Monthly Archives: July 2014

Forgetting how to love.

I’ve been broken down by partners in my life that I feel I’ve lost the ability to fully love.
I’ve forgotten how to love. Either that, or my subconscious is scared.
I don’t feel scared, I love my boyfriend. I just can’t express it.
You’d think someone that spends their time writing would be able to, but it’s like I’ve got love writer’s block.
The first time I ever said I love you, I received nothing in return. If you could call fucking a girl well below the standard of me (may be slightly egotistical but quite true), then sure, he gave me something.
My second love was pretty much just a bipolar coaster. He brought out the worst in me and then chastised me for it. He too, could not keep out relationship between just us two.
I loved again after that, but in secret. There was a man who mended my broken heart, who rebuilt my confidence and made me grow as a person. Alas, he was not available to me. He was not available to anyone; a free spirit. I moved on.
Now here I am. With the most loving and supportive person I’ve ever been with. The one who constantly makes it clear that I am beautiful, who confesses his love like no other every day. The one who isn’t scared of bipolar, who helps. The one who does anything and everything for me. The one who has my trust, as well as heart.
Yet all the scorning by previous lovers has left me lost for words.
Perhaps I cannot give my all because there really is not that much of me to give. Who knows. I just want to be able to express my love somehow.


The mentally ill friend.

“The elephant in the room are my skeletons in the closet”

I feel like people are always tip toeing around me when it comes to my mental illness. In a way, I find this offensive. I can understand that it’s uncomfortable to be around someone when they’ve been manic or depressed, even anxious. What I don’t understand is how you can call yourself a friend when this is the case.
Yes, I am different to you.
Yes, at times I am hard to handle.
Yes, it’s hard for me to even get out of bed.
I know this all affects your precious little idea of what a friendship is supposed to be like, but I’ve got news for you. Real friendships aren’t based on how often you party together or any other trivial bullshit.
They’re based on who is there for you no matter what. They’re based on understanding and love, compassion and care. Not your selfish need for fun company.
This doesn’t mean you hide when your mentally ill friend has an episode going on. It doesn’t mean you belittle them by acting like they’re less than human. It doesn’t mean you treat them like a sick person that could be contagious.
Treat them like a human being that you care about. Not some play thing that you toss away once it breaks a little.

My ugly side

Now and again, my ugly side comes out.
I become a completely different person. Vicious, merciless, uncaring, vindictive, misanthropic and hateful.
I frighten people.
I lose control and it’s very noticeable. The ugly side does not care, though.
I snap at people. My fists are clenched, permanently ready to strike. I grit and grind my teeth until my head throbs.
I push people away at all costs, I don’t think I need them at the time.
I crush people.
I make them feel worthless, hated, ignored.

But then I snap back into who I am.
I gaze upon my self destruction and ponder how to fix it this time. I recognise that my ugly side was out, it was here wrecking havoc upon mine and my loved ones lives. I scramble and stumble, trying to readjust, trying to correct what I’ve done.
I make it there eventually, but I’m beginning to run out of people to lose. I can’t take the chance with my ugly side anymore. I must hide it at all costs.

Brain Dead

This week has been a bad one.
With the medication errors first, hormones going absolutely wild and a nasty case of the flu, it’s been an unpleasant time.
I’m on a bit of medication for the flu and last night it made me throw up all of my other medication. Luckily, I was so exhausted from throwing up that I could get some sleep.
I’ve gone from depressed about my upcoming birthday, to slightly manic, to complete bitch.
But today I’m feeling totally brain dead. I have for a couple of days but not as bad as this. I don’t know why I chose to write today now that I think about it.
I can barely fathom simple conversation and it’s driving me insane! Luckily my boyfriend has been looking after me so I haven’t had to do much but sleep.
Which I think I may get back to.
I will probably write in a few days when I feel a little better.

The downside to my sanity.

I’ve been through a lot with Bipolar Disorder. It has ruled my life for years, and I had an entire personality based around it. I’m different on medication – much more level. I can communicate better and I don’t snap at people so much.
Before, I was wild. I was enthusiastic and sexually empowered, erratic and fun. I’d drink and I’d do drugs and I’d party.
Now I’m a different person. There are fragments of who I was remaining, but they are covered under a layer of insecurity.
I’m starting to feel invisible. No one has much interest in me anymore. I have barely any friends and I certainly do not see them. I’m boring and what’s upsetting is that I get that. I don’t speak my mind like I used to and I barely leave the house. So that leaves partying out of the equation.
Don’t get me wrong, I like who I am now very much. I enjoy being happy. But I also enjoy having friends, going out for drinks, dancing and not caring what anyone thought of me.
I miss my Bipolar me.

Medication mess up.

I have a pill drawer.
Much like myself, it isn’t organised. It’s messy with leftover pills and old packets, scripts, receipts and paper bags. It’s basically a history of my illnesses, jammed into a drawer tightly.
Anyway, last night for a change I brought my Valium and Abilify to my bedroom to take, as I was already laying around in there and didn’t want to get up again.
But I realised something when getting to the Abilify.. I have been taking 5mg less of my usual 15mg dosage all week. I have been so irritable and waking up furious, and now I have an explanation. I feel like such an idiot. Who makes that sort of mistake so many times in a row?
Argh. Guess it’s time to get some organisation into my pill drawer.

The girl with no direction.

She didn’t know what she wanted. Part of her wanted to run. Part of her wanted to build a real life. Part of her wanted to disappear entirely.
Don’t get me wrong, she was not depressed – she was just lost.
She had no direction. There was just so much to rebuild, she doubted that she could do it. There was a voice in her head that told her she could. There were real voices telling her she could. But there was also a voice telling her to give it up.
She didn’t know who to listen to. Rationality told her it’d take years to rebuild, there’s always a chance of episodes. Hope told her it’d be worth it, that she could do it and become a better person out of it.
But she was a rational girl. She never relied on faith. So she endured the bad thoughts, the dysfunctional life and she simply just tried.