Is it wrong that I want to be left alone?

My ‘disorder’ has been peaking in the wrong direction for about a week now. I thought it would just ‘go away’, but this time it wants to keep following me around like a lost puppy. I’ve fought my entire life with thoughts of suicide and letting go of homicidal tendencies, and so far I’ve won that battle, but fear of losing that control has been weighing on my mind more frequently. I try to make myself go out and be around people, but the slightest little thing has me wanting to put my hands around their throats and choke the life out of them.

I stopped writing some time ago out of fear of what others thought about me, but in doing that, I think I lost a part of me. I want that back. I don’t know if I’m any good at writing, but it did give me peace. Writing over the years has giving me a chance to release the demons that are holding me back at being somebody; at least that’s what I’ve been told.  But dammit it’s hard to let them go when they are friendlier and more inviting to me than most people.

My dreams are of killing and being forced to do horrible, heinous crimes, and then I wake up with a smile on my face. Is it because I enjoy the crime, or it is that I’m killing a part of me that no longer needs to be there? Dreams linger throughout the day as if that was reality, and here I am in a dream doing nothing with my life.

I’m going to try and avoid doing anything really stupid, but change needs to come soon. I need to cut ‘things’. I need to shift my thoughts. A psychologist once told me to deal with my fears by exposing myself to that fear until it no longer caused me fear, and that I could do the same thing with my thoughts—expose myself to them on purpose until they no longer bother me.

Wintertime Blues or is it a little Major Depression Kicking in?

I would give anything right now for a tiny bit of mania. I’ve got brain fog going on, and all I want to do is sleep and eat. For the past few days all I've done is hibernate like a bear in the winter. It’s too cold to go outside and do anything, and everything inside makes me feel sick to my stomach, so I’ve just been sitting around or laying around doing nothing.

I’ve been trying to do some of the things that shock my brain enough to bring me back to reality, but those are failing, and this time I feel like saying fuck it... I don’t really give a damn.

They say women are effected more by the wintertime blues than men, because basically woman start off in life with less serotonin in our brains than men, so wintertime can be very rough on people like me. Gee thanks... one more disorder I have to deal with.

I forced myself up out of bed around 1pm today, (woke up at 10am, just didn’t want to get up) and tried to do a little exercising like they suggest when a woman feels this way, but that did nothing but make my head hurt more than it already was. Instead I got online and surfed around to a few different blogs, which is sometimes a good distraction at least, but not today.

I spent several hours reading other peoples blogs, and even more hours just sitting there playing Bejeweled Blitz. It kept me distracted for a few hours, but tomorrow I have to try something different. I’m going to try and get outside in the sun, even if it is only for a few minutes. If that doesn’t work, I don’t know what extremes I’ll be willing to try.

I know I won’t use any antidepressant or antipsychotic medications. I’ve tried a variety of drugs in the past, and each one failed in it’s own way. I just have to use what I’ve learned in the past to make sure I don’t do something really stupid tomorrow.

My court really sucked Thursday. Once again the court room was standing room only, even though I got there almost an hour before court started. I spent most of the first 2 hours reading a book and trying not to look around at anyone. Finally around 6:30pm, after the attorneys finished, the DA tells everyone to line up against the wall that wants to talk with him. FUCK! A line forms going out into the hall. Separately the Judge announces if anyone wants to plead not guilty, to step forward and the court date would be set for February. I was going to wait and talk with the DA, but changed my mind and quickly stepped forward. I gave my name and was told to return in February. I quickly left the courtroom, leaving everyone else standing there for the next couple of hours. Maybe I’ll come up with a good excuse and postpone my court date until March sometime. Maybe then it’ll be warm and I won’t feel the need to cuss someone out.

When We Forget the Past, We Are Dommed to Repeat It

Gritting my teeth.... If I didn’t I would probably bite someone’s head off.

I’ve been in this ‘pissed off at the world’ kind of mood for several days now, and I feel an overwhelming need to get away from everybody and everything. Even if it’s just a few yards, I need some sort of distance. I’ve been extremely edgy, yelling about the things that are not in their place, about how unclean everything is around me, just yelling about everyday stressful things that take place.

When I get like this, I have to write. I do most of my writing at home on my computer, or in my bedroom in one of the various notebooks where I keep most of my more serious thoughts. But every now and then, I escape to one of the local parks. Mostly because I enjoy the feeling of being around the trees, smelling the fresh air, and being able to feel alone with my thoughts for a little while.

