be more, and I spiral into an endless insatiable quest for more. The icing on the cake is my neverending fear of abandonment fed by my borderline personality disorder. I push people away because I don’t want to be abandoned. I’d rather do they abandoning. Hippocrital I know, never giving people the chance to go against my paranoia.

The disorders I live with impact my daily life, and they influence my thoughts and actions, but even then they don’t win. They don’t control me, at least not completely. I understand what’s wrong with me and I’m always aware of it’s control. I’m not free, but I’m also not ignorant of my issues.

This post has taken a different turn. The point in all this shit, is that I live, I breath, I smile and I cry. I am alive and successful in my own ambitions. I’ve always known to perservere for what I want even if the obstacle is my own mind, but I’d never acknowledged that taking it slow is okay too.

I never stopped to think I could enjoy gardening with my mother, cleaning my house, or simply living off the grid, in a place I never chose.

I guess you could say, I never stopped to realize that I can be happy even in reliquishing my control. I can be happy even if I didn’t choose this life, the present one.

It’s always been a competition in my life. A competition with imaginary competitors who always beat me and rules that say I can’t be happy unless I win.

I’ve never known how to stay still and be content. Success, Adventure and Knowledge have always given me a home. They’ve been my stablity and happiness. I’ve never known how to happy when Idle, when bored, when found in the perfect stability that most others find contentment in.

For someone like me, always jumping from extremes, it’s hard to be content. Content is foreign to me, it’s scary in it’s stable and neutral nature. My aversion to all things content and normal is the same aversion most people feel towards being alone in a foreign country without money, it’s fucking scary.

Being content is fucking scary, it’s like losing my identity, it’s like admitting defeat. To be content is hard, it goes against my nature, but slowly I’m learning to be content, to be appreciative for the things I didn’t wan,t but have anyway. Like living with my mom, It’s embarrasing at my age, but I know one day, I’ll appreciate the extra time I have with her now, because no one lives forever.

People like me, we get caught up in our ambition, our problems, and our lack of control, and in so doing we forget the little things that matter like breakfast with mom. We forget to see the beauty outside of our own alphabet of plans. We tend to let our loved ones pass us by.

So, I want to stop that now. Because my life is perfect and I’ve been too goddamn blind to appreciate it. My family, my friends, and I, we all deserve better than my empty ambitions. I know I’ve been lacking….

I have an Extraordinary Toothbrush

There’s an old toothbrush in my bathroom. It should’ve been thrown out months ago, a long time ago, but yet it still adorns my sink. I have too many new toothbrushes and none of them have been taken out of their packaging.

I’m waiting for the “right” day the “right” time, but really there is no “right” time. I’m waiting for a day that won’t come, to do the inevitable.

It’s just a cheap old toothbrush brought along from Germany. It’s a drugstore toothbrush I can’t get myself to throw away. It’s a reminder of a different life, a better life, a different me.

I hold on to these tokens of a different life. They’re my lifeline, my sanity, in a time when my mind slowly unravels. I grab on ferrociously to these reminders of who I once was, of what I once did, and where I once lived and what I once felt.

Silly as it may be, that tooth brush is very hard to let go. Everyday I tell myself I’ll throw it away, and everyday I think, “Tomorrow I’ll do it, just one more day”.

How desperate do you have to be for a toothbrush to mean that much? That toothbrush holds so many memories, so much happiness, and sorrow. It’s just a thing like any other thing, but somehow I attached my memories to it like a photo on a wall and a video in a phone.

It helps me recall a happier and more fulfilling time. I changed when I moved back to the USA, and I don’t think I’m quite myself anymore. That toothbrush reminds me who I am.

I guess that’s how lonely I am. That’s how unloved I feel. I guess that’s how unhappy I am. My memories, my happiness, my goals, my personality they’ve been imprinted on a plain old toothbrush that’s past it’s expiration date.

I guess I can count on the toothbrush to stick around as long as I want it around. Unlike people, the toothbrush is just an object, a painting, that evokes emotions in me that I don’t want to forget.

So, that’s my post for day.

I have an old toothbrush past it’s expiration date. It’s a special ordinary toothbrush that I can’t get myself to let go of. Why? Because I have issues and I’ve projected my happy memories on it in an effort to hold onto hope, to hold onto myself.

The ordinary turned extraordinary in my broken mind. My toothbrush.

What is Life?

What is life, but an empty chasm?

It’s a senseless void echoing indistinguishable sounds that arm us with illusions.

We march forth hungry for answers never found.

The tyrant struggle for dominion of the self never ceasing and ever growing.

All too easily ripe for disillusionment yet plagued by denial.

A rotting crop, in a fictional reality, cloaked with memories of things not being, looking to fill a ceaseless chasm.

What is life, But the ramblings of perception.

The semi-sentient perception of my perception is but an echo.