Tag Archives: bipolar

Manic

Manic is

A sleepless night

And singing

Wayward songs,

Talking miles to myself

And my cats

And your spectre eyes

And the wall.

Sitting still

Is not enough.

Heat rises

In the sloping heart

As it continues

Thump by thump.

Don’t go to sleep

Don’t close your eyes as

Sadness awaits

The other side.

One more cup of

Coffee please.

I grind my teeth.

I skin my knees.

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Get out while you still can

I feel I’ve woken up

From a long nightmare,

While I know tomorrow’s hatred

Comes in one and a pear.

Picking up the pieces

Scattered dimes in a minute,

And wait for them to fall

When my heart’s not in it.

I miss the wise old monk

Who has departed from this town. .

I now wait only for the winter

To cast her petty minions down.

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Cannot Stand It

A house divided against itself.

Love or fear;

Which will prevail?

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What’s low when
Mind matter finds rot
And jiggles like sludge?
Where do I go
When consciousness
Wants to be alone?
Where do I hide
When the lights are too bright
And my rusted bleeding scars are shown?
How do I write
When the woman beside me
Is talking on the phone?

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Casket

Misery’s afoot
And she’s slinking through doors.
I try to retreat
But my curtain
Doesn’t reach the floor.
There must be
A place for all this pain.
It hides
Within me
Memorizing my name.
That old tattered
Chest black as ages at best
Has swept through
The years and found me in here.
Is it
Within me or do I
Hide within?
Is it
The darkness
Or am I
Full of sin?
Fuck.
There’s no place
Left for empty spaces.
I
Am no being
Only emptiness weaving.

Hope is gone.
Days are long.
Someone tell me
I’m wrong.
The ages
Are years
Only fueled
By tears.

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In Response

johnny my computer saved your password. i’m sorry but you won’t answer any of my phone calls or text me back, i’m scared that your phone is turned off. no one knows where you are, you could be in new york by now, and we need to know where you are so we can ge you some help, you don’t want to do this johnny, you are loved, maybe you hit a bump on the road but that is not a reason to do this, you need to come home so i can take care of you. all of your cats miss you and they need to see you, i can tell their worrying about where their daddy is, they need you. johnny, things seem so dark around you because you are made of light and you make shadows everywhere you go. every one who knows you knows. i need you even though you say that i am selfish maybe i am. don’t hate your self because i love you and god loves you so much, i know there are lots of people here who care about you too. this would be easy if you were still around but you went and ran away and now we don’t know where you are or where your going or if your already dead or still alive. i want you to be alive, i pray all day that you are. its not too late. i am here just waiting for you. you can have a future. we will take care of your teeth and whatever else needs to be fixed. just please come home johnny. i’m sorry for doing it this way but i didn’t know of any other way, i love you i love you i love you i love you forever and ever and ever and ever.call me long enough to hear your voice.

love,

janine

Don’t worry, I’ve already called her.

Maybe I’m the one who’s being selfish. It’s so hard to tell these days, but this attempt to get my attention opened my eyes. “Things seem so dark around you because you are made of light and you make shadows everywhere you go.” That is very beautiful. In fact, I cried.
I had convinced myself I hated everyone and everything. Myself most of all, and for good reason. I abandoned the people who love me. I abandoned my pets. I seriously considered murdering someone. I acted compulsively in so many ways. How can I forgive myself? Maybe I won’t. Maybe I can’t.

But Janine has somehow found it in herself to do so. I’m turning around. I’m going home. Though technically I don’t have a home anymore. I’m in debt half a house to a friend and I can’t expect him to simply give back the keys. Janine will let me live with her, though I don’t see how she trusts me with her kids. I would never hurt them, but some of the things I’ve said recently would make anyone raise questions. She either knows me too well or not at all.
I’m betting on too well.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I mean, I was all in on this whole homeless-or-death thing. I have no future. There are so many problems to address in my life.  I’m going to be a financial burden on a woman who has two children still living at home. I’ve got a rotten wisdom tooth and four cavities to see to, and hardly any money at all. And that’s just the surface. The very surface. The skin of the cherry on top. I feel guilt, but most of all love, because this beautiful woman is willing to share all these awful things with me.

