i broke my own heart, leaving you.

620p 18th july 2020

do you ever think of me unbidden?
do i ever cross your mind? i wonder.
does my voice pollute your day as yours does mine?

does my face interrupt your thoughts?

i know better than to ask
i don’t want to know, i think.

i finally felt safe, home.

i broke my own heart, leaving you.

i can’t stand to talk to you anymore
the pity in your voice is palpable
i have no idea if it’s real or not
only that it feels real.
desperate for comfort.

so when I think for a second that i want to hear your voice
when i am craving the security I once felt
i do better to remember
that it doesn’t belong to me.

i know what i am worth

i know what I am worth
(do i?
do i really, though?)

I know what people tell me
how people react to me
how they are with me.
I know that I can become single-minded
super focused
only to have my attention s c a t t e r
scatter.
I look up from my work sometimes
(art
writing
a lover)
I take a metaphorical step back to view the tableau
refocus my attention to the ambient sounds of the room,
i become subsumed by the overall pleasure of a job
well
done.
knowing my value comes in being indispensable.

indispensable.

Knowing (knowing)
knowing that in order to pay my way I must be
indispensable,
spectacular.
galaxy class.

In my worst moments
in moments like now
it is in my worst moments that I can see the balance sheet
Knowing
(knowing)
at the least sign of perceived imbalance I will be let go
Not worth the hassle.

That when I am feeling most stable
When I really do believe what I say over and over about being a badass.
a rising Phoenix.
That the love and caretaking I am worthy of is mine to take and is plentiful if I only believe
That I am not too much.
That I am not too intense.

that i can command, demand, and not settle.

I have nothing to hide anymore
Anyone who cares, I have nothing to hide.

find me. please.

844a 4th july 2020

This.
This a thousand million googol times.

This different kind of imposter syndrome, what would you call it?
nothing reliable, nothing real
no sure footing
feeling fake all the time, having to adjust my face, my
mask

The thing that most gets me through is knowing
(this tiny, blurry, hazy beacon in the fog)
knowing that it will indeed end, that it will shift because it always does.
not always for the better and many times for the much, much worse
But change, indeed, will happen.
Change always (eventually) for the good
for the evolution
for the revolution.
let go or be dragged.

I am long enough into this diagnosis,
my clinical history starred and asterisked and underlined
drugs and cocktails of drugs given and discarded
I am long enough into this life to know that I am a compliant patient.
I am long enough into this life to know my own body, and what feels right for it.
I have never misunderstood the importance of taking all the medicine.
Following the directions.
Being a good girl.
but what happens when you do everything right, when you do everything you are supposed to do and still nothing works?
When you “soldier on”
as opposed to what?
You wait patiently for spring, then summer to end.
You lean on your friends, your lovers as much as you think they can stand
always risking oversharing, overeverything
reaching the point where it is your literal life on the line and you are
Depending on

I can barely breathe for the tension I feel
not wanting to overstay my welcome
not wanting to overwhelm others as I am completely overwhelmed
the noise in my head is unending

the thing that keeps me here
the knowing that it will shift
that it will change
that it won’t always be like this.
Until it is again.

836p 3rd july 2020

flooded.
finally flooded.
amnesia haze i am
in an amnesia haze.
username checks out.
five stars.
10/10 would recommend.
i know that there isnt much left in the bowl and i will have to go inside
to get more.
to feel better. more.
right now just enjoying the evening sounds
rain from the last downpour in the downspout
birds settling in for the night
the neighborhood quieting
my brain
quieting.

i should go back inside, fill the bowl.
always ready.

8:15 in the morning June 20th 2020

Woke up anxious and depressed. 7 am. It’s an hour and a quarter later I have smoked something that usually is very reliable, I am almost finished with my buttered coffee, and I am still anxious and nervous and depressed there is nothing that is working for me.

today is Saturday and I am going to work and it is going to be busy. I am going to take an edible before I get in the shower and I am going to bring more edibles with me and I don’t know how I’m going to get through the day. Harris isn’t going to be there and I don’t think Jay is either so I don’t really have anyone that I can just tell that I’m having a hard time. Doc is going to be there but he is with patients all day.

Today is going to be really fucking hard. Because it is already.
My entire body is tense.

Understand that all of this is happening.
Understand that there are things to do to mitigate it, and that you know what those things are.
Understand.
understand that you really have to do them.

Talk to yourself as you would a friend. What do you want for her? Use perspective to help her, you, me.