There is one park that I mostly tend to lurk around, which is fine during the daytime, but at night this causes a problem with local law enforcement. So, again I started studying/stalking them a little recently to discover a pattern in their activities. This then allows me to spend my time relaxing in my own way at the park during the times I feel the need. It has worked several times without a problem, but every now and then I lose myself into some deep thoughts when writing and get caught. Luckily Officer R was in a good mood this time and let me off with a polite warning. Thanks.

Being bi-polar is very rough. It can lead you down roads you normally would be to frightened to travel, and you find yourself doing things that later leave you wondering what the fuck you were thinking. Such as thinking about cutting myself deep enough to need stitches. But I don’t want anyone to find out, so instead I’ve been inflicting small injuries where others can’t see, or won’t really question what happened. It was just something to shock my mind out of feeling unpredictable, and to slow the racing thoughts. Sometimes that is not enough. Here is where the police come into the picture.

Where I sit at the park, I can see where they are in the distance. I‘ve even done this at other parks in different towns. When I get to the level where I want to do extreme cutting, I go park where they are within a short distance. ( Q-Trip is sometimes a good place to park:) ) Then instead of cutting, I write. From past experiences I know if law enforcement were to view my ‘accident’ they might try to lock me up somewhere. Locking me up actually makes things worse, because the moment I’m left alone, I will cut myself deep. It’s like a part of me says it’s okay now to cut, because if you cut too deep someone will be there to help you. Later is when it messes with my mind.

I’m still finishing up the rest of my thoughts that I wrote the other night, so I’ll post it a little later.

Secretly Suicidal

Mental Illness creates its own vibrant, colorful reality, which is so convincing sometimes, that it is hard to figure out exactly what is real and what is not.

Things have gotten harder to recall the older I get, because my memory seems to be a casualty of my manic depression. When I’m manic, all I remember is the moment, but when I’m depressed, all I remember is the pain. The surrounding details are lost. Hopefully telling my stories is what will keep me alive, even when death is in its most seductive pose.

People always mean well, but they don’t understand that when you’re seriously depressed suicidal ideation can be the only thing that keeps you alive. Just knowing that there’s a way out- even if it’s bloody, permanent - it makes the pain almost bearable for one more day.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the urge to die. Death just sounds like a vacation to me. A place to escape the brutal emotional rollercoaster I'm riding alone. To be somewhere else at times, is what my mind craves. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I’m thrilled to tears to be alive and have what I have. Because I know there are many others who suffer far more than I do, yet continue their quest to live each day to the fullest. At times, I believe the world is wasted on me, and that, I think, is reason enough to die.

This past week I’ve felt like I had a monster living inside of me. I think I’ve been rapid recycling. For awhile I savored every smell, lingered over every sensation, and marveled at every creature comfort. But then the inevitable happens, my brain chemistry shifted and my mood plunged back down to despair. I believe I deserve to suffer, and crave the suffocation black nothingness.

Attempting suicide or serious cutting usually jump starts my brain chemistry. Problem is if I cut myself too deep, that means a trip to the ER, with lots of questions, so I won’t seek assistance. Years ago I was scolded by a doctor for being an ‘attention seeker’ and a nuisance. He was so unsympathetic that he refused to give me anesthesia while stitching up my self-inflicted wound. I was dismissed as someone who was wasting their time and I was not deserving of the same care as other injured people

It was never about the attention- I was just trying to relieve some of the emotional feelings, and I went too far. When I cut, I feel focused, appropriately punished, and a bit more in control of myself. I might even be smiling afterwards, because at that moment, I’m feeling more sane than I’ve ever been in my life. So, I will continue in secret. This wound I know how to heal.
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My manic phase got me in trouble again last week. It sent me around and around the corner at least 3 times the posted speed limit, and sooner or later I knew some cop would be waiting for me on the other side, eagerly jingling his handcuffs. Luckily I wasn't arrested, but I do have to make an appearance in Sand Springs Court. Since this post is getting long, I'll finish writing about it tomorrow.

Crash of Chaos

What is Real?

Psychosis, mental illness, psychotic,
Been labeled schizophrenic.
Complete mental confusion.
I don’t know what’s real any more.