So, no suicide today. If anyone’s curious as to what I was planning, I bought sixty of the one milligram klonopin at Kelle’s, and was going to pick up a good old fashioned bottle of Kentucky bourbon to was them down with. I was going to write a suicide note on paper, and duplicate it digitally (all while still sober, of course) to be posted an hour after I did the deed.
Talking about it now, makes me feel like a child. A child who spent thirty years not getting his way. A child running away from home. How much of me is that child? Too much. Years of therapy lie ahead. I might need to be admitted to an institution long term, but because of the way my mother died, I don’t think I’d be willing. Perhaps an intensive outpatient program, which consists of group therapy three times a week. I can swing that. Financially though? I’m not sure.

How many times I’ve lost hope, and regained it? How many times I’ve found hope, and lost it? This is all part of the cycle. I realize that now. Something has to change this time. Something. It reminds me of the Dark Tower series by Stephen King. I don’t want to give away the ending, but if you can make it through seven books you might understand what I mean.

I’m not proud of how I’ve acted, but I’ve made it available for all to see. If nothing else, I can be a study in mental illness. I don’t expect to hold any dignity here, and that’s okay. You either like reading my writing and/or poetry, or you don’t. I’ll try not to take it personally, if you can do the same.

 

Home in a couple days,
J

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Filed under change, hope, love, suicide, Uncategorized

Blood-stained bench seats

Try to sing a song of control
Though our ultimate goal
Is to run away.
This road could lead to the end
Spelling secret revenge
If I could just stay awake.

The only words I’ve ever come to find
Are a curse at life the penultimate fine.
Drift away before the A-bomb blows.
Huddle inside your happy place,
Give up your only semblance of grace,
Double helix secrets shed from your veins.

But no, there’s no going back
Too much work to unpack
What I need to survive.
But still, it won’t be enough. . .
I must have died at some point
Along the road.

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A sonnet one never grieved

There is no other way
To return where I came
On the highway.
These miles are my disgrace
And I can’t show my face
For my heartache.

This is my last escape
My final escapade
To cover all my tracks
There’s nothing for me there
Or here, or anywhere,

For when I prayed I cried out all my tears
But there’s no remedy for the years
What I am made is only just my fears.
Still somewhere i hope
A few more miles and I’ll be free
From this disease.

But there’s no
Sweet release
Til I let it go.

My heart must postpone it,
Those moments,
That shatter my only hopes
And leave me all alone.
There is just one way soar
And I’ll never learn
When my angel wings are burned.

And when I finally feel free
The world falls out from under me.
I pretend there’s nothing that I need
To deny the sprout of any seed.
I think I’m in hell.
Just a few more miles before
I’m aware
My end is near.

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New Blog

I started a blog dedicated to more personal stuff. Poetry on this blog you’re reading, journaling on the other. Being bipolar as I am, it’s only obvious that some posts will be despondent, others filled with light. I’m like a box of chocolates. Truly can’t want for that box of light.
I would truly appreciate a follow: Perpetual Hallways.

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A Prayer

There will be no rest here. Horror overwhelms like nerve gas. Agent blue. Chills crawl up my spine. I’m torn between some sick elation and the monster of every day discomfort. I’m lost. Lost in my head. Lost in my books. Lost in my own house. Fear lurks in every corner. And no, the natron didn’t help. Not one bit.
I’ve become blind to responsibility. I haven’t showered in days. My stomach is as empty as my bank account, which just so happens to be in the red. I have no desire for food. I need clarity and light. These things I simply cannot locate and if I did, would I know what I had? Searing questions. Is it worth it to go on? To seek out elusive dreams? Or am I chasing nightmares? Perhaps I’m in hell. That would explain so much of what’s gone wrong. What’s still going wrong. And thus an atheist cries out to god to save him.

–J

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Filed under bipolar, confusion, depression, fear, ptsd, writing