I’m going to need a lot of help today.
I am hoping you will listen.

victress. 11:14pm 26th may, 2020

i have harnessed my rage,
my dysphoria
my fear.
coalescing
twisting down deep
needling in not a pinprick, no
knives-sharp.
talons-strong.
this particular prey has been waiting
simmering
back-burnered.
today, too much.
enough.
time to stick it straight through the eye and into the brain
destroy it so efficiently
so completely
so, so.
that even an offender this egregious this
deserving of wrath this
necessarily murderous preciseness
so fucking dense that volcanic fury is all that will forever make him think twice
and again,
and again.
he knows my passion,
whet it.
words on a screen are nothing to the maelstrom that i bring in the flesh.
i kept going, calling him out for every transgression.
i paid out enough rope for him to not only hang himself
but macrame a body bag.
and boy howdy did he deliver.
i launched my final assault, knowing i’d need no more.

do i hope i got through?
do i care?
yes, not for him, but for the countless women he will no doubt woo and offend.
truly believing
bitches be crazy.

he’s right.
bitches be crazy.
but we’re not stupid.

thoughtless. 1027p 9 march, 2020

how dare you.
how dare you ask me if it was wise, crinkling up your face to say no, I don’t think so
“was it wise? to spend so much money on a good mattress?”

HOW DARE YOU.

it isn’t the most expensive mattress, not by far.
it is a good mattress.
a king-size mattress
for my king-size bed
my king-size sheets
my king-size comforters
my king-size blankets.

how DARE you.

I sold my dead husband’s clothes
so that I might have a comfortable place to sleep.

HOW DARE YOU.

13 January, 2020. Two years, four months gone.

Two years, four months.
It hasn’t gotten any less than this. Has not eased up.
no.
Has intensified,
solidified.
And that, I believe, is a good thing. Yes.

I’m fairly astonished that I had this much clarity only four months out.
In fact,
I am damn sure that this was my brain in ultra survival mode.

It is exactly the entirety of my body
my psyche
my soul.
It is exactly what I have been settling into for the past
eight hundred fifty-two days

no longer so foreign so
alien.

I am learning how to meet people where they are
and also to recognize that no matter how much love I have for someone
how much hope
sometimes it just isn’t enough to be sustainable.
not without harm.
I don’t want to be in pain over love anymore.
I can’t.
I won’t.

cannabis diaries, 913p 25 november, 2019

So I think this might be the best, most visual way to explain this.

My illness, ultradian or ultra ultra rapid cycling bipolar disorder type 1, is something I was most likely born with. One flavor or another of bipolar can be traced in at least one of my parents’ genetics, if not actual, confirmed diagnoses. It is the main reason I chose to remain childfree. My illness is a living, vibrant thing.

I look at it as a plant, aged and strong, rooted deep, entwined. Resilient. It consumes resources, sometimes more than I have available, leaving me in deficit, leaving me empty.

There is no brain; it is not sentient. There is no arguing with it, no reasoning. It lives, and breathes, and consumes.

Imagine you had such a plant, a green, growing thing. You were told it needed water every day.
So you water it, every day.
Your plant drinks the water, consumes it. Grows.
But one day, the soil is dry, even though you watered your plant that morning.
You add more water, hoping to not drown the poor thing.
It perks up, her leaves shiny. You relax.
The next day, your plant has collapsed, as if dead.
(she was fine the night before)
You water her, and watch, and wait.
Your plant seems to not be dead after all.
More water, but the soil is dry again. More water.
Your plant rallies, for a minute; an hour. More water.
(d r y)
More water.
More.
You are exhausted from keeping watch over this wee thing
(how can she be so thirsty?)
and yet watch over her you must if she is to live(if
you are to live)
.
how is it that she consumes everything you are giving her? all your aid,
all your care.
All the tools you have seem useless (and yet you know they are working)
You understand that the only way to save her is to drown her
overwhelm her
keep drenching her with water until she is overfloating
and then floating,
f i n a l l y
water as medicine, filling her veins, finally darkening the soil
as cannabis smoke fills my lungs, my bloodstream, finally lightening my mood.

Some days there isn’t enough water to slake her thirst.
Her soil dries, her leaves wilt; she droops.
she sleeps.

Cannabis sativa is the only medicine I have ever taken
where I am comfortable controlling my dosage.
Where I know that no matter how much I need, that I will be safe.
That I don’t have to wait out some interminable half-life
to take another dose.
That self-medicating is no longer a dirty word.

cannabis diaries – 845p, 6 november, 2019

what this drug allows me to do (you numbskulled, pretty-faced idiot) as you postulated isn’t done by taking away my pain. not at all. what it is doing, however, is turning down the volume a little bit. to a more manageable level of chaos. to separate the noise from the signal. it is allowing me to filter out all of the extraneous thoughts (oh and they are Legion), just flick them away like they were smoke rings. leaving no trace. no impact. just distapeared into the air. it allows my nervous system to not be quite so nervous. to actually be calm. be calmed. to remember kellen’s voice as if it lives in my head now. to comfort me when i need. am needful. am unwell.

my nervousness is so much not a thing any more that i am shocked by its absence. shocked, but quietly so. it seems to take a lot more to get my anger up now, and that i am much slower to even want to. that i more want to turn the feeling over and over, inspecting it, finding its flaws. taking them apart. fixing them, or discarding what i don’t need. moving forward.

(and this is the very last time that i will think of you in relation to my wellness. since i know that you don’t read my work it won’t make a whit of difference to you but it makes all the world of difference to me.)