They say its just the voice of my conscience,
if this is true
then why does that persons voice
come from the other side of the room?

The trees are crying again.
Suicidal ideation, self destructive behavior.
I feel I have no choice
Sick of being treated as a criminal.

I’m watching myself
from somewhere in another time.
Total confusion
Distorted reality.

Can you hear my voices arguing?
I have to obey the voices,
Just to make them quiet.
I don’t have a choice, they will make me do it.
Deny the voices, push them away.

Let me deny the existence of my own thoughts.

When I was a kid I used to believe that I could alter the outcome of events just by thinking about it. Then one day I told somebody what I could do, and they only laughed at me. I began believing from there on that nothing I would ever do, would change the world. I didn’t matter any more.


Crash of Chaos

I stepped out into the rain
hardly aware of anything around me.
The water poured down my rosy cheeks
Obscuring my privately hidden tears.

Why do I still cry? What do I feel?
I looked up into the clouds in a daze,
flecks of water splashing into my eyes.
Can the weather synchronize with my heart?
Every pounding drop is how far down I’ve fallen.

The rain picks up.
Harder, harder.
I taste salt.
Am I crying?
Are the clouds raining my tears?
Lighting, you’d think I’d be used to it by now,
but always the resulting thunder,
whether sooner or later,
comes crashing down around me.

Surrounding me,
enveloping me in a cocoon of the deepest sorrow.
I can’t even hold myself together anymore.
The winds howl like forlorn ghosts,
harshly whipping rain and hair about my face.

Light, another crashing thunder,
louder and more terrible than the last.
The trees are bent sideways almost.
But this isn’t even the beginning of my storm.
My knees give out beneath me
and my cry is masked by another
crash of chaos.

Forgive me if my mind wonders

What if early just before dawn, you woke and thought about your past, your life, your accomplishments; would you be anybody? Or would you be a person hiding in the shadows, rarely seen, just living day to day without thought or reason? When death came, would your life make the headlines? Or would you be another soul that just drifted away?

Back in the eighties, Ronald Regan decided people with mental illness no longer needed to locked up in the state mental hospitals, instead they were to be set free. They were giving free or reduced housing, food stamps, free medical, and a check each month that helped to pay their other bills. People like me took advantage of what was giving to us and we tried to make our lives as livable as we could in the outside world. I learned as much as I could about illness, so that I could at least understand why I acted the way I did most of the time. My problem was I couldn’t live with the solution that they offered…pills and more pills. I left the pills alone after trying many different types and combinations; finding no relief I decided to live my life just the way I was; good or bad.

I found it nearly impossible to control my actions long enough to be able to properly interact with strangers who were around me. I couldn‘t control my anger. I would get so mad at a person that all I could think about was wanting to put my hands around their throats and not letting go until they could no longer breathe. It made me feel like a loser if I did the things they ask. As much as I wanted to control my actions, I couldn’t.

In the eyes of law enforcement, we are drains on society, but we are tolerated by most others. Law enforcement sees as lower life forms, they feel far superior to us. Mostly due to the fact that individuals like me with mental illness, at one time or the other has had an encounter with law enforcement, usually due to some type of mental breakdown which can be a very stressful encounter for the officer who does not have experience handling someone with a mental disease.
I think that’s why I post on my blogs, I want the world to one day see how mental illness plays with the mind. I don’t want to forever be remembered as a drain on society, I want to somehow show that I can be productive member that gave something of their life back to others.

It’s going down…anywhere you meet me guaranteed its going down.

WTF?!!!!!!!!!!!! Why won’t my mind shut down? I want it to just shut the fuck up!!! I want to hear nothing. My hope is if I get all the ‘bad’ out of my head, my mind will be quiet enough to sleep. Last night I only got about 3 hours of sleep before I was awake again. It’s almost 1am and I should be really sleepy by now, but instead my mind is running full speed with a thousand memories, thoughts, and ideas. I want with all my mind, body, and soul to be able to stop thinking about all the negative things that have happened to me in my life. But I’m always seeing, smelling, hearing, or feeling something that reminds of the things that were done to me. Then the rage begins, and I want to lash out at somebody, or something just to get rid of the way I feel. If I explode in a violent way, afterwards I will have a ‘crash’ of my system, which will then make me feel ‘normal’.

It’s going down…anywhere you meet me guaranteed its going